“Shay!”
I looked over at the house as River stepped out on the deck.
Huh. And it was River. I knew it instantly, without first checking for a neck tattoo of a longhorn skull half buried underneath a pile of wilted rose petals and thorns.
“Light one up for me too,” he said.
He’d been doing some manual labor. How advanced was this scene going to be? I thought the masochist was the one who would sweat and look all flushed.
“You don’t happen to have a gym in that house, do you?” I lit up the smoke and handed it over when he’d reached the porch.
He let out a chuckle but said nothing else on the matter. “You hungry? Reese is making meatloaf.”
I lifted my brows. Oh. So they had a…well, I mean, I guess it made sense that they’d have a kitchen at the main house… “Why’s he cooking up there?”
River exhaled some smoke and lifted a shoulder. “Closer to the office. Bigger kitchen too.”
“Oh.” I looked up at the house again and grew curious about this place as a business. To most of us, it was a community with a membership fee we paid every month—or annually for those who could afford it—but to these two men, it was their livelihood.
If I remembered correctly, there were three tiers. Basic, which was free, that only gave a kinkster access to join the munches. Then there was Visitor, the most common tier, the one I had, which made you automatically invited to most parties out here; you were allowed to spend three nights a month in a guest room, and you got, like, discounts to attend demos and whatnot. It was fifty bucks a month. Lastly, the Resident level. I’d forgotten how many nights they were allowed to stay for, but it cost you a hundred bucks every month, though it came with some sweet perks. There was a Resident group in our online community, and I’d seen pictures of goodie bags filled with sex toys and pain implements from samples that vendors sent to River and Reese.
Ivy had once sorted through an entire closet of free stuff they’d been given and packed it all into bags to hand out.
There was another group in the online forum for those who “worked” here. From dungeon monitors and founding members to Little helpers and those who identified themselves as domestic slaves. People volunteered to keep the place running, to clean, to organize events, to build new contraptions, to host sales parties for BDSM vendors, in order to get perks and reduced membership fees. I’d briefly considered it when I first became a member, but in the end, I’d chickened out of contacting them via the form and I’d just paid the fee instead.
It’d felt too intimidating to go near the lion’s den back then. Now I’d just spent a weekend with the lions’ cocks up my ass.
I took a drag from my smoke and exhaled through my nose, and I— “What?” I furrowed my brow, noticing River observing me.
He smiled. “You’re an expressive thinker.”
I scowled.
Which made his smile grow. “You’re fucking beautiful too.”
Okay, it became a little difficult to hold the scowl. What was he playing at?
“You’re screwing with my head on purpose,” I accused.
“I’m sure as shit not doing it accidentally.” He smirked and blew out some smoke. “No bullshit about what I said, though. It’s been a long time since I looked forward to playing with someone like I do with you.” He took a step closer, and my scowl had pretty much melted away at that point. He tapped my temple. “Tomorrow I’m gonna rape every corner of your mind.”
Holy fuck.
A shudder laced with white-hot lust rolled through me, and never before had a single sentence put me in a freaking daze like that. There was worry too, worry that they’d succeed in opening up parts of me that I’d rather keep lock— Wait.
“T-tomorrow?” I asked dumbly and blinked.
“Mm.” He took my cigarette from me and put both of them out in the pot on the floor. Then he ushered me inside and closed the door. “Can’t play mind games until you’re warmed up.”
Oh…so he was, what, going to do other stuff to me tonight?
“You can set the table while I take a shower. Reese should be here soon with dinner.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer for himself. After twisting off the cap, he took a swig and smacked a kiss to my cheek before heading toward the stairs.
All right, then. Set the table. Warm up before mental rape. Good plan.
* * *
Reese was bizarrely great at cooking. In my limited experience anyway. The recipe, according to River, came from a Swedish former soldier they’d worked with once, and the dish had to be served a certain way. The meatloaf itself managed to be both dense and light, not to mention rich in flavor—with lots of black pepper. Served with baby potatoes, caramelized onions, freaking lingonberry jam on the side, and it all swam in a pool of creamy green pepper gravy.
Reese had put away River’s beer too, because we each got one glass of milk and one glass of lingonberry lemonade, conveniently purchased at the nearest IKEA.
The jam wasn’t my favorite, but I enjoyed the fuck out of the whole Sunday dinner around the table feel. Proper home cooking was something I hadn’t had since my parents died. My aunt tried. She tried very hard, but anything over four ingredients required a fire extinguisher nearby because she became forgetful when she had to concentrate, and so it understandably made my brothers and me freakishly anxious.
“Tell your Swedish friend it’s a great recipe,” I said around a mouthful of food. “Have you worked with a Greek soldier by any chance?”
Reese chuckled and took a swig
