The lights weren’t turned down too low—people needed see what the hell they were doing, and this wasn’t a rave—which let him get a look at what she was wearing.
They’d picked the perfect outfit. The corset was pulled tight enough to show off her small waist and give him a hell of a view of her cleavage. Even though it was sexier than her previous one, she somehow managed to still look sweet and innocent and like the best kind of bait.
That appealed to his Dom side, since nothing was better than a sub who looked ready to be devoured.
Sunny approached the sitting area that Garrison was already at, while Trent was getting bottles of water for them.
She peered back and forth between the two men. “It’s not a costume night, so why are you dressed alike?”
“We’re wearing black,” Connor said with a frown.
She glanced toward the crowd of people and the multitude of black outfits, especially on the Doms. “Original.”
Garrison held his hand out, waiting for her to place hers in his grasp—it took only a second, her reaction likely more instinct than thought—before he pulled her into his lap. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
A moment of fear skittered across her features, but it didn’t stay long. She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
He smiled at her sullen apology. “It’s fine. What can we say, though? We’re traditionalists and prefer dressing in a way that shows off that we come as a group.”
“Like couples costumes?” There was a rare, playful edge to her words that he liked.
Garrison pinched her ass for the joke, and was rewarded with a tiny, surprised squeak from the sexy little sub in his lap. “You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he warned.
He got the feeling that she wanted to glare at him but didn’t quite trust him enough for that. Instead, she sat up straight and glanced around, probably realizing for the first time Trent wasn’t there.
Before she could ask, the man himself appeared, four water bottles tucked between his arm and his body. His gaze traced down Sunny’s body, taking in her outfit and pausing on her chest.
Trent had always been a man who loved a good set of tits, and there was little doubt Sunny offered him that.
Trent curled his lips into a smirk before handing over her water bottle. “Well, don’t you look scrumptious?”
Sunny beamed, even though her gaze darted away. It made Garrison pretty sure she hadn’t received much in the way of praise.
Good thing he didn’t mind offering that up. He had a feeling that if they tied her down and told her exactly how sexy she was as they took their sweet time fucking her, she’d come apart. Then again, with how wound up she was, they could probably do anything, and she’d react beautifully.
“Why didn’t they put on the cuff at the door?” she asked as she fiddled with the label on her water bottle.
Trent handed out the other waters before leaning down to pull out their bag from beside the couch.
And didn’t that get Sunny going? She tensed at first, an automatic reaction, before she squirmed. It was subtle, but Garrison caught it. She was probably thinking about the things they’d used on her from that bag before.
Trent didn’t pull anything too fun out, though. Instead, he took out a pair of cuffs—brown leather on the outside and padded on the inside. A small padlock on the silver buckle of each would keep them secure. They were also monogrammed with the initials of all three of them. “You’re here with us for the night, not a free agent, so the club cuff isn’t needed.”
“I thought all guests needed it? That’s what the owner said.”
Garrison nodded, thinking about Toya, the woman who ran the club. She was a bit like a mother bear, quick to defend anyone not treated right. He still recalled the dressing-down she’d given a Dom who had ignored a sub’s safe word.
She was a ballbuster in every sense of the word, which was why Garrison had never let her nearhisballs.
“That’s for guests. As long as you’re here with us, you’re not a club guest, you’reourguest. These cuffs show just that. It means other Dominants won’t try to play with you, that they can’t touch you.”
She swallowed, as if ‘play with’ and ‘touch’ were terrifying ideas to her. “But you can?”
Ah, so it isn’t others—it’s the idea that we could do what we want with her.
“Within reason,” Trent said. “Just like before, you set the limits. Cuffs don’t change that. So, are you ready?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, the poor thing red from the abuse. The girl had no poker face—all her worries showed in her expression. She did that thing where she lifted her chin, as if the little action gave her courage, then held out her hands.