Page 138 of Broken in Their Hands
They bring me to Ian’s office, where they strap me to the bench Ian used that first week when I was late for a piano lesson. Only this time, it’s not just a strap over my thighs. They also add one around my waist and lock my hands into leather cuffs, binding them together at my back, and connect the rope to my collar so I can’t reach my ass.
Then they each grab a cane and start circling me—two predators having cornered their prey. The canes flash in my peripheral vision. They swish them through the air, causing me to yelp. The fear is almost even worse than the pain, and I strain against the straps, panting and wheezing.
“Stop,” I beg when a particularly severe swish slashes through the air right next to my ear. But just as the word has left my mouth, another cane slashes through the air. And connects with my ass.
“Ah,” I cry out, panting and heaving, the pain utterly overwhelming. But before it can take over and crash me into panic, one of them is right there at my side, gripping my nape and leaning close. Ian’s breath comes hot against my ear as he says in a low growl, “What is the right response?”
“One, thank you,” I say, the words rushing out on a staggered exhale. But the gratitude is genuine. As much as I hate the cane, I love it as well. It’s an extension of them—my two men, my whole world.
“You love it,” Killian says from behind me and taps my ass lightly with the tip of the cruel implement. “Just admit it.”
“No,” I squeal.
He flicks the cane again, eliciting a choked scream from me. I claw my bound hands against thin air, needing something to hold onto. Killian gives me just what I need when he leans over me and slips a hand into both of mine. His grip is firm but also gentle, but his voice is hard and unrelenting when he demands, “Admit it.”
“Yes,” I blurt. “I do. I love it. I love you, I love Ian.” I lift my head to look up at Ian, who’s smiling now. The authority is still firm in his posture, but there’s so much warmth and love in his eyes. “So Much,” I say, straining my neck to hold his gaze for a moment. Then I glance back at Killian. “So much.” I drop my head again, too woozy to hold the awkward position—too damnlost in their control to act upon my own free will. “I love both of you and our little family full of fur babies.”
They both chuckle at that, and I let out a small drunken laugh myself.
“Three fur babies,” Killian muses and sinks to his haunches to stroke my hair with his free hand. “I can’t believe you got me a dog.” He dips his head down to mine, nuzzling my hair and breathing me in. The air goes fraught with emotion. “Thank you,” he whispers. “It’s the best damn gift anyone has ever gotten me.” He considers for a moment, then straightens. “Well, actually, this is. He slips his hand onto the front of my neck, just above the collar. “This is,” he repeats, voice growing hoarse with a note of honesty. “Thank you, Dad. For giving me the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m gonna cry now,” I say as tears pool in my eyes, followed by a sniffle. I always choke up when my two men have moments like these, showing appreciation for one another.
Ian hums. “You know we like that, sweetheart.” He reaches down to feel the edges of my eyes, catching a little moisture. “Do you like to please us?”
“Of course.”
“Then ask us to make it hurt. Ask us to make you cry.”
“Please,” I whisper, then close my eyes and draw a shuddery breath. “Please, will you make it hurt and make me cry?” In a moment of clarity, seeing this scenario through the eyes of the rational world, I can’t believe what I’m asking for. But it’s just that—a brief moment. When Ian hums again and Killian kisses my head—so much affection and appreciation—the real clarity comes. That little flash of uncertainty was just a remnant of my former self—a girl driven by learned norms and stifling insecurities. This girl—my true self—knows that this is just where I belong. With my two men, graciously asking for theirpain, asking them to make me cry. Because it’s all theirs. My tears, my joy, my love, and my trust. All theirs to have.
“Such a good girl,” Killian croons. “As a reward, you’re getting ten extra strikes. And as a thank you for the dog, another ten.”
“That’s fifty,” I gasp with incredulity.
“Do you trust me?” Killian asks. It’s a question he didn’t ask for a long time. Not even when I truly started trusting him and often told him so. But now, he’s saying it every time he’s about to push my boundaries.
And my answer is always the same. “Yes,” I say with firm clarity and soften into the padded bench, welcoming the pain I’m about to receive. “I trust both of you with all my heart.”
