"They all do. And that's not all. Every man at this table also knows what I'm doing to you."
Her mind froze in shock. She wasn't sure how much time passed before she snapped out of it, but then her gaze shot around the room. All four men were still apparently engaged in the screen.
"They can smell you, the lucky bastards. See Jon over there, Peter, and Ben. They all know what I'm doing to you. They want you, so badly. What if I commanded you to let every one of them fuck you on this table? I could let all three take you at once, since I know you hate to get behind schedule."
Her pulse leaped, as her body quivered in a state perilously close to the edge. She was holding on by a rotting branch just above a waterfall, and she was sure he knew it, for he kept on, doing his best to push her over with his seductive voice.
"Did you know that we did something similar with Matt's wife, Savannah? That's how we got her to agree to marry him. She was so knotted up in her emotions, but we all knew she loved him. So one night, we bound her on a table like this one. We each teased her to climax, over and over, until she was insane with it. Our restraints freed her feelings, and she surrendered to them. To Matt. They were married that same week."
"Lucas . . ."
His timing for such a shocking revelation was impeccable. She was so aroused, so close to climax, she couldn't deny the dark temptation of such a scenario, for herself or Savannah. He'd not only stolen her sense of reason and grasp of what was proper or not, he'd picked up on her fantasies perfectly.
Now they turned toward her, the irresistible Knights of the Board Room. The article reference came to her now, and it seemed to fit, men with a code of behavior, a connection beyond words. Irresistibly powerful. As their intent gazes landed on her, she realized Lucas must have given them the same ear wigs, so they'd been hearing everything he'd said to her. She also noticed Matt had quietly excused himself, so she was on display before just the three of them, Ben, Jon, and Peter. Saayo's breathing was heavy enough now to be noticeable over the speakers, but the Japanese advisor didn't stop. The intriguing detachment of it elevated her own response even higher.
As Cass looked up, the woman locked gazes with her. The Asian woman's lips curved in a half-smile, her eyes warm, yet distracted, close to the same pinnacle as Cassandra.
"How would it feel," Lucas mused, "the two of you tied to each other? Your legs scissored together, hips close so that as she played with her pussy, her knuckles would barely brush your cunt. Your arms would still be bound, behind your back. You'd have to lie there, writhing, feeling only that occasional brush of her fingers, the vibration against your clit and ass. We'd all be gathered around you, watching, wanting you both, wanting to fuck you both.
"Look at Ben. If he'd taken you home last night, he'd have wanted his dick buried deep in your delectable ass. Peter would spend hours suckling your breasts. Jon's specialty is making devices that can keep you in the throes of an orgasm for well over an hour. The chair and bracelets are his invention."
He paused, letting those words sink in, then gave her the answer to one of her questions.
"The symbols on the bracelets are Trust and Surrender. And Love. They're intended as a gift, sweetheart. Not a punishment."
She swallowed, not sure if she was going to panic, scream, cry, or climax. Her body shook in a paroxysm, drawn and quartered between all of them. While there was no need any longer to disguise her reaction, still she tried, but he was going to be merciless with her. Her mind was full of his voice, Ben's unreadable green eyes, the singular focus in Jon's face, Peters undisguised absorption with the way her breasts were moving. That first day, she'd analyzed the sexual undercurrent, the way they emanated sex, their ability to take over a woman's senses without any overt attempt to do so. Now here it was unleashed, and it pressed on all sides, their desire for her making it almost impossible to breathe, to do anything but feel the pounding want between her legs, the ache in her throat and chest.
"I know you're worrying your reputation is ruined with them. It isn't. Trust me on that.
Your beauty and intelligence, and the desire you show us now—it's a gift to any man breathing. We treasure it. So tell me what you want, Cass. Do you want me to stop all this now? Do you want me to release you, let the three of them spread you on. this table, please you until you lose consciousness?" Another pause. "Or shall I let you climax just for me, while they watch?"
At that, the speed of the vibrator jumped. Her body arched against her bonds, her knees jerking. Self-consciousness was abandoned, for even if she'd reached for it, it was already far beyond her grasp. The screen Lucas had described was now up, a close-up so she could see Saayo's fingers dipping into her wet pussy, fucking herself, tugging at the silver ring of her clit piercing. Cass could hear her cries building. In the screen that showed the translator above the table, one of the men next to her had put his hand beneath her neck, supporting her.
Think, Cass. She tried to force an eye of calm amid the hurricane of her body's spiraling response. Last night, she'd used Ben to erect a barricade between them. Unsuccessfully, but this time it was Lucas who'd handed her a similar weapon. Since it was disguised as his own strategy, he might not realize until too late that he'd rearmed her.
Each of the men in this room could stimulate her body. It was the same game as always, even steeped in sex. Backed into a corner with two choices, you chose the door that left you the most control. Give the enemy the bailey, in order to protect the keep. Once he had what was there, he might be satisfied. So she'd sacrifice control of her body in order to protect her heart and mind. The assault of her flesh had seriously weakened the inner gates, but if he was like most men, he might not realize there was a gate to breach beyond the one to her flesh.
"What if I said . . . have them take me ... on the table? Would you want that?"
It had taken a supreme effort to say the words, but she managed to stave off her body's roar for release long enough to fire the challenge, send Lucas a glazed but defiant look.
As he locked gazes with her, his face going inscrutable, Ben gave a low whistle. She heard a trace of Ireland in his voice, brought out by a palpable wave of pure male lust. "If you don't want her, Lucas, I'm taking her. Even with you scrambling that marvelous mind, she's calling your bluff."
Lucas's eyes flickered. Then his mouth lifted in that slow smile. She knew then she'd lost.
Or won. She didn't know anymore. Regardless, the bare movement of his sensual mouth shoved her against the gateway of her own control and, despite all the physical stimulation, was the true last straw. She began to go over. But he was too intuitive. He eased back on the vibration, a near miss. "I won't let them have you, Cassandra. But I will let them give you pleasure. Peter?"
Her gaze tore away from him and went back down the table, where Peter rose from his chair. His corded neck and broad shoulders would be intimidating, if not for the kindness in the storm-cloud eyes. His physique was obvious under the crew neck sweater he wore.
Of all the K&A team, he alone wore a pair of jeans, having come from one of the plant operations this morning.
"If I may . . ." He slid her chair out, moving her effortlessly, and then knelt between her spread legs, so tall that he was still eye to eye with her, his shoulder span shadowing her body. As he leaned over, she saw he wore a small gold Saint Christophers medal. Maybe that was part of their unique relationship as well, sharing the same type of jewelry.
She pushed down the hysterical and irrational burst of humor. Stay on course. She could do this. She could. Follow the body, not the heart. Just the body. It was easy enough to follow the urges of the flesh, if you kept it light, easy. Except nothing about this was light and easy. This was as over-the-top as it got, and it was her own fault. She'd kept it bottled for so long. The moral outrage she should have felt at all of this, that should have quelled any desire she had, was absent. She longed for release, oblivion, enough to hang on to Lucas's words, trust him. This had gone too far for her to do anything else, relieving her of any responsibility. So she told herself.
"Tear it open," Lucas said, something raw in his voice. "I'll buy her a new one."
"No—" But Peter had already laid his hands on the lower section of the sweater and ripped it, several pearl buttons bouncing off across the floor. The physicality of it made her gasp, the pull of the slim collar around her throat that remained intact. Her reaction rocked her breasts in a lascivious display above the tight corset before his appreciative gaze.
Cass turned desperate eyes to Lucas. "I never said what my choice was, of the three you gave me."
"It doesn't matter. I'm interested in your opinion, but the decision is mine. Isn't it, Cass?"
Captured by the intensity of his face, the implacable line of his mouth, slope of royal cheekbones, she knew it was. Had what they called magic in past ages simply been this?
A knowledge of a person's soul, so honed that he knew things about her that she'd refused to admit to herself? There was no way she could admit to it, even after he laid it so bare here. But he anticipated such lines in the sand, and knew just the right form of sugar to sprinkle over them, making them disappear as if they'd never existed. At least for now.
"Pretend I'm your Master, Cass. You lose nothing by giving in to your own pleasure here."
Just like the day she'd left the glade, wishing she could tell him she wanted to stay, she wanted to trust Lucas beyond pretense. If she really could, maybe it would be worth all of it, the two of them hurtling down Whitewater rapids together, laughing their asses off like kids as they whirled in the frenetic, dangerous current, willing to be pummeled and tossed to feel like this. But she couldn't.
Peter's hands were on the corset bodice, feeling along the edge of the straight, tight hem.
His thumb passed over the hard point of the nipple, visible through the straining satin, so close to the edge of exposure. She arched, crying out.