The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (freda ebook reader .txt) 📕

“Go downstairs,” Clay said calmly. “I’ll get the door.”

I hesitated. “We said we were going to talk to you together.”

His eyes stayed fixed on me, even as he began to move toward the doorway that led to the entryway. “It’s all right. I have a plan.”

Warmth spilled through my limbs. “Of course you do.”

I went down the steps slowly, trying to hear what was happening at the front door, but it was quiet. Had Travis been as surprised as I was to see Clay was home? Or had Clay already told him? Everything had happened so fast when I’d discovered him in the kitchen, we hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk details.

I was still kind of hazy on where things stood with the three of us. Clay had said it was okay for me to have feelings for Travis, but he’d also told me he was jealous. Plus, he’d been worried enough about losing me he’d declared an emergency to his work and rushed home.

My feelings for both men were getting more complicated by the minute.

The prototype chair had been moved to the corner and the folding table we’d used the first time we’d played together stood in its place, waiting. I walked to it and skimmed my hand across the top, letting my fingers trail over the soft, smooth material, my fingertips following the line of a seam.

I hadn’t been able to do much admiring of it last time, but like all his other work, the table was exquisite. Steam filled my body as I remembered how the scene had played out. Would his plan for tonight be similar to what we’d done last time?

The stairs creaked as two pairs of footsteps came down them, and then Clay appeared, followed by a pensive-looking Travis.

The muscles in my center tightened. It was the first time we’d been together in the same room since the night at the club, and things were so different now. Travis’s gaze swept the room, found me, and zeroed in, which made my muscles squeeze harder still.

The men were both incredibly handsome, but in their own way. Travis’s hulking frame and strong jawline made him more widely accepted as attractive. He was the magazine cover hunk, whereas Clay was leaner. There was more mystery surrounding him, hidden behind his glasses and his cryptic expression.

It was impossible to decide who was more appealing.

“We have some things to talk about,” Clay said, casting a glance toward the other man. “I thought we could work through it with a scene.”

My pulse skittered into overdrive and I was so into the idea, I could barely get my words out. “All of us, playing together?”

He drew in a deep breath. “No.” He made a face and amended his statement. “Not exactly. We’ve each had a session one-on-one, and I’ve gotten to enjoy watching the two of you together. I think if we reverse the roles tonight, it could be helpful.”

All the air was sucked out of the room and the thermostat cranked to a million degrees. I felt flushed as my gaze bounced between the men. “You want Travis to watch us?” He’d told me he was a private person and he’d shied away from physical stuff with me at the club, but . . . he was clearly comfortable with Travis. He’d said he’d trained him, after all. “Like, a demonstration?”

Clay shook his head, and his posture was stiff. It announced whatever he was about to say, he was uneasy revealing it. “I think it would be good for him to see us together, to remind him that I am your partner too.”

His tone was so even and measured, it was impossible to know how he meant it. Was this supposed to be punishment for Travis? Or was it Clay’s attempt to prove he deserved equal status in our developing trio?

“And it’d be good,” he added more directly, “for him to work on his self-control.”

The newly discovered submissive part of me shivered with pleasure at his scolding tone, and Travis looked away. He wasn’t happy with himself, or the way his mentor had called him out.

“What about you, Travis?” I asked. “Do you want this?”

It was the first test to see if Clay’s rules were officially gone, and the atmosphere was tense until Travis’s attention turned to me. He set his hands on his waist and shifted his weight to one side, striving for a casual stance.

“Yeah,” he said. “If that’s what it takes for him to accept my apology.”

The intensity of his stare was absolute. He’d trained to become a dominant, but there was clearly some God-given talent Travis had been born with, because I had to hold in my shudder of enjoyment. He looked at me the same way Clay did.

Like I belonged under his care and nowhere else.

In the silence, it became apparent both men were waiting on me, so I lifted my chin and leveled a look at Clay. “Are the roles completely reversed? Travis is directing the scene?”

Clay did his best to hide his flinch because the idea filled him with disdain. He wouldn’t take orders from someone else, but he played it off like there was a simple reason. “No. I already have the scene planned.”

“Hmm.” I murmured it as a thinly veiled, how convenient. “All right.”

He looked pleased, went to the rolling stool tucked under the workbench, and pulled it out, gesturing to it. “Travis.”

The taller of the two men didn’t look all that comfortable as he walked past me toward Clay. He watched his mentor as if he expected the stool to be rolled out of the way at the last second as he sat, but thankfully that didn’t happen.

Satisfied that Travis was settled, Clay’s attention went to me, and I held breath tightly in my lungs as he approached. He moved to stand behind me, making sure not to block Travis’s view as his hands closed on the back hem of my shirt and began to lift.

I raised