The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

a tug of the ends of the rope he was holding, pulling me along like I was his captive. Was it wrong to like how it made me feel? Because I did. I left my underwear behind on the floor as I marched toward the beautiful piece he’d set up in preparation for the scene. When I reached it, I turned and sat, my skin quietly squealing against the cool leather as I shifted into position.

I hadn’t finished settling down before Clay threaded the loose end of the rope through the metal handle at the table’s end and pulled, stretching my arms up. The cord was taut, vibrating subtly as it was tied off.

Clay could have asked for Travis’s help with securing me to the table, but he didn’t. Maybe he liked doing it himself, or perhaps he wanted the other man to feel like an outsider, looking in. Clay wasn’t able to do anything when he watched from Florida, so maybe he wanted Travis to experience the same thing.

Clay stepped back and his gaze swept over my body, which was naked except for my heels, and it stoked the fire that had been flickering inside me.

I waited to be punished.

Was eager for it, even, because I suspected it’d release all the negative feelings I’d been struggling with. The guilt, the shame . . . the tension of wanting both men and worrying how that’d make the other feel if they found out.

As I stared up at the ceiling, I wondered what form my consequences would take. A cane? Nipple clamps? Clay turned and strode across the room, and I lifted my head to watch him go. Travis studied him too as the man approached. Although we could talk to each other now during a scene, it felt disrespectful to do it, and he looked at Clay with anxiety.

Like he worried he was going to be asked to deliver my punishment.

But Travis wasn’t Clay’s destination. A mini fridge sat to the side of the workbench, which he opened and pulled out a Ziplock bag from the freezer compartment. I only got a glimpse of what was inside before he shut the fridge, set the bag down on the workbench, and picked up a leather work glove.

The inside of the bag seemed to be ice, only it wasn’t shaped in a cube.

An icicle?

My stomach bottomed out and my mouth went dry as he opened the bag and pulled the thing out. It was long and shaped like a popsicle, rounded at one end, and there was no doubt in my mind what he intended to do with it.

It scared me how much the idea turned me on.

EIGHTEEN

Did this idea turn Travis on too? He eyed the shaft of ice in Clay’s hand and shifted, making the stool squeak beneath his weight.

Clay slipped on the glove, probably to prevent his fingers from getting too cold, but also to help him keep his grip. The ice was already glossy, as if it had begun to melt in the freezer. He carried it around the table to the far side, so that once he began, he wouldn’t block Travis’s view.

He’d said they were going to work on his control, and I got the feeling it was about to be tested.

Clay cast a glance down at me on the table, my bound wrists above my head. “I assume you haven’t done temperature play before.”

My voice was hushed. “No.”

He turned the icicle over so it was tip-down, and dangling over my chest. “I asked you to do something for me, and you said you would, but you didn’t. So now we have an issue of trust.”

A droplet of water formed on the bottom of the icicle and broke free, landing just to the side of one of my nipples. I flinched at the cold and the damp track it left as it dripped down my side.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He asked it in a hypnotic voice. “Do you trust me?”

I peered up into his eyes, and for the first time, I wished he weren’t wearing glasses. Even though I could easily see through the lenses, I didn’t like anything between us. His intense stare was so deep, it went on forever.

“Yes,” I breathed. “I trust you.”

I’d been so focused on him, I’d forgotten about the ice hovering above until a new drip splashed onto my skin, this time hitting its target and making me startle. A faint smile twisted on his lips just before he bent at the waist and licked the drop from my hardened nipple.

I sighed with contentment. The cold water followed by his warm tongue felt so nice—

“Fuck,” I gasped, jolting hard enough the table beneath me gave a groan.

While he’d distracted me with his mouth, he’d also run the frigid tip of the icicle down between my legs, making the ice skate over my hot, sensitive clit. The sensation was gone as soon as it registered, but the melted water it left behind dripped down and pooled on the leather.

I was smart enough to know this was only a hint of what was planned. A taste of what he had in store for me. For us, I corrected, because I could see Travis in my peripheral vision as he sat nearby, watching the scene. I was curious about how he felt. Was he wishing he were the one standing over me right now, rather than the one stuck on the sidelines?

Was he jealous?

Steam fogged my mind. I couldn’t help it. The basic woman in me thrilled at the idea of two men fighting over her. I was still figuring out who they were as people, but I could already tell they were both competitive.

Perhaps Clay knew he didn’t have my undivided attention—because he seemed determined to get it back. The melting ice trailed over my stomach, drawing patterns and leaving tracks of water behind. He slid it up over a breast and down the curve to the sensitive side, making me squirm.

He delivered his correction