Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Ivy suggested we have the DJ booth where the old bar stood, and then the new bar over there in the new area.” I gestured to the space. From where I stood, we’d have kink and dance to the left and chill seating areas to the right. Something I was really looking forward to. Most of the time, I’d ended up on the patio during events because I couldn’t fucking think with the loud music. It worked fine for shorter periods of time, but our younger members wanted a nightclub. They wanted to come out here and dance on the weekends.
Tate spoke incoherently behind the ball gag and motioned for Kingsley, who unfastened the gag to let him speak.
“You got a little drool there.” I pointed to the corner of his mouth.
He rolled his eyes at me, the little punk, and wiped at his mouth. “Anyway. Slight problem with having the club extend throughout the entire length of the house.” He gestured toward the double doors leading to the tower. “We just auctioned off three studios that don’t exist yet, but once they do, they’ll hear everything.”
I scratched my forehead. “We can soundproof that, can’t we?”
“Of course we can,” Kingsley said confidently. “Tate, talk to Beau. He works in construction. Actually—there’s Noa too. If I’m not totally out there, he’s got some internship at a music studio. Maybe he’ll know something about soundproofing.”
It was worth a shot.
It’d been a genius idea by River to let the tower bring in some money for our renovation fund. Over the years, we’d had plenty of members who wanted a cabin or guest room they could rent and call their own. And the tower…well, that’d been a headache too. It was three stories, just like the rest of the house, and each floor could be accessed through the main house. But we’d kept it closed, aside from the room on the second floor. The other two were in shambles. More storage space. It needed to be repainted, there was no heating, and I was frankly surprised they hadn’t found mildew in the room down here.
“Reese!” I heard Shay call. “River’s cranky, so I’m gonna start dinner!”
I chuckled and gave Tate’s shoulder a squeeze. “Keep taking notes. I’m just gonna check in with River.”
Shay
“What’s this…?” Daddy asked. He cocked a brow at River. “You don’t look cranky.”
I smiled and pulled him into the dark changing room. “I lied. We just wanted a moment.”
He didn’t need more information than that. Reese understood. I closed the door behind him, and then we got our little break. Sometimes it was the only thing that gave me energy. I plastered myself to Daddy and hugged his middle, and River squeezed us both to him.
“Tell me if anything’s wrong,” Reese murmured.
I shook my head.
“Nothing’s wrong,” River replied quietly. “We just needed this.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
The dark could be very freeing. No one could judge what they couldn’t see. No sound was strong enough to pierce our shield. Between the three of us, we kept ourselves and one another safe, strong, and loved. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.
And for one stolen minute or five, we reinforced that shield. We held one another, we charged our batteries, I told my Daddy I loved him, I told my Owner I loved him, they squeezed me so tightly and said I was everything to them. We kissed and felt one another’s heartbeats slow down, scruff rasping softly, tongues teasing lazily, hands caressing soothingly.
River sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
“You’re not gonna find out,” Reese replied firmly.
“What Daddy said,” I added.
TUESDAY
Lucas | Kit | Colt
Lucas West
What on earth was taking them so long? I jogged up the stairs, all the way to the third floor, where I found them in the same spot as twenty minutes ago when I’d told them it was time to go.
Seated comfortably side by side in Kit’s hobby room, they were building model aircraft. Both concentrating, both muttering about technical specs on whatever jets they were building, one eating ice cream with half a dozen toppings, the other sipping coffee and finally using his new reading glasses. Although, I should probably call them model craft glasses.
“…but we don’t have any two-seaters left, do we?” Kit was musing.
Colt hummed as he applied a narrow strip of tape across a wing. “Probably not in service, but you’ll undoubtedly find some in San Antonio.”
“Oh. Duh. Yeah, for training. That makes sense. I read an article about the F101-X—”
I cleared my throat pointedly and leaned against the doorframe. “Honestly, Colt. You’re supposed to lead by example.”
“Crap,” Kit whispered sheepishly.
Colt muttered a curse and looked at me over his shoulder, and the sight was just so frustratingly, endearingly funny. My sexy, cocky pilot was aging like a fine wine—a bit more stockiness in his frame, a bit more silver in his hair, a few more wrinkles, now his new glasses, and always with that Texas glint in his eyes.