Cuffed to Him Page 2

  “We like your mind,” Giff had affirmed as he’d lifted his chin at Josh in some signal to continue. “And—”

  “My huge breasts that every boy in school makes fun of!” Her big knockers had made her a target for boys who wanted to cop a feel. Because no one had succeeded, the boys got their revenge by declaring she had fucked and sucked them all. But at eighteen, she was still a virgin.

  “We never did that, Jo,” Giff had told her as he’d walked towards her, then pressed his rock-solid cock against her belly. “We never played any games with you. But you’re old enough now. And we’ve decided you need an education. From us.”

  Jo shivered now as those memories washed through her, her nipples hardening, her pussy creaming in her skimpy, black silk thong. What an education she’d got, too. Both young men—the best friends she’d ever had—had taught her everything a girl needed to know about sex. And bondage. And making it with two men at the same time.

  She’d revelled in every second of their seduction. They were kind. They were patient. They were inventive. Scintillating. Using their gorgeous wide mouths on her breasts and her clit, they had teased her for hours. Cuffed her to one while the other brother sucked her clit and played with her asshole. They had made her come so many times that she had never equalled the thrill. Not with any man. And never with two men fucking her cunt and her ass at the same time.

  “Some things are so special,” she whispered to herself, shocked she was saying it aloud. “So special they can’t be duplicated.”

  Jo jumped at the sound of the front compartment door opening, fighting her own excitement that soon she’d see Giff and Josh again. They won’t fuck me this time. Won’t cuff me to their bed. Or blindfold me. They have moved on to other women. If I was one of their firsts, I won’t become one of the hundreds since. Pride says I won’t. My job says I mustn’t.

  The attendant smiled at her and lifted the latch to the main cabin door. “Welcome to Spencer Island, Ms Carter. We have one of our special cars waiting for you.”

  “What do you mean special?”

  “The newest solar-powered vehicle the Spencers backed. All our products are tested here on the island before anyone else learns about them.”

  “Terrific. I’m eager to see it.” Jo would get to experience the invention and write about it. That would get her in good with Waldyn. “Where are my two guard dogs?”

  Blondie and his pal appeared at the door, smiling as innocently as if they had done her no wrong, hands before them at parade rest.

  “You go into the compound without us, Miz Carter,” Blondie told her.

  Jo’s gaze shot from one to the other. “Good. I will be happy to carry my own luggage.”

  Blondie’s left eye twitched.

  “What?” Oh, no. “Are you telling me that you don’t have my suitcase?”

  Blondie squinted at her.

  “Arghhh. This is absurd. How can I be expected to do a proper interview if I have no equipment and I have no clothes! Not even a frigging toothbrush.”

  The brunette cleared her throat. “Ma’am, Ms Carter. We have toothbrushes and cameras and recorders—”

  Jo clenched her fists. To fight with these people was useless. “Let me off this crate. I have a bone or two to pick with Mr High and Mr Mighty.”

  * * * *

  The chauffeur took her along the sun-drenched shore for only a few minutes then turned inland for a few hundred yards. When he came to a stop, Jo sat, riveted to the sight of a hillside simply opening wide. Vegetation and all parted to provide a portal through which the goofy electrically-powered neon green car zoomed. Once inside what appeared to be a garage for similar oval pod-like vehicles, her driver jumped out of the front seat and opened her door.

  “But where is the house?”

  “This is the ground floor, Ms Carter. Spencer House is built into the hill. All utilities are geothermal, invented by Mr Gifford or his friends. All construction is with the new temperature-controlled steel that Mr Joshua invests in. You will enjoy the house, I am certain. The elevator, Ms Carter, is through that passage.”

  Struck by the uniqueness of the building, Jo climbed out and headed for the heavy metal doors. The silence was deafening, the air moist and fresh on her face. She yanked down her suit jacket over her hips and wished she’d worn something more tropical. Especially now since I have no other clothes!

  She gritted her teeth, pushing the button for the elevator.

  At her touch, the doors swished wide. She stepped inside, crossing her arms.

  A second later, when they opened again, she faced the entry hall filled with native flowers in bloom. Lilies and bromeliads of purples, pinks and yellows hung from the wall, the colours making her smile. So did the sounds of a waterfall beyond a glass wall. Since no one appeared to greet her, Jo walked into the interior. Her lips parting in delight, she was drawn forward by the uniqueness of the house.

  Spacious and sleek, the architecture reminded her of a Buddhist sand and rock garden she had visited outside Tokyo years ago. The garden had been created by monks to show the endless rhythm of living organisms. Here was the garden’s interpretation in architecture, décor and texture. Rooms drifted into others. Doors did not exist. Furniture was plentiful, in natural fabrics and colours and contours, created for human bodies to sit, relax and enjoy. The natural beige and cream walls curved this way and that. Windows of all sizes and shapes filled with greenery, inside and out, punctuated the endless grace of the house. Jo seemed to glide from one living area to another, carried onward by awe and curiosity. Then she stood at the entrance to the kitchen, a blinding array of chrome and glass and steel, a cosy bar and two men turning towards her and grinning, ear to ear, in welcome.

  Oh. They took her breath away. They were tall and muscular. One dark, one auburn. How they had changed. Matured. Become more handsome. More devastating. No photographer had captured their raw masculinity.

  No wonder women fell into their arms. Their bed.

  They were so different from the two young men she remembered. As boys, they had worn glasses. Bulky horn-rimmed ugly things. They had been pale. Thin. As teenagers, they had zoomed up to six feet or more. Still skinny when they went off to college, they had come home on vacations looking ropey. When Jo had last seen them, the day the moving van came to empty her family home, Gifford and Joshua Spencer had been young men with straight-A college transcripts, bright grad-school stipends, and only a hint of what they had become physically and professionally now. That day, they had crushed her close and kissed her with a lingering ardour that had broken her heart. That morning, the two of them had made hurried crazy love to her, tying her up for the last time, blowing her mind, pleasuring her body and destroying her for any other man.

  And now look at them.

  Giff stepped around the kitchen island, a champagne glass filled with sparkling bubbly out for her to grasp. His coal black hair swung long, straight and loose to his shoulders. The bronze of his tropical tan lit his eyes to a neon green.

  Her mouth watered. Her pussy gushed. His mouth drew her gaze. He used to eat her, sucking her clit with a sweet patience that made her scream. He would finger her, scrape his teeth over her nub and have her hips bucking like an untried filly. But then he would pluck her clit until she came and came again, then drive his long tongue up inside her core while she creamed all over his fingers and lips.

  How objective is that? She snapped to attention.

  His verdant gaze locked on hers as he approached, put the flute into her hand and hooked his arm around her waist. “Jesus, baby. You are a sight for sore eyes. More lovely than ever.”

  “I could say the same for you,” she admitted to him as he pressed her flat to his body and captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

  When he pulled away, she grabbed air. Her flesh tingled, her heart pounded, her cunt throbbed. Lost, she thought, and fought back from the edge of surrender. Do not to give in to this brazen attack.

  “My turn.” Josh wa
s at her side. As tall, but brawnier than his brother, and gorgeously golden from the sun, he spun her from Giff’s embrace into his own and made her head swim with the scent of his cologne and the feel of his cock against her stomach. “We’ve waited too long for you, honey.”

  Me, too. She clutched at his T-shirt. Her balance was gone. Her expectation to yell at them for robbing her of her equipment gone up in smoke. And kisses.

  She pushed at his chest, chuckling in outrage and self-criticism. “Wait, wait. You can’t hustle me like this. I have work to do here. And—”

  “And we haven’t seen you in fourteen years,” Josh told her. “You think we don’t need time to get reacquainted?”

  “Not like this.” She found her footing and once more pulled at her white linen suit coat.

  “Oh, yeah.” Giff leaned in to plant his lips on the flesh just beneath her ear. “Exactly like this.”

  “You are tickling me.” She jerked away, but only wound up more closely in Josh’s arms.

  “We’ll do better than that, honey,” Josh told her, encouraging her to take a sip from her glass.

  “You will first tell me why you had your two goons take my camera and my laptop and my—”

  “We’re going to give you everything you need, Jo.” Giff turned her face to his, rubbed his thumb over her lower lip and dived in for another ravishing, mind-blowing kiss.

  “You…you took my suitcase, too.”

  Josh’s wonderful mouth hitched up on one side as he nibbled on her jaw. “We did.”

  “Why? What is the deal here? Does every woman who comes here find herself deprived of her makeup and her panties?”

  Both men laughed.

  “Not funny!”

  “No, honey,” Josh told her. “You are the only one to come with nothing but her beautiful body—”

  “And the personality we’ve loved since we were kids.”

  She was dizzy with the compliments. And the insane words. “I was not born yesterday, guys. You can’t mean that you’ve wanted me all these years.”

  “No?” Giff’s black brows rose incrementally. “Why not?”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Is it?” Josh shot back.

  Dangerous to believe that. “What if I don’t want anything except the interview I asked you for?”

  “What if we don’t believe you?” Josh asked.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Could they read her mind? Could they see she had come here to get laid for the first time in over a year? Could they smell her need for them? Her sopping wet pussy?

  “What if we want a whole lot more?” Giff’s bass voice bored into her soul, like sandpaper grinding against her better instinct to run from here.

  “Like what?” she demanded, grasping the insane possibility that they might want her on her back.

  “Take your clothes off, baby.” Giff grinned at her with a hot hard glint in those electric-green eyes that haunted her daydreams. “We want to welcome you the way you know we can do best.”

  Chapter Three

  She backed away, hand out, chuckling at the absurdity of this discussion. “Come on. Enough laughs. Let me drink this wonderful champagne and we can reminisce about old times.”

  Both men stalked her.

  Josh had a rogue’s grin on his lips. “We’d rather make new times.”

  “Keep going,” Giff said, grabbing her glass from her and setting it down on a table as they passed. “You’re headed in the right direction.”

  A frisson danced up her spine. She halted. Spun to look behind her. The walls curved, creating an opening into a deep space that held more shadows than light. Jo knew at once that they were walking into the men’s dungeon.

  She had heard only whispers about it. The swing. The suspension ropes. The whips and crops. When they had made love to her as a teenager, the Spencer brothers had owned none of this paraphernalia. They had used their talented tongues and generous lips to make her juicy and swollen and begging for more. They had used their incredibly thick cocks to drill her and fuck her until she had keened and throbbed and demanded they do her again. Now, facing them, she braced herself on her damn flimsy heels and challenged them. “You can’t force me.”

  “Won’t,” said Josh.

  “Ever,” said Giff.

  Jo jutted out her chin. “Good, then—”

  Both men were at her side, each one taking a hand. Then she heard a clink, clink, and looked down to see each man had claimed one of her wrists in a more permanent manner. “Handcuffs? You cannot be serious.”

  “Quite so, I’m afraid,” Giff said with a grim nod. “We’re not hard-asses.”

  “But we will persuade you.”

  As a unit, they turned within the darkened room.

  She had no option but to go with them. Blowing a gust of air, she ruffled her bangs and gave in to the fact that, for now, she was their captive. “Where did you get the bright idea I might even be remotely interested in this kind of hook-up?”

  As Josh hit a button in the wall inside the dungeon, the lights grew brighter. As if dawn broke, Jo could see each item on display and her heart beat in staccato at the sight of which ones she wanted to play with. A red leather table, straps at strategic points along both sides, was tall enough for viewing and screwing.

  “You like the décor, I see.” Giff nodded at Josh and they approached the dais where the brilliant thing beckoned to Jo’s inner wanton. He snapped open his own cuff and wheeled around to face her. “Take off your clothes.”

  She raised the arm bound to Josh and arched a brow at Giff. “Kind of tough, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Do what you can.” He gave her one of his lusty half grins. “I like to watch.”

  “I remember.” So well. The question is, who does he care to watch? “Which one shall I be? Cleopatra rolled before Caesar from a rug? A scantily dressed Josephine inviting Napoleon to her boudoir from her lover’s ballroom? Or the quivering maiden—?”

  “Stolen from her family by the nefarious highwayman,” Giff finished for her, his gaze drifting down to devour her body. “Do that. I always liked it because it was truer than the others. You were a maiden, a pretty, very succulent virgin when we took you the first time. You loved fucking then.”

  I loved you. “I did. But what good is that to you now? I’m…we all three are fourteen years older and wiser.” What sprang to her mind next was tinged with as much jealousy of other women as sexual hunger for them now. “Do you always play games when you have a woman here?”

  Giff flowed near to her, his nose skimming along her own, his lips tantalisingly close to hers. “We grew tired of other women ages ago.”

  Oh, to believe that one, she’d have to be dumb and blind. “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”

  Josh curved his arm around her and nibbled on her ear. “Let us prove it to you.”

  “Why should I?” she challenged him. Bad retort. What will they do now? Throw me out?

  “Because you need our story,” Josh replied.

  “Don’t you?” Giff pressed her.

  At his scepticism, she flinched from Josh’s embrace. Giff caught her and stilled her with a hand around her nape. “Do not back away, baby. We have a price for this interview.”

  “This is hardly an interview,” she scoffed with a wave of her hand at the dungeon.

  “Of course it is. Ours of you,” he told her, his words hard as concrete.

  “You don’t need me.”

  “Take off your clothes and let’s find out.”

  She swallowed hard and cursed herself because she knew Giff could feel her reluctance, if not see it too. “Uncuff me.” After all, where can I run to? Why would I want to?

  Freed, she flexed her fingers, buying time and hoping bravado would creep into her bloodstream. One look at Giff, glaring at her, daring her, and she melted like ice cream. He with his wicked eyes and massively beautiful body, the damn white T-shirt moulded to his pecs. His brother with that disturbing gilded aura to him, coming aro
und to face her and stare her down.

  All right. For old times’ sake. She’d get what she’d fantasised about since they had accepted her proposal for the interview. They’d get what their investors said they needed to offer yet more money for their bold ideas. Useful, truthful portraits of the men who set eco-energy hearts aflutter worldwide. And mine, always mine.

  She tossed off her ridiculous stilettos. Good riddance. She hated them with a passion. The second her poor abused tootsies hit the floor, she audibly gushed with relief.

  “Never wear those again.” Giff bent, picked them up and threw them so they landed with two clunks in the far living room.

  She couldn’t stop the spurt of laughter that came out of her mouth.

  Giff waggled a finger at her expensive white linen suit. “The rest.”

  With one hand, she undid the buttons on her jacket. The front fell open and both men smiled. Lechers. “If you like lingerie so much, you should invest in it.”

  “Tell us the name of that designer,” Josh said with a leer at her nearly bare breasts, “and I’ll buy the whole damn company.”

  Giff crossed his arms, his forefinger and thumb rubbing his lower lip. “We’ll tell them you must be their only model.”

  She snorted, then shrugged out of her coat, letting it drift to the floor. Her ivory and pale pink bustier with delicate boning was a transparent number made of Tibetan silk. The sheerness of it belied its strength. Her plump girls sat up proud in the magnificent underwire. She was also certain the fabric displayed how pebbled her huge nipples were at this point in their…um…interview. “I need someone who understands I crave support.”

  “Forget those French designers, baby.” Giff reached out a hand to skim the plump tops of her 44Ds. “You’ve found the right men here for support.”

  “Go on.” Josh urged her to continue disrobing.

  This was a tough one. Once she slithered out of her skirt, they’d know so much more about her. How often she thought about them. Wanted them. Had prepared for them on the off chance that they might want to fuck her.