Fill Me [Dungeon Masters 3] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

Dungeon Masters 3

Fill Me

Ryia Laurie wants to learn how to make her adult store, “Paddle My Ass,” better and more profitable. Asher Roberts, senior chef, and Elijah Deakin, head of security for The Dom’s Dungeon BDSM Club, want Ryia as their mate. Can they all overcome the legacy of Ryia’s abusive ex husband, Miles, to achieve this? Ryia, Asher, and Elijah attend the “New Directions in the Adult Industry” convention with their separate agendas. But Ryia is so busy looking at the exhibition displays, taking notes at the lectures, and attending all the workshops that Asher and Elijah are hard pressed to catch her attention. When they do, her lack of self-esteem makes letting her know how very interested they are in her even harder, if not impossible. How are they going to catch her interest and get to know her before the convention is over?

Genre:
BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Vampires/Werewolves

Length:
35,477 words

Dungeon Masters 3

Cara Adams

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

FILL ME

Copyright © 2014 by Cara Adams

E-book ISBN:
978-1-63258-187-7

First E-book Publication: September 2014

Cover design by Les Byerley

All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Fill Me
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Dungeon Masters 3

CARA ADAMS

Copyright © 2014

Prologue

Ryia Laurie stood on the headland overlooking the lake. A cold wind blew her mousy brown hair in all directions, turning it into a tangled mess. Some strands stuck to her wet cheeks as she hiccupped, trying to stop the tears still trickling from her eyes. The handful of tissues she held were soaking wet as she wiped them across her nose, which was hot and sore. She knew it was likely as red as Rudolph the reindeer’s right now, but she refused to hide in the tiny, one-room apartment she’d rented any longer. She was going to reclaim her life. Besides, there was no one around to laugh at her fat ass and thunder thighs in her tight blue jeans, or at her woebegone face and bright red nose.

Ryia stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the rocks and sand below her. Two large black dogs were racing up and down the sand, jumping from rock to rock, and even running in and out of the waves on the shoreline.
That water must be icy cold! And where is their human?

She looked up and down the shore but couldn’t see anyone. Likely they were sitting hard against the headland wall, basically underneath her, where they’d be sheltered from the wind.

Ryia lifted her face up into the chilly air. The breeze puffed against her sore nose and wet cheeks, blowing the hair off her face and making the tips of her ears ache with cold.

Well, that was a change. Usually her ears ached because her husband—well, the man she’d thought was her husband—had twisted and pinched them to punish her for annoying him. Fucking Miles. Five years of his abuse. Five years of him always telling her she was a fat, lazy, useless cow who couldn’t do anything right. Useless at keeping his apartment clean and tidy. Useless at cooking his meals. And useless in bed where her tons of lard prevented him from reaching a decent climax.

Thank God that was all over now. She pulled the letter out of her bra. The letter she’d received this morning. The letter that had changed her life forever.

Several months ago Ryia had finally left Miles and applied for a divorce. She’d rented a post office box in a different town from the one where she was staying, scared he’d try to force her to go back to him. But he hadn’t even cared enough to fight the divorce. Well, that’s what she’d thought until today. She read through the letter again. She’d read it a dozen times in the past hour and it still blew her mind.

Today, in this letter, she’d learned she couldn’t have a divorce because she was never married. Miles had still been married to his first wife when he married her. In fact, Miles still was married to his first wife even now. Even after five years of living with Ryia twenty-four-seven, controlling every aspect of every moment of her life.

When she’d obeyed her dying father and married the man he’d chosen for her, she’d been an innocent, naïve seventeen-year-old. That was all over now. Five years with Miles had taught her a whole lot of things, some of which might even be useful in her future life. She’d already submitted the paperwork to reclaim her inheritance. An inheritance she’d only found out by accident that was hers.

It’d been very difficult to leave Miles. He was right about so many things, that it was hard to know when he was being cruel and when he was being factual. Yes, she was fat. Not obese, but chubby and overweight. Yes, she was boring and plain. Likely it was her fault his orgasms were never good enough, because she didn’t have a sexy, runway model’s body.

But she sure as hell knew all the tricks about how to give good head, how to arouse a man, and how to kiss. Miles had taken an innocent virgin and taught her everything a porn star needed to know. And for five years she’d borne all the bruises, and a few broken bones, until she’d learned her lessons perfectly.

And then she’d read a letter from the bank that Miles had forgotten to lock up in his metal box where he kept everything he didn’t want her to see. And it said that she—not him,
her
—had an account with half a million dollars in it. Her! Ryia, who had to beg Miles for two dollars if the pasta was used up before he decided she could buy a new packet. She, who had to put up with beatings for eating too much of his precious food when she hadn’t touched the damn stuff even though she was desperately hungry because he’d padlocked the refrigerator.

Her father had left her an inheritance. Money that became hers on her twenty-first birthday, and money that she was supposed to have received ever since he’d died.

She’d gotten showered and dressed, even though Miles hadn’t told her she could do either of them that day, and he didn’t permit her to leave the house without him. She’d collected every piece of paperwork she possessed to prove her identity, and had walked to the bank over five miles away, because Miles had their car and he never let her have any money so she couldn’t take a bus. Her car, not his, as all the paperwork was in her name.

That day a few months ago she’d filled in a bazillion forms at the bank to take control of her inheritance, and then she’d gone to a lawyer who specialized in disputed inheritances and filled in a few bazillion more forms. The lawyer had told her Miles belonged in jail. In one way, that would be fitting. She’d been basically in jail for the past five years. But in another way, Ryia just wanted to put the past behind her and start afresh. Which was what she could do now. She didn’t need a divorce because she’d never been married. The money was hers, and the lawyer and the bank would ensure Miles couldn’t take anything more from her.

So now she was standing on the headland overlooking the lake, ready to start her new life. Getting divorced from Miles was the last tie she needed to cut. Although apparently there was no tie to cut. She knew what she’d do. She’d gotten married—well, she’d thought she was married—instead of finishing high school. But she knew a hell of a lot about a man’s sexual needs and desires. She’d go to community college and learn all about running a business and understanding accounts and purchasing. And then she’d use her inheritance to open an adult store.

Those five years with Miles wouldn’t be wasted. She knew now he wasn’t a caring adult guiding a stupid young girl, or even a Dom in the BDSM scene. He was one-hundred percent a bully and an asshole. But she was no innocent virgin anymore either. Her abusive not-husband had taught her everything she needed to know about canes, whips, floggers, paddles, and sex toys. She’d use that knowledge to earn a living. She would finally be in control of her own life.

Invigorated, she walked along the headland, turning her face up to the cold air again, shoving the wet tissues and the crumpled letter back down inside her bra. The dogs were still playing on the sand and rocks of the shoreline. Maybe she’d find a path down there and walk on the beach, too. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been beside a large expanse of water like here. Not since she was in elementary school probably.