The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) Nikki Sloane (sight word books TXT) 📖

While I was looking at them, E went to the workbench, removed my phone from the stand, and brought it to me. I took it, and he sat beside me, close enough that our legs touched.

“Are you cold?” Clay asked.

My body was cooling off, and I was going to answer, but E abruptly scooped me up into his arms.

“What—?” The rest of my question died as he dragged me into his lap. I was now sitting sideway on him, and his thick arms circled around me. My gaze bounced from the man holding me to the phone in my hand.

“How was this for you?” Clay’s focus was on me and his tone curious. “Did you like being tied up?”

“Yes.”

It was distracting how E’s hands smoothed over my skin while I talked to Clay, but I enjoyed it. He not only kept me warm, but the connection was nice. Plus, I was tired like I’d just run for miles and had the overpowering desire to cling to him.

“And the paddle?”

“Oh, I liked that a lot.”

Behind his glasses, Clay’s thrilled smile reached his eyes. “At any point did it get to be too much? More than you’d want in the future?”

I shook my head, and my voice went soft. “It was just the right amount.”

My words affected both men. E’s hands skimmed up my back, over my shoulder, and down my arm until his fingertips skated along the rope pattern.

“Anything you didn’t like?” Clay leaned closer to the camera like he wanted to be closer to me. “Anything you wished we’d done?”

My gaze went to the St. Andrew’s cross like it was magnetized, tracing the lines and lingering on the rings where restraints would be clipped. “I thought we’d use the cross.”

Clay gave a surprised half of a chuckle. “Maybe next time.”

Next time.

E lifted my wrist and pressed his lips to the underside, kissing the indentations there. It made my heart flutter. He was supposed to be a surrogate, giving me what Clay physically couldn’t, and although my partner had been attentive last time after we’d played together, this tender kiss from E seemed out of character for Clay.

It was half-teasing, half-serious from me. “You weren’t like this last time.”

“No,” Clay sucked in a heavy breath, “but sometimes the sub isn’t the only one who needs aftercare.”

There was so much meaning in what he’d said and how he’d done it in a measured tone. Clay was a dominant who didn’t need to snuggle or bond afterward . . . but he wasn’t going to ignore the needs of the other person in the room. Even if he wanted me to pretend the scene had only been between us.

I watched E as he continued to rub and kiss the marks on my wrist like he was worshipping them. So, I wasn’t sure who I was speaking to when I made my announcement. “I love the way the marks look.”

“Mm, me too,” Clay said. “The ones around your throat are beautiful.”

It was like E hadn’t been aware of them until then, and his hot mouth lifted from my wrist so he could set his lips against the side of my neck. I shuddered with pleasure as he kissed me.

While I stared at Clay onscreen, E’s kisses carved a path, following the line of the rope, and I went weaker with each one, sinking further into his arms. Clay’s expression was fixed. It seemed like he was trying very hard to stay indifferent, and I was struck with the thought.

With all we’d done today, the way I’d been shared between the men, it was only E’s innocent kisses that caused worry to pool in Clay’s eyes. Wait a minute . . . It wasn’t worry.

It was jealousy.

TWELVE

After Clay and I spent Wednesday night talking about things we wanted to explore with each other, Thursday’s session was more . . . intense. E arrived not long after Clay had called, and I’d been eager to head down to the basement.

Once again, the St. Andrew’s cross was ignored, and I stood beside it in my disappointment while E disappeared inside the storage closet. He emerged a moment later, carrying a piece that looked heavy and confusing—until he set it on its front foot and unfolded it.

It reminded me of a weight training bench. It had a small seat and a tall adjustable back that could be set up at different angles or lay flat. Plus, there was a metal bar at the base of the front foot with rings at either end. Like Clay’s other designs, this one was sleek and elegant, covered in black vinyl with sexy red accents.

While E finished setting the chair up, I was instructed to get naked, and when I had my clothes folded in a neat stack on the workbench, E pulled leather cuffs from his bag, dropping one pair of them on the floor with a loud thud beside the chair.

My breath caught.

Whatever Clay had planned for us, I sensed it was a level up from what we’d previously done. There was a different mood than last time, and the air crackled with electricity. E’s posture wasn’t awkward, but it was stiff. As if he were anxious.

He stalked toward me with the other pair of black cuffs in his hands and a stern expression. It was seriously hot, and I was giddy with excitement, holding out my wrists eagerly.

The thick leather was lined with faux fur. It was fitted around me and buckled, one wrist then the other, and the metal clasps tinkled as they dangled down.

“You won’t need a safe word tonight,” Clay said from the screen of E’s laptop, which rested on the workbench. Our conversation tonight had started on my phone, but once we’d moved downstairs, E had pulled his MacBook from his bag, linked into Clay’s WiFi, and called him through Skype. It allowed us to see everything on a bigger screen—not just Clay, but what E was doing to me too.

“Okay,” I said, somewhat confused. We hadn’t discussed safe words yet, so