Victor unbuttoned his sleeve, fingers working methodically, and plucked a silken blindfold from the inside pocket. He twined it loose, and then, with practiced ease, tied it around Felicity's eyes.
She stiffened, uncertain, then shuddered in recognition when she felt the brush of Victor's forearm at her cheek.
"You will sit, and you will listen, and you will be good," he said softly. "And you will let us love you right."
Felicity swallowed.
Voss was first. He pressed against her from the front, his scent a rush of rain and earth and animal. His hands skimmed her ribs, up to cup her jaw and hold her still while he kissed her slow, patient, unhurried. Behind her, a second set of hands: Ivan's, deliberate and warm, pressing gentle on her shoulders, then sliding under the collar of her shirt.
Someone Damien, she guessed, from the sly scrape of teeth nipped at the heel of her ear, and she gasped, arching back.
