“Him who?” Eleanor asked.
The car pulled over. The door opened.
A young man of about twenty-three years old with dark spiky hair, a handsome face and a dirty grin got into the car.
“Happy Birthday, beautiful,” he said.
“Oh my God. Griffin.” Eleanor threw herself into Griffin’s arms, and he pulled her so close to him it almost hurt. “When did you get back?”
“Two nights ago.”
“And you didn’t call me?” she asked, feigning irritation.
“Surprise,” he said, grinning.
She sat on this lap and wrapped her arms around him. Griffin…she loved this kid. Had it only been eight months ago when Kingsley had first summoned Griffin to the town house and shown him the ropes? She’d been in the ropes that night as Kingsley beat her and fucked her, all as part of a demonstration showing Griffin what kink in action had looked like. He’d taken to the scene like a duck to water, but old habits had died hard. Kingsley had caught him snorting coke in one of the town house bathrooms one day and stone drunk the next day. Kingsley had enough demons of his own, he’d said, without inviting Griffin’s demons over for tea. So Kingsley had laid down the ultimatum—go to rehab and get clean or…get out. Griffin had gone to rehab.
And now he was back.
“God, I missed you,” she said as she pressed her face against his warm strong neck and inhaled cedar and suede. Griffin always smelled as if he’d just stepped out of a shower.
“Good,” he said, taking her by the upper arms and positioning her on his lap. “Because I’m your birthday present.”
He smiled ear-to-ear, a wide dirty grin that Griffin had perfected. Women and men both fell for that grin all the time. She was no exception. But until tonight he’d been off-limits for anything but friendship.
“Are you serious?” She looked back at Kingsley. “Søren’s okay with this?”
“He is,” Kingsley said. “But if you don’t believe me, you can ask him.”
The car pulled over again. The door opened again.
And Søren got inside.
She was off Griffin’s lap and in Søren’s arms in an instant.
“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Søren whispered in her ear. “But is it for me? Or for him?”
“Always for you,” she said, kissing him on the mouth. “I can’t believe you…”
“This is what you requested for your birthday, wasn’t it?” Søren asked, a slight smile at the edge of his lips.
“I was joking. Sort of. I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now she understood why Kingsley wouldn’t let her drink. Griffin was two days fresh out of rehab. No reason to tempt fate by letting him taste alcohol on her lips.
Søren had teased her about her crush on Griffin, the new Dominant Kingsley had found. She’d sworn up and down her feelings for Griffin were of the purest sort of friendship. Although she wouldn’t mind getting fucked by Griffin, of course. It would make a lovely birthday present, she’d said to Søren. She’d been joking obviously. Sort of. Not entirely.
“I pay the most attention when you pretend you’re joking,” Søren said, proving once and for all that he knew her better than anyone.
“I love you, sir.”
He kissed her back, kissed her deep, and at the moment when she thought the kiss would go on forever, Søren gripped her by the back of the neck, unbuttoned the top button on her blouse and said, “Who’s first?”
That’s when Eleanor knew Griffin wasn’t her only birthday present that night. All three of them were.
The silence that follows such a question is pregnant with possibility. And in those few seconds, the various possible scenarios flashed through Eleanor’s mind. Søren shared her with Kingsley all the time. Kingsley even had permission to be with her when Søren wasn’t there. And once Søren had ordered her to spend a week at a mansion in New Hampshire with a man named Daniel. But she was one woman in the back of a Rolls-Royce and three different men were about to fuck her.
Happy birthday to her.
“I’ve been in rehab for the past month. If I don’t fuck soon, I will literally die,” Griffin said.
“Well, we can’t have that,” Søren intoned smoothly. He unbuttoned another button on her white sheer blouse. “Eleanor’s fond of you, Griffin. I think she’d be most heartbroken if something happened to you.”
“I would, Griff. You’re my favorite rookie.”
He glared at her, his handsome brow furrowing in playful disgust. “I should spank you for calling me that.”
“You should,” Søren said. “She won’t learn to respect your authority any other way.”
“Come here, bad girl.” Griffin tapped his lap. “I have a present to deliver.”
“One moment.” Søren reached into the pocket of his black overcoat. “First things first.”
He wrapped her collar around her neck and locked it into place. She leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes.
Søren put his mouth at her ear and whispered, “Even with them you’re with me. Remember that.”
“I remember, sir,” she whispered back.
“You want this?” he asked, even softer now.
“Yes, sir.”
“Happy Birthday, Little One.”
He kissed her neck where the leather of her white collar met her skin and she shivered in pleasure. Fear radiated through her body as Søren transferred her from his lap to Griffin’s. But he was there, Søren was. Watching, guarding, protecting her. Nothing to be afraid of. Tonight was for her pleasure only.
Griffin had never kissed her before. And before he did now, she saw him glance at Søren for permission. Søren nodded and Griffin pressed his lips to hers. She opened her mouth, sensing his nervousness at performing for a crowd, this crowd especially. Kingsley and Søren sat on the back bench seat. She and Griffin were on the front one that sat behind the curtained wall separating them from the driver. No two men in the Underground were more feared and respected than Søren and Kingsley. And now Griffin was going to fuck her while they watched. If he could get it up under such circumstances, she’d be impressed. He shifted her on his lap and she felt his erection pressing hard against her bottom.
Count her impressed.
Griffin deepened the kiss while Eleanor unbuttoned his shirt. She touched his broad muscular shoulders and biceps as he bit and nipped at her lips. For a moment she forgot she had an audience until Griffin threw her onto her back in a quick show of power and dominance. She gasped in surprise. From the back of the Rolls, Kingsley and Søren applauded.
“Good show,” Kingsley said. “Nice technique.”
“It’s not easy to catch her off guard,” Søren agreed.
“Are you two going to comment the entire time?” Griffin asked, looking up from her.
“Of course,” Kingsley said, reaching into a black satchel next to his booted legs. “I’m the French judge. He’s the Danish judge.”
Kingsley handed Søren a set of cards with the numbers one through ten on them.
Score cards.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Griffin said, groaning and burying his face against her chest.
“Be glad Mistress Irina isn’t here, Griffin.” Kingsley shuffled casually through his cards. “No one ever impresses the Russian judge.”
Eleanor reached up and touched Griffin’s face. He met her eyes and she met his. He had rich hazel eyes, sweet and soulful, like a child’s almost.
“Make me feel good,” she said in a voice low enough only Griffin could hear it. “Please, Mr. Griffin. It’s my birthday.”
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