“Good girl.”
He strokes his fingers lovingly up the backs of her thighs, over her ass. She shivers and squirms. Atticus brings his hand down on her ass, so loud the slap rings out through the room. My heart races. My pulse threatens to beat its way through my neck. I’m so turned on, and yet just being in this room with another Dom—or two—has guilt and shame worming its way through my belly. Would Ares be disappointed in me? Would he beat me, punish me for seeking out the life he tried to push me away from?
Slap after slap lands on Violet’s flesh, turning it from a pristine milky white to bright red in a matter of seconds. I seek out her face through the curtain of curls. It too is red, her eyes are closed, and her face a twisted blend of anguish and elation, as if she’s lost to the euphoria.
I rise off my chair, and sink to my knees in front of them. Atticus pauses in his punishment, and both of them turn to me.
“Camille.” Violet’s tone is soft, yet commanding as she scrambles off her husband’s lap. I expect Atticus to chastise her, but he doesn’t. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I sob. “I’m really not okay.”
She sits beside me and rubs my back. Atticus tilts my chin up to meet his gaze. “So, so broken. What did he do to you, little ballerina?”
“He set me free.” I cry harder. “He was supposed to sell me, and he sent me away instead.”
“Oh, baby girl.” Atticus pats his lap and I crawl into it. I don’t even give it a second thought. And I don’t think about how it might feel for Violet, but she just strokes my knee as her husband rocks me in his arms. “I need to know before I touch you, before I raise a hand to you, what your hard limits are.”
“I don’t . . .” I trail off because I realize I do have one hard limit. “Pet. Don’t call me Pet. Only he calls me that.”
“Done. Anything else?”
I shake my head.
“Your safe word is swan.”
“Safe word?”
Atticus’ gaze searches mine. “You never had a safe word?”
“I never had a choice. I took everything he gave.”
“Oh,” Violet says on a long exhale. Atticus’ gaze turns livid, his body beneath me vibrates with rage.
“That isn’t how it should be, little ballerina.”
“I loved him. I loved him, and he set me free.” I curl into Atticus’ strong chest. The grey hair peeking out of his collar tickles my cheek. “He let me go, and he broke my heart.”
They let me cry for what feels like an eternity. I weep against his chest and ruin his shirt as his beautiful wife strokes my thighs and hips with sure, delicate hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
“You’re incredible.” Violet coos. “You’re so brave, and beautiful. Such a sweet, sweet baby girl.”
She leans forward and takes hold of my face, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I open for her, and she darts her tongue inside.
Her kisses are nothing like Ares’. They’re gentle, her mouth hot and so foreign on mine. She squeezes my breast, kneading my aching nipples through my clothing. Atticus’ strong hand grips the nape of my neck, holding me in place, as if I had any intention of trying to escape.
Violet pulls my shirt over my head and discards it on the floor. My bra soon follows. Atticus shifts me on his lap so I’m facing his wife, my feet resting on the floor.
“Open your legs for me, baby girl,” Violet says.
I grab the hem of my skirt, pushing it until it bunches around my hips, and I open my legs, hooking them over Atticus’ thighs.
“Such a pretty pussy,” Violet murmurs, stroking her fingers over my slick flesh. It’s been so long since my Sir touched me. Sex with Max doesn’t compare. He was forced into it. He doesn’t know my body, or how I need to be touched, but Mistress Violet knows. She slaps my clit in quick succession, drawing a moan from me. I shift on Atticus’ lap, resting my feet on his knees to allow Violet better access. Atticus laces his fingers with mine and locks both hands with his across my chest. He uses our joined hands to pinch my nipples. I gasp, loving the heady mix of pain and pleasure their touches bring. Atticus holds me in his arms as if he’s presenting a sacrificial offering to some corrupt and terrible goddess.
I thrust my hips forward, and Mistress Violet gives a little chuckle. “A hungry, pretty pussy, it seems.”
“You’ll forgive my wife,” Atticus whispers against the shell of my ear. “She likes to play with her food.”
Violet grins at us, and then leans forward, covering me. I gasp. Her mouth is hot and expertly works my flesh, sucking, biting, and licking. I grind my hips against her face, wanting more, needing more. More pleasure, more pain, more hands on my body, fingers inside me. “You should taste her pussy, Sir. She’s fucking delicious.”