“We could fix her together.” She rests her head on my shoulder, and Atticus leans down and chuckles, kissing the top of her forehead. “My wife has a way of bending the will of even the strongest of men.”
Wife?
“You’re married?” I whisper, and then grimace as I expect a blow from either one or both. Ares never allowed me to ask questions.
Atticus frowns. “We won’t beat you for asking questions.”
“Not unless you ask us to.” Violet’s hot breath on my ear sends a frisson of excitement through me.
Atticus takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose. “So, my wife wants to keep you.”
“Finders keepers,” she whispers, and sinks her teeth into my earlobe. I gasp. My head tilts of its own volition, affording her better access. Her hot mouth trails wet kisses along my neck, and she darts out her tongue and licks all the way up to my cheek. “She’s delicious.”
Atticus gives his wife a fond smile. “And you haven’t even tasted her cunt yet.”
“I bet it’s just as sweet.”
“Darling, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Atticus warns.
His wife makes a harrumphing sound and she straightens beside me, her lipstick still perfect even after the assault on my neck.
“What’s your name, little ballerina?”
Pet.
I open my mouth to say as much, but he can’t call me that. Only my Master gets to call me by that name. “Camille.”
“Camille, that’s right. You’d think I would remember, given how hard the media are flogging your story.” He takes a deep breath and turns to the young man on the floor, eagerly waiting right where his Master made him. “Puppy, fetch Camille a drink.”
“Yes, Daddy,” the boy says. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, and he hangs off every word that comes from Atticus’ mouth.
Puppy rises and walks with his head bent low to a drink trolley against the far wall of the room. He takes a clean glass and pours a rich amber liquid from a decanter. Then he hands it to me and scampers back to his bed on all fours.
“Thanks.” I gulp the whiskey. I’m desperate for the liquid courage, and I finish it because I’m afraid if I don’t, they’ll take it from me too soon. Ares never let me drink.
“Go on upstairs, Puppy. It’s late, and all good boys should be in bed.” Puppy crawls to Atticus’ feet and whines. “Now.”
If Puppy actually had a tail, it would be between his legs. He crawls to the door, reaches up, and exits on two feet and not four.
“Have a seat, Camille.” Atticus sips his own whiskey from a glass on the desk in front of him. “There’s a lot to discuss.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Violet and Atticus exchange a look, and I stare at their feet because I’m too nervous to meet their eager gazes.
Atticus leans against his desk. His arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s the picture of calm, but I’ve always found looks to be deceiving. Especially when a Dom is involved. “What can you tell us about your abduction?”
My hackles go up. “Nothing.”
“You understand we’re not asking because we want the sordid details. Violet and I merely want to discuss what you’re willing to do, what you’re not, and what your hard limits are.”
“Oh.” I shoot him a sheepish smile. I’m so used to everyone asking questions, and I’m just as accustomed to shutting them down. “My Sir, he . . . he forbade me to talk about it.”
“I respect you following your Sir’s wishes, however, if you choose to be a part of our lives, our club, our sub, we will still need to understand what you’re comfortable with.
I frown. “Choose?”
They share another look, this one uneasy.