Divide and conquer.

For the past several days, it had been her mantra, a rallying call to summon her courage. Today Samantha Beth Gerard was going to act on it.

A storm had hit the Gulf, so Chris and the landscaping company that employed him were in Mississippi for the next few days, picking up as much work as they could. Which left her and Geoff alone in the rental house they shared.

She sat in their backyard, inside the flying aviary Chris had built to nurse and rehabilitate birds and other animals he rescued during the course of his job. Ron, Hermione and Harry, the three permanent inhabitants, flew from branch to branch, chirping. Sam drew her knees up on the edge of the wooden Adirondack chair, curling her bare toes in the wooden slats. She turned her head, rested it on her knees and looked through the picture window of their small house.

Geoff was working at the dining room table they’d found at a secondhand store. His laptop was open and there were two file boxes on the table. Papers were arranged on the table like a neatly landscaped garden in multiple shades of white. As usual, he was working on a case. A young attorney working his way up the ladder of a corporate firm, he put in a lot of hours. She had no doubt he’d be offered a partnership within his specified time table and then split off to form his own office. He typically ended up as the lead on any project he was assigned, even if it didn’t start that way. He embraced responsibility, control.

According to her friend Flo, men like that would sometimes crave a submissive orientation in the bedroom, needing the release of not being in control, but that wasn’t the vibe she got from Geoff. Not in the least. Sam suspected Geoff was a Dom, one who was self-aware but who’d never truly embraced it.

After meeting him during a couple dinners, Flo had concurred. “Oh yeah. That one wants to be in charge. He needs it like you need chocolate. Once he decides he’s ready to explore his Dominant side, he’ll be a storm that sweeps you off your feet. In a good way, if he has his shit together.”

Flo was a teller at the bank where Sam worked, an attractive, delicately fox-featured woman in her fifties, with shrewd brown eyes and short hair dyed a bird’s wing brown with golden highlights. Though there were nearly thirty years’ difference in their ages, she and Flo had gravitated toward one another in the usual way that co-workers became friends. Day-to-day interactions, the occasional lunch, then slipping on their athletic shoes for lunchtime walks in the downtown Charlotte area where they worked.

As Sam started opening up about her feelings for Chris and Geoff, Florence had listened attentively. Friendship turned into confidences, and one day Flo told Sam she was a Domme, a Mistress.

“Being Dominant or submissive can be an orientation, like being gay and straight,” she’d explained. “Some women might take charge in the bedroom on occasion to spice things up, purely for fun, but for me, it runs deeper than that. The men I’m with need to surrender, to submit, to help them find pleasure and release, and I need to control and dominate, feed off that exchange and surrender, to be satisfied as well.”

Between Flo taking her to a couple private parties, where Sam could see what a sexual Dominant was in context, and then studying Florence at the bank, Sam started to understand even more. There was a sharp directness to the way Flo dealt with everyone, a firmness that made co-workers and customers alike respond to her with respect. All the tellers knew if a customer was causing a problem, Flo was the one who could step in, diffuse the situation and restore balance.

Those nuances and vibes…they were different versions of Geoff. When she first confided that to Flo, wondering if she was crazy, her friend had given her a blunt look.

“You see it because you’re his mirror, Sam. You’re a sub, and that defines how you operate in a relationship. That first night you went with me, I saw you watching the male Doms. You were like a kid outside a candy store, one who doesn’t see what she really wants, because you know it’s waiting for you at home.” The woman’s lips curved. “Geoff is easy to define. Chris will be your wild card. It’ll be interesting to see where he falls in all of this. But to get anything started, you’re going to have to get Geoff on board first.”

Nothing technically had ever happened between Sam, Geoff and Chris, but over time it had become clear, at least to Sam, that something had been happening all along. Subtle things, small moments that had drawn them closer, the seeds of desire and need taking root. But she’d come to the same conclusion Flo had. Geoff was the key.

Flo made it sound like a wonderful adventure was just waiting for her, which had made waiting for the right moment even worse. Sam’s initially vague fantasies were now in sharp hi-def, digging so deeply into her they could make her heart pound and ache whenever she was around the two men.

While she valued their friendship more than anything, and was terrified she might be about to screw that up, that was the curse and blessing of being twenty-five. Her sex drive and emotional compulsions were overriding every caution. Wryly, she’d decided her daily exposure to two hot men she loved made it at least partially their fault that she’d reached the point she was reckless enough to give it a shot and hope for the best. She wanted them both.

No time like the present to start making that clear.

Flo had compared Geoff to a storm. Sam thought of him as the forked lightning that split open the darkness of a room, revealing every corner, everything hidden in the shadows. As she imagined being touched by that lightning, she quivered deep inside, her fingers tightening on her coffee cup.

Courage, Samantha Beth. You can do this. 

Rising from her chair, she slipped out of the aviary, secured the door and padded back into the house, letting the screen door in the kitchen close behind her with a small squeak. The sunlight made her feel warm and ambitious. Optimistic. Geoff wasn’t the only one who could be goal-oriented.

She paused at the door, letting herself savor the sight of him. He had dark blond hair, the strands of lighter and darker colors tangled in an artful, rakish mix he kept longer over his brow, severe on the sides and the nape. Geoff had to be conscious of his appearance in his job, since his law firm was one of the city’s best. He honed his looks the way he did any other skill, until looking urbane, professional and devastating were second nature, not an affectation. For the days he would be in court, he wore his crisp white dress shirts, slim silk ties and one of his two Hugo Boss suits. Despite the suits’ formidable cost when he’d bought them, he’d considered them investments. One was dark charcoal; the other the color of creek rock that picked up the golden tones of his hazel eyes. Currently those eyes were trained on what he was studying while he typed notes one-handed.

When Geoff won his first solo trial, she and Chris had put their money together and bought him silver cufflinks. The cufflinks were the Avengers emblem, an A with one leg longer than the other. Buying anything fashion-related for Geoff was taking a risk, but even if he only kept them in a drawer, she figured he’d enjoy the sentiment of looking at them on occasion. Instead, he wore them every time he went to court. He said they were his good luck piece.

Today he was in casual weekend wear, a worn Just Do It Nike T-shirt and jeans. While she loved the look of him in a suit and had all sorts of Dom/sub fantasies about that, usually with him fully dressed in the suit and her in nothing but a pair of heels and pearls, kneeling before him, she liked his casual look as well. A reminder that he was home, and that she was part of what he considered home.

She stopped behind his chair, inhaled. He showered and shaved every morning, a personal gift to her whether he knew it or not, because the scent of his aftershave on his warm skin kept her world balanced and pleasantly tilted at once. Like the smell of sunshine and cut grass on Chris after he took care of their small lawn.

She and Chris were so used to Geoff working, respecting his space and train of thought, he wouldn’t expect her to talk to him, wouldn’t think her silence rude. But she wondered how long it would take him to notice her standing behind him. Did he have a heightened awareness of her, the way she had of him? She thought about sinking to her knees next to his chair, waiting for his notice, for a command. Would he laugh at her? Ask her what she was doing down there? Or worse, would she see that sharp awareness in his eyes that told her he knew exactly, but he’d shutter that look and play dumb?

Stop over thinking this. Setting aside the coffee, she laid her hands on his shoulders, leaning over one so her long, straight hair fell over her fingers, spilling onto his chest. “Do you want me to get you another cup of coffee?” she murmured in his ear. She let her thumbs slide along his shaved neck. A close-up inhale of that aftershave and his flesh made her almost dizzy with pleasure. Honest to God, he made her tremble when she touched him, because she wanted something only he could provide.

He tilted his head. His serious eyes could make Sam lose her train of thought when they focused on her the way they did now. The starburst of brown around the pupil interlaced with gold, those two colors melting into a forest mix of green.

 “If you’re making some more for yourself.”

“No.” She paused. “I want to make some for you. May I?”

He stilled under her touch. She almost drew back, but instead she let gravity take her fingertips beneath the ribbed collar of his T-shirt to savor the rough friction of his chest hair, the smooth bump of his collar bone beneath her thumb. He reached up, closed his hand on her wrist. He was studying her, weighing her actions.

Figure it out, she thought. Don’t make me be more blatant about it, or I might chicken out.

“You must be lonely for Chris,” he decided. “The two of you usually keep one another company when I’m having to do this crap.” His look was calculated. “Done your exercises yet?”

She almost groaned and pulled her hand away. Yes, she was lonely for Chris, but that wasn’t why she was seeking Geoff out now. He couldn’t really be thinking of things to occupy her, like she was some kind of bored child. But then a thought crossed her mind and rather than snarling, she shrugged. “I hate doing them.”

“I know you do. But you hate that needle even more.”

Because of the hours she spent at the computer as an assistant bank manager, she occasionally suffered a frozen shoulder that had to be loosened up with a steroid shot and a few weeks of agonizing rehab. After it happened the third time, she did resistance band exercises regularly to maintain range of motion. Or at least every two or three days. 

“Okay.” She slipped her hands off him reluctantly, but before she went to get the PT aid, she put another K-cup in the coffee maker and made his coffee, adding the dollop of skim milk he liked. Geoff preferred sugar cubes to sweetener or spooned sugar, and she’d learned to appreciate them as well. Lifting the small lid off the glass jar full of neat, glittering squares, she plucked out four to add to his coffee.

While waiting for his breakfast sandwich to heat in the microwave, Chris would sometimes pull out a handful and make faces or small pyramids out of them. Geoff would grumble, but Sam had noticed he’d always snag his requisite four out of the formation Chris had left. They had so many daily rituals like that, evidence of the intimate friendship that existed between the three of them.

Bringing the fresh cup to Geoff, she set it down by his elbow and took the opportunity to touch him again, letting her hand drift over his biceps, his forearm. Chris was brawny, the kind of build that suggested football player or human tank. Geoff had a runner’s physique, but he added bulk with strength training. As a result, the body under her hand was leaner than Chris’s but just as tough. Chris was just more mass.

She smiled at the thought. If Geoff was the lightning, Chris was the mountain on which Noah had landed after forty days and nights. On that forty-first day, it would have been only a small island, not revealing all that might lie beneath the waves. However, being a mountain, it would wait placidly for the flood to recede so it could continue to be…a mountain. Why would anyone want to be anything different, if one was a mountain? What was better than that?

A mountain that smelled of forest and earth, with rock hard muscles, steady brown eyes and tanned skin, callused hands. Whose laughter was like sunlight reflecting in a moving creek.

She left the kitchen to retrieve the resistance band, came back and hooked it over the kitchen door knob. She did the warm up reps, conscious of the riffle of papers as Geoff looked for something; the way he tapped his pen as he read through what he found. As her heart tripped a little faster, anticipating what she was about to do, she comforted herself with the thought that, if she was about to make a fool of herself, he might not even notice. She reminded herself of the things Flo had told her to fortify her for this moment.

“You already feel his Dominant side, Sam, and you respond to it. I think you’re right, that he hasn’t actively embraced it yet, which isn’t unusual, especially with his workload up until now. A lot of guys, vanilla or kinky, also have to get through those fumbling high school and college years to develop a baseline sexual confidence. If he manages that, he then has to get past a load of politically correct bullshit that tells him he’s an abuser if he wants to dominate a partner. Finally, if he emerges from that quagmire, he has to find an environment in which he can explore his Dom cravings. Or the right sub to inspire him to it.” Flo had winked at her. “It’s just exhausting. Must be why the best Doms are in their forties or older. My opinion, of course.”

Well, if Geoff had never deeply explored that side of himself, Sam was standing at the front of the line, volunteering. But having to start the ball rolling was making her stomach quake.

In the middle of that discussion, Flo had gripped Sam’s hand. The woman was spare with physical affection, so it emphasized the importance of her point. “Having to take the lead to convince him of what you want is pretty much the antithesis of a submissive’s makeup,” she’d said seriously. “But any Dom will tell you, the submissive is usually the braver of the two of them. To surrender control, to truly trust another person to that level, takes a special kind of courage.”

Okay. Sis boom bah, Sam. Go team go. Coughing to cover a laugh at herself, Sam turned her back to the kitchen door, clasping the two ends of the band she had hooked around the knob. Then she stepped forward until her arms started to straighten behind her, her shoulders drawing down and back. She knew the moment Geoff started noticing, because the tapping of the pen stopped, and in the corner of her eye she saw his head lift.

“Can you count it off for me when I’m fully extended?” she asked casually. “Twenty seconds. I always rush to get it over with, and I know you won’t. You’re such a sadist.”
She added that with an absent smile. Then she dared to glance his way.

She nearly choked on a ball of air when she saw how fully she’d captured his attention. His gaze was etching out how her arms were drawn back, the resistance band wrapped over her wrists.

She was still wearing the baby tee she’d worn to bed and her pajama bottoms. No bra, so her nipples were straining against the jersey fabric, and the T-shirt was short enough she felt the flow of air over her abdomen, the tingle against her navel piercing. His attention slid down over that, and honest-to-God, she felt the heat of his gaze like the trail of a fingertip over her exposed hip bone.

She swallowed. “Geoff? Are you counting?”

“Yes. Do you want me to count aloud?” Normally he would have smiled when he teased her like that, asking the obvious, but instead his eyes met hers with a simmering intensity.

“It’s harder for me when you don’t count aloud,” she managed. “I have to wait for you to tell me when you’ve reached twenty.”

“Yes. That’s true.” And still he just looked at her.

She bit her lip, realizing the exercise was even harder when her breath was starting to shorten. She was a total nature girl when it came to keeping herself in shape, preferring hiking, biking or swimming to a gym or calisthenics. She considered exercises like this pure torture. But at least this added an element of sensual torment that kept it from being tedious. When he rose from the chair, her heart pounded a little harder. She might have miscalculated her action-reaction. If she passed out it would likely ruin any progress she might be making with him.

He came around the table, stood in front of her. Reaching out, he toyed with a strand of her hair, followed it down. Her hair was hanging loose, away from her body, but close enough that she could feel the layer of air around his knuckles compress over her tingling nipple.

“You can hold out another ten seconds.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“No?” He tugged on the strand of her hair and then brushed his knuckles against her nipple, lightly. “Even if I do that?”

Her gaze lifted to his, and she moistened her lips. “Do what?”

His lips did curve now, but it wasn’t with humor. “Stay where you are, Samantha Beth. Don’t close your eyes. Tell me when your shoulders start to hurt.”

He was the only one who occasionally called her by her first and middle names. She wondered why he thought she’d close her eyes, but then he brushed both palms over the tips of her breasts. Once, twice… Sensation speared between her legs, to the base of her spine, up into her throat and through her aching shoulders. She found herself straining toward him, lifting her chest.

Whether intended or not, he’d made sure she was doing a very good stretch. But it also pushed her into the red zone.

“Geoff…it’s starting to hurt.”

“Eighteen…nineteen…” He teased her nipples once more, then moved his hands to her shoulders, holding them and easing her back so she didn’t hurt herself trying to relieve the pressure too quickly. “Twenty. You should probably do some of the exercises that work those muscles out another way. You really pushed it on that one.”

He returned to his chair. Started working again as if nothing had happened. Seriously? Was he playing some kind of Dom game with her? No, that was the counting thing, and he’d been starting to get into it, she could tell. Then he’d withdrawn.

She tried not to scream. Ever since she’d become determined to try and actualize this thing between all of them, she’d kept hitting this wall, with both men. From her own observations and deductions, she’d come to the conclusion the men were restrained by the belief that it was an either/or situation; that she was going to choose one or the other. Geoff and Chris had been friends since childhood, so neither would step over that line and jeopardize the chances of the other man. The irony of that was, if she truly was in love with only one of them, she would have denied herself and moved out, because she would never drive a wedge between them. For all that she wanted from both of them, she’d always sensed something as strong percolating between the two, integrated in the shadows of their deep friendship.

If she was brave enough, she might just be the bridge for all of them. If the stubborn cluelessness of two men didn’t make her brain explode. She’d thought about trying to have a meaningful conversation about it, but any attempts to get them to talk about feelings resulted in withdrawal plus shut down. Or they’d just listen to her, nod, and things would continue same as always. God had a sick sense of humor when it came to communication between the sexes.

She did a few more exercises, then she coiled up the resistance band. As she passed behind him again, her gaze slid over what he was doing. She’d seen him print out the document under his left hand, and he hadn’t written any notes on it. The work documents and notes that had to be preserved were to his right, perched on a couple law books. His laptop was in a safe space. Should she… Oh, the hell with it. She eased forward. “Geoff, do you think—”

It was ridiculously easy to tip the coffee mug, less than a fourth of the contents left. A finger of fluid swept across his printout as she drew in a breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She hurried to get a paper towel, came back and started to mop it up. “That was really clumsy.”

“Yes, it was.”

His tone was torn between exasperation and something else. She tried to hide a smile that was part mischief and all nerves, both fueled by something more urgent than either one. She really couldn’t get more contrived. Her face was flushed, she was sure. When he closed his fingers around her wrist, she jerked, not to get away, just a twitch of response.

“Take off your shirt, Sam.”

The unexpected command sent a thrill right through her toes. Especially when she raised her lashes to meet his hazel eyes and saw exactly the look she’d been hoping to inspire. “I can’t…unless you release my wrist.”

“Then ask me to do that.”

Did he feel like she did, a foreigner who suddenly found there was someone who spoke her language, who could connect with her with perfect understanding, making it impossible not to speak straight from her heart?

“I don’t want you to let go of me. I like how it feels, you holding me like that.”

His gaze flickered at that, his jaw tightening. He loosened his grip, but only enough to guide her arm across her body. With her wrist still resting in his hold, she was able to use that hand to free her other arm from the sleeve and pull the shirt over her head. The shirt slid down and draped on the connection between them. He let go of her to pull the shirt off, then recaptured her wrist. He sat at eye level with her breasts, studying the quivering curves.

“Skin like milk and snow. That’s what Chris says. He’s always worried about you going out without sunscreen.” Geoff cupped one of her breasts in his free hand and she made a sound in her throat at the pleasure of it as he held it in his firm grasp, passing his thumb over the nipple until it beaded further. Her pale skin felt too tight for her body. She wanted to be released to fly, only she wanted to fly right to him. He lifted his gaze to her face and the look in his eyes arrested her. So often she’d seen thrilling hints of what she’d suspected was there, but his even, cool expression perversely sent a hot flush through her. So much was happening behind those eyes, things that simultaneously scared her and unleashed the cravings she’d kept wrapped up for far too long.

If he truly hadn’t explored his Dom side, they could be about to crest the first big hill of this roller coaster together. That was scary, but it didn’t scare her, if that made sense. She’d seen things at the private parties with Flo that had scared her, things she wasn’t sure she wanted to do. Florence had helped her with that, too.

“A Master or Mistress doesn’t dominate with ropes or pain. They do it with a word, a look, a simple touch. The rest is just fun and play. The root of what you desire will come from his lips, his hands upon you, the way he looks at you. Dom/sub relationships are ninety percent about the mind.”

Now she understood exactly what Flo meant, because when Geoff was wearing that expression, she was a morass of confused desires and a still heart, waiting for a word from him to begin beating.

“You knocked over my coffee on purpose,” he said thoughtfully. He had a mesmerizing voice. Regardless of whether he spoke softly or in his court voice, it drew attention, made a woman strain her ears to hear what he said. “Did those exercises in front of me to tease me.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “That day we went to Naughty Bits…we didn’t get to talk like you said we would. I’m tired of waiting to talk.”

About a week ago, she’d coaxed them into an erotica shop, Naughty Bits, thinking that would be the best way to send them the message that it didn’t have to be either/or, that she wanted both of them. The intuitive owner, Madison Fine, had drawn Geoff over to The Dungeon Room. Barely breathing, Sam had watched out of the corner of her eye as Geoff fingered floggers and rope, studying the things Madison showed him.

When Sam had darted a glance toward Chris, she’d found him staring at Geoff with an unfathomable expression, until he noticed her watching. Then he started teasing her again about the role playing costumes the two of them had been left to examine.

They hadn’t bought anything that day. Madison had suggested they go to a local bagel shop, discuss their desires and come back after they decided. They’d headed off to do just that. Then Geoff got a call from work about some kind of affidavit crisis. Twenty-four hours later, Esteban was ringing Chris’s cell about the trip to Mississippi.

“Hmm.” Geoff had precisely sculpted features; a far more masculine version of the male beauty often depicted in the sensual Abercrombie & Fitch ads. Though he was a corporate attorney, when his expression became more uncompromising, as it did now, she imagined him as a criminal prosecutor, bringing a hostile witness in line. Or making a point to the jury the way a judge did when admonishing them or giving them instruction.

“I’m tired of bad girls who interrupt my work,” he said in just that tone. “I’m going to spank you.”

Oh God. Yes, please. He must have registered her reaction, for his lips quirked, though his gaze remained steady, flat. He stroked his long fingers over her throat, making her lift her chin, then his grasp on her wrist increased. She wondered how he was going to proceed, how she needed to cooperate or react so they both didn’t end up feeling foolish, but he took all those concerns away. In one decisive pull, he yanked her down over his lap.

Strong as she knew he was, feeling it firsthand stirred up a whole hive of bees in her lower belly. He brought her down over his knees and steadied her before she could even start to flail, uncertain of her position. Bracing a hand on her ass, he took a nice solid grip on one cheek through her flannel pajama bottoms.

He wasn’t tentative about it, which made a suspicion bloom. He’d done this before. Or maybe he was like her, thinking about the same kind of thing so often that he made the switch from theory to fact without a hitch. She’d told herself she’d have to have courage to go down this road, but what if she found out she couldn’t handle the reality of it? She was about to find out. Maybe that was why he’d decided to finally act. Not because she’d pushed it, but to see if he could scare her back into her corner.

No. A sadist he might be, but cruel he wasn’t. He wouldn’t humiliate her to no purpose, or he wasn’t the friend she felt she knew, inside and out. But still, anticipating his Dom side for so long, imagining what it would be like, was very different from being so abruptly immersed in it.

Hooking his thumb under her waist band, he dragged her pajamas to her thighs, exposing her ass. Once committed, he didn’t believe in half measures. She bit back an unexpected moan, not wanting to do anything to change his mind. Geoff had her over his lap, her backside exposed, and was going to spank her. She was shaking a little, no matter that she was trying to hide it.

“Milk and snow here as well,” he mused. “I’ve thought about making this gorgeous ass red plenty of times. Especially when you parade around in front of me and Chris in these tiny T-shirts and low-riding pajama bottoms like we’re your brothers or some shit like that.” He sounded almost mean. She wet her lips.

“I didn’t mean—not at first.”

“I know. But it still made me want to teach you better manners. Now be quiet. I’m going to count in my head again, and you’ll just have to guess how high I’m going to go. Spread your thighs out. I want to see your cunt get wet from this.”

She’d never thought of such words coming from Geoff’s mouth. She’d imagined some things, sure, but she’d shied from the rougher stuff, not sure of herself. But when she heard the primitive word fall from his cultured lips, anticipation leaped in her chest. She adjusted her thighs.

“Nice,” he said, in a low voice that had gone thick with lust. “Christ, Sam. You’re going to kill me.”

“But…”

Whap!

She jumped at the first swat. It was more surprising than painful, but the sensation that swirled around it caught hold of her, stopped the words in her throat, so that his subsequent admonition wasn’t necessary.

“I told you to be quiet. No talking. You can moan or plead all you want, though. I’d like to hear that.”

That outrageous statement came with a surge of confusing response. Sam wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to be insulted or…quiet. She found she wasn’t capable of either.

He kept a restraining hand clamped on one buttock as he worked on the other, and it was a crazy feeling, the hold of his fingers on her flesh as his palm cracked against the opposite cheek in a series of blows that started to warm her skin, make it tingle. Then it began to burn, sting. He switched, worked on the other side, then adjusted his hold to the center of her back to start spanking the full area.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long… Your pussy’s all slick and smells like heaven. I’d like to tie you up. Chris and I would take turns eating you for hours.”

Oh, God. He understood.

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged or suggested sharing her in any way, which made her so glad and hopeful, the words pulled a whimper from her. He’d gone still again, as if waiting to see what her reaction would be, and now he chuckled, a dangerous sound.

“Yeah. Careful what you wish for, little girl.”