Chapter Four

Harper's POV

The first man is leaning against a concrete wall. He has his arms crossed over his chest and his shirt is open, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows so it reveals the lean muscle and a scattering of tattoos along both forearms. He has a strong jaw, a lazy smirk, and deep green eyes that seem to look right through the screen. His jeans ride low on his hips, the V of his lower abdomen sharply defined and unapologetically visible.

The second guy is seated on the edge of a bed, he has one arm resting behind him, and the other lifting a bottle of beer to his lips. He’s a bit broader than the first, with darker skin and a sleeve of ink stretching from his shoulder to his wrist. His hair is short and neat, and if I focus hard enough I can see the stubble on his chin. His abs are visible beneath an unbuttoned flannel, and his jeans, like the first, are hanging low, deliberately, enticingly low like it's an invitation to look.

The third guy is different. He has a beard, that is neatly trimmed but thick enough to make him look older than the other two. He’s leaning back in a leather chair, and has one leg draped lazily over the other, his chest is bare, and showing the tattoos running up his torso and across one collarbone. There’s something dangerous in his expression, something that feels more like a dare than an invitation. His jeans are unzipped again like the others, just enough to make the message clear.

Then there’s the group photo of them all standing together in front of a balcony at night. I can see the city lights glittering behind them. They're all shirtless and laughing like something off camera has happened. Their bodies are angled toward one another, as if they are used to moving as a single unit.

They look confident, attractive and mostly powerful. Like they’ve done this before and like they already know I’ll say yes.

I sit there, staring. Three men, not one, but three. I didn't expect this to be an option. Depsite the fear that twists in my gut, it's not just dread that is rising inside of me. Something else is also, something that I don't want to name or speak of.

I hesitate for a long time, and stare at the last photo of them standing together. Their smiles are easy, and their bodies relaxed but something about them is unmistakably calculated. The way they stand, the glint in their eyes, the space they take up even through a screen. I blink hard, then scroll down to read their bio.

We’re looking for a baby girl we can spoil together, as three daddies. Just for one night with no strings, purely play.

The words do something strange to me. Baby girl. Daddies. I’ve heard it before, on the street. Girls who whisper about it the ones who live a different life to me, and I'd always rolled my eyes and kept my distance from that world. But here I am now, with the kind of attention pointed toward me, and it doesn't feel so easy to dismiss it. Sighing, I go back to reading their profile.

We don’t require age play, but if that’s your thing, we won’t say no. Whether you’re a submissive or a slave, or just a brat who needs a firm hand, we welcome it.

I shift where I sit, and process that. There’s a strange pull to their words, like they’ve written them not for anyone, but for me. I don’t even know what I am, submissive, brat, slave? If they ask what do I say to that? The words swim in my head like a language I’ve only heard in passing. Okay, focus, read more!

Your interests don’t have to be a perfect match for ours. We only give and take what you’re willing to explore. Consent is everything. Boundaries are respected. Always.

That part makes something inside me loosen. It feels like safety, even if it’s just words on a screen. I read it again. Only what you’re willing to explore. That should make it easier and make it okay, but it also feels like something everyone would say to trick women.

We want to spoil our baby girl and make her feel like the center of our universe. We want her to feel like the only person in the world who matters for one night. All eyes, all hands, all attention, on her.

I let out a shaky breath. I can’t remember the last time anyone looked at me like I mattered. Like I was wanted without expectation, without being a burden. Certainly not Mark. Not in years.

I scroll further, and there it is, the part I was dreading. The list of what they like, want and hope for.

Some of the activities we enjoy include: prolonged oral attention, MFM scenarios, light bondage, sensory deprivation, restraint play, orgasm denial, impact play (spanking, flogging), edging, temperature play, knife play (with consent), and deep oral control. This list is not a demand, it’s an invitation. As we’ve said before, we don’t expect you to agree to everything. Only what makes you feel good. Only what you want to give.

Somewhere between knife play and deep oral control I stopped breathing, it is a big list, a powerful list and I feel like that is just the tip of what they want and expect. Knife play makes my stomach twist in something close to fear, while deep oral control has me cheeks burning in a way I don't expect.

They have it listed like it's a buffet, a selection of pleasures and no doubt punishments. It's power and surrender and some of it makes my skin crawl while others make heat pool low in my stomach. This entire thing is confusing me. I don't what it means to want those things, but the idea that they could ask, that they could want it, and help me feel like I want it as well stirs something inside of me.

I scroll to the next section and read.

Now, be a good girl and hit that message button. Not sure what to say? Send us a wink, and we’ll take care of the rest.

My thumb hovers over the screen but I don’t click and I certainly don’t look at Mark. I simply sit here, with the words echoing in my mind.

Be a good girl.

The center of our universe.

Only what you’re willing to give.

I’ve never been wanted like that, not even in dreams and maybe it’s all lies. Maybe they’re predators in nice suits with perfect smiles. Maybe I’d walk into that room and never come out the same.

But for a flicker of a moment, one fleeting, treacherous moment, I wonder what it would feel like to be everything they promised.