Page 122 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
His gaze travels across my face. “You’ll be okay?”
“I don’t have anyone to worry about, do I?” I squint at him. “Oliver took care of Bear, your necklace solves my bullying problem. The only ones who still torture me are you two, and I like it.”
“You did like it?” Oliver stands in the doorway. He tugged on his boxers, but his cock is very obviously at half-mast.
My cheeks heat, and I nod.
“Which part?”
The part where he came in, or before? Is that what he’s asking?
Carefully, I say, “I don’t know if I like not knowing who L. is, but I liked what he did tonight.”
It’s the first time I’ve said his name—initial—out loud. First time I’ve admitted that he exists. Not even Maddy, bona fide confidante, knows about him.
“The butt plug is a fun toy.” I draw up my legs and lean forward, wrapping my arms around my knees. “The waiting was torture.” My gaze goes to Penn. “The torture was torturous.”
He smirks.
I look to Oliver. “There’s something in me that trusts you, and I have no idea why. But I feel safe even when I’m tied up. And I…”
“Say it,” Oliver demands.
It’s easier when he orders it.
“I like the pain and fear that comes with pleasure. That’s why Carter fits. He scratches that… craving. He’s more brutal with me.”
Penn grimaces. “Guy’s a dick.”
“He probably thinks the same of you two,” I point out. I grip the edge of the tub and hoist myself up. Water rushes down my body, and I crane around. I touch his name on my ass. “He didn’t ask me about this. Penn didn’t ask to spank me for it.”
Oliver and I lock into a staring contest, and he finally nods. “Variety is the spice of life.”
“Right. Now you both need to get out while I use the toilet.”
I dry myself off and take care of business, brushing my teeth and wrapping myself in a towel. When I emerge, neither of them are in the hall. They’re in my bedroom…
Making my bed?
“We should probably tell her,” Oliver is saying. “Especially since we’re leaving.”
Penn makes a strangled noise. “Well, I was trying?—”
“Tell me what?”
They whip around.
I raise my eyebrows and move to the desk, perching on top of it. Funny, since less than ten hours ago I was bent over it, kicking off this insane series of events.
It just leads me to question, once again, who L. is.
My main suspects are standing in front of me.
“Tell me,” I say.
Oliver glances at Penn, then leaves him with the sheets and comes toward me. His expression is… sympathetic.
“Bear’s real name is Henry Bernstein,” he says. “Obviously we call him Bear for more reasons than one. His last name has something to do with it.”