Woolf didn’t tell me much about what to expect tonight, and I think that was calculated on his part to stimulate my nerves. The only thing he would reveal was that it wasn’t going to take place at The Silo but at one of the private cabins. For a moment, I felt keen disappointment that I wouldn’t be getting the full experience I had been fantasizing about since my first trip into Woolf’s kinky world, but then he smirked at me, chucked me under the chin, and said, “Don’t worry, Callie. This will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

I’ll never tell Woolf but before he picked me up at my father’s house, I had taken two shots of bourbon to help steady my nerves. While on the one hand, I was very excited about what I was getting ready to experience with Woolf, I was also nervous—strike that, terrified—about having people watch us. I wanted it, but it made my stomach tighten with anxiety. I felt on edge, and I was afraid that at the first touch from Woolf that I would burst into a million fragments so miniscule that I would never be put back together again.

When we got to the cabin, no one was there. Woolf said he wanted to arrive earlier than the others to get me ready. Getting me ready included stripping me naked, giving me a quick but mind-blowing orgasm with his fingers that made my legs feel like jelly, and a white silk robe to put on before the hood.

We’re in a large bathroom… the woman’s bathroom to be exact, and as I look in the mirror, I think to my hooded self, Hello New Callie Hayes. If only Will could see you now.

I snicker over the thought and Woolf comes up to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. He towers over me so he’s easily able to hold my gaze in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” he asks me softly. It’s a sweet gesture, but I can see it deep in his eyes. He wants me to say “no” so he can whisk me out of here. While the last two days Woolf and I have been ravenous for each other and not holding back, he’s managed to end each encounter with a plea for me to change my mind about going through with this.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “A little nervous about what to expect.”

I didn’t think he’d give me details, but I more than expected and was happy to receive a squeeze to my shoulders and an encouraging smile. “If you want to stop at any time, that’s all you have to say and I’ll get you right out of there, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, bringing my hands up to lay over the top of his. When our eyes meet and lock in the mirror, I say, “Thank you for doing this for me.”

He just nods and says, “Stay here a moment while I make sure everything is ready.”

An attack of rabid butterflies start zinging around in my stomach, but I give him my most confident smile. In just a few minutes, I’m getting ready to change my narrow little world forever.

Woolf leads me down the short hall to the main room. I had taken a good moment to study it when we first arrived, and it was empty. Dark burgundy walls, polished mahogany wood floors with fluffy cream-colored rugs, and a variety of furniture scattered about. There is a large, four-poster bed covered in cream-colored silk sheets but no pillows and several gothic, high-backed chairs done with padded, camel-color leather that edge the perimeter of the room. Finally, I see a large, wooden chest and most interestingly, a massive cross mounted to the floor in the shape of an “X”. I don’t know what it is but the padded leather cuffs hanging from an iron ring from each corner tells me all I need to know.

I wonder if I’ll be mounted to that “X” before the night is over? The thought has me on the verge of crying… maybe from fear, or maybe excitement, I’m not sure.

As Woolf steps out into the main room, I suck in a deep breath as I see several people standing around.

I realize at once that I thought an actual audience might be a possibility, what with the hood and all, but seeing them actually there is still a shock to my senses nonetheless.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I look at the men and women, about seven as I count them. They’re all dressed casually, sipping on cocktails as they stand around and talk. The minute we enter, they all turn to look at me with carnal interest. One man even reaches down and rubs the bulge in his pants. Woolf nods to them one by one, and I’m so caught up in trying to figure out who these people are and how Woolf chose them to be there, I’m startled when two hands come to my waist and grip me strongly.

A glance over my shoulder and I see Bridger standing there. My eyes go wide with surprise. He just stares at me with those whiskey-brown eyes, neither friendly nor aloof but definitely calculating. Perhaps trying to figure out the best way to do things to me. It causes a shiver to run up my spine as I realize that Woolf has invited another man to this party… Bridger, to be exact.

Woolf lets go of my hand as Bridger turns me to face him. I can’t help it when my eyes go on a journey without my approval, taking in the large man before me. He has a few inches in height over Woolf and while I always knew he was a large man, the fact that he stands there now with his shirt off has me momentarily stunned. I’m not sure what regimen he follows but however the man works out, it has left him with sleek but brawny muscles seemingly carved out of bronzed marble. My eyes travel quickly down to his right hip, where a pair of black track pants hangs low. I see a flock of tattooed blackbirds taking flight up and over his rib cage, getting progressively larger in size as they reach his pectoral muscle and then turning their flight path inward toward the center of his chest. Then right there, over where his heart would be nestled deep underneath his sternum, one of the black birds seems to have exploded in a puff of black feathers that burst outward, and then start floating in a trickle down the front of his stomach.

It’s a stunning piece of artwork, and I know inherently that there is a deep message within that tattoo. I even open my mouth to ask him about it, but I’m stunned when Bridger’s hands go to the knot of silk holding the belt together at my waist. I tense up, but then Woolf is stepping up behind me. He doesn’t touch me but leans in and murmurs near my ear, “Just relax. You’re getting that threesome you wanted.”

My entire body stiffens, my legs lock hard, and a bolt of fear goes through me. I pull away from Bridger and turn to Woolf with panicked eyes. His hands come to my waist, and he tilts his head in question.

My voice is hoarse and whisper soft. “I’m not ready for… um…”

I can’t say the words. I’m too mortified.

“Relax, baby,” Woolf coos as his hands squeeze me.

Bridger now is the one behind me, and he presses in close. He does, in fact, touch me with the front of his body, and it feels both sinful and wrong that another man is being so intimate with me. He gives the ponytail hanging from the back of my hood a playful tug before placing his lips near my ear. Bridger bares his teeth and bites my lobe briefly before saying, “You most certainly are not ready to take both of us that way, but there are other ways we can all three play together.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding frozen breath in my lungs until Bridger said that, and while his voice always sounds so rough and dangerous, I actually trust this man because I know Woolf trusts him.

In fact, I raise my eyes up to Woolf’s and give him a smile that’s filled with a small measure of confidence. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

What happens next is a maelstrom of sensations, fears, thrills, and pleasures overwhelming my entire being. Woolf pushes me back into Bridger’s arms, and then lazily walks away from me and up to the bar to pour himself a drink. With his back to us, as if he has not a care in the world that I’m in a pair of arms that are not his, he sips at two fingers of bourbon just as Bridger’s hands once again work at the knot to my belted robe.