Caught By Two Doms (Club El Diablo (Angel's Doms Book 2)) (9 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Zachary

Nine days had passed since Monroe’s short appearance, and Zach was becoming worried. The first week was easy because he refused to accept that Monroe wouldn’t return to them. This evening, he met Stephens’ eyes and saw the same trepidation on the older man’s face.

Running with Angel each morning after a round of sex and spending time each evening in the playroom helped him fall into an exhausted sleep at night. But… the days were becoming unbearably long.

A little after one in the morning, his eyes instantly opened at a short chirp from his cell. One hand went to his gun while he read the message on the screen.

He’s here. I need your help. Come to the garage.

Stephens’ apartment was over the garage, but Zach wasn’t leaving Angel without being sure. He pulled on pants, walked into the hallway, and then went to his old room and dialed.

Stephens picked up immediately.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but he needs help and he’s not cooperating.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Zach practically ran from the house, his heart beating two-hundred beats per minute. He entered the garage and saw Stephens trying to hold Monroe up or possibly down. It was hard to tell.

Blood coated Monroe’s side, he was filthy, and as Zach drew closer, he smelled the general unwashed odor coming from the most fastidious person he knew.

“What the fuck, Nathanial?”

The two men turned and Zach caught his breath. Sunken, haunted eyes looked back at him. He reached Monroe as his eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled sideways onto Stephens, the only thing keeping him from the hard concrete.

“He’s not in good shape, sir. Where should we take him?”

“We need to clean him first and assess his injuries, and then he’s going in the house to his own bed.”

“I believe he may need a hospital, sir.”

Zach looked into Monroe’s gaunt face. It had been only nine fucking days, but this was not the same man he saw a week and a half ago. “Let’s get him cleaned first and then we can determine what more he needs. I know you keep antibiotics on hand.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll help you carry him upstairs to my rooms.”

Zach leaned in and took Monroe’s large body into his arms. “No need. I’ve got him.”

They cut off his clothing, sponged his body, filled and emptied a large bowl of soapy water that quickly turned pinkish red several times, and finally had a look at Monroe’s injuries. He had a knife wound in his thigh, multiple bruises on his ribs and a bullet wound that appeared to have passed in and out of his lower side. Blood loss and infection would be the biggest battles. Monroe’s temperature was one hundred and three.

Stephens started an intravenous saline drip and then shot antibiotics into the line. It took them five minutes to get ibuprofen down his throat for his temperature. Monroe remained comatose through their ministrations.

“I’m wrapping him in a blanket and carrying him to his room.”

“But, sir…” Stephens tried to argue.

“It’s where he should be and I’m not keeping Angel from his side for another moment. I kept his secret for nine fucking days, but no more. Even if he dies, Angel is seeing him one last time.”

“I don’t believe he’ll die, sir. He’s too tough for that.”

“Then carry the saline bag for me, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zach’s arms felt dead after the trip up to Stephens’ apartment, but he would get Monroe to their room even if it killed them both. He thankfully found renewed energy when he faced the stairs leading up to the room because he knew Angel was there.

She still slept, exhausted after their long day. He carried Monroe to the far side of the bed and lay him down. Stephens secured the IV bag on the tall poster of the bed.

“I will wake Marguerite and have her make broth for Master Monroe and food for the rest of us, sir,” Stephens whispered.

“Thank you. Please leave the door open and the hall light on for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zach walked around and sat on the side of the bed closest to Angel. He rolled her slightly so she faced away from Monroe. She uttered a slight moan in her sleep, but didn’t wake up. He leaned in and kissed her lips, nibbling and sucking for several moments before he finally got her attention. She tried to roll away, which made him smile. If she was fully awake she would always submit to his sexual call, no matter how tired she was.

“Emm, what time is it?” she asked sleepily.

He pulled back slightly, seeing her tired gaze in the soft light spilling from the hallway. “I think it’s nearly two.”

Her eyes opened fully. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and no. I need you to forgive me for what I’ve kept from you over the past nine days, actually ten days…”

“Kept from me?”

“Yes. He asked me not to tell you and I didn’t.”

Her forehead creased and she shook her head slightly against the pillow. “Tell me what?”

“Here,” he joined her on the bed and gave her a brief hug. “I’m going to roll you over, but I need you to remain as still as possible.”

She had no idea what he was trying to convey and the only thing he could do was show her.

The outline of the man laying at her other side obviously startled her, because she gave a quick intake of air. Then her body began to shake.

“No, no, no. I’m dreaming. Please no.”

“Shh, I’ve got you. You’re not dreaming. He’s injured, but he found his way home.”

“Please, release my hands.”

Zach let her go. She came to her knees and he followed, staying behind her. She reached out to Monroe’s face and touched him with tentative, shaking fingers. Her other hand went to his neck.

“I’m going to turn on the light. Are you okay if I get off the bed?”

She didn’t answer.

“Angel, he’s injured. I need to make sure you don’t accidently hurt him if I leave the bed.”

Sobs worked their way out with the word, “Nn…no.”

Zach turned on the light and watched Angel cover her face as she sank carefully into Monroe’s side. He looked at the IV bag to ensure it continued to flow, and then crawled back on the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Gulping sobs shook her body.

He rubbed her side, offering comfort, but knowing she needed these tears. Zach was past being strong when it came to Monroe, and a trail of wet streaked down his face. Overwhelming relief brought all his emotions to the forefront.     

Monroe seemed to sense Angel’s nearness because he shifted closer to her even when the movement obviously caused great pain. Angel’s hand went to his upper chest and she began offering murmured assurances that he was safe. Zach couldn’t understand some of her words because she spoke in the language of her childhood. Monroe’s facial features relaxed and he shifted into a deeper, healing sleep.

Time passed slowly as they both lay watching the man they loved. A small sound from the door caused him to look over his shoulder.

“
Dios mío.”

Marguerite stood in the doorway with Stephens behind her.

“I’m sorry, sir. I could not keep her downstairs any longer.”

“Please come here and sit with him, Marguerite.”

She walked closer to the bed and then around the side. Stephens lifted a chair from the corner of the room and placed it by the bed. She took Monroe’s hand and held it in a careful grip, mindful of his IV.

“Will Señor be okay?”

Zach answered, “If we can keep his temperature down, he should be. We couldn’t find any broken bones, though he’s bruised from head to toe. He has a bullet wound in his side and a stab wound in his thigh. We’ll know more in the next twenty-four hours. If he worsens, he’s going to the hospital by way of an ambulance.”   

Angel continued to cry and slight shudders periodically shook her body. Marguerite uttered, “
Dios mío” every few minutes, but mostly the four of them stood vigil. Marguerite eventually went downstairs and then brought up a tray of finger sandwiches before taking her chair again. They changed out the bag of fluids, gave him more antibiotics, and waited.

The morning sun had just started peeking through the window coverings when Monroe opened his eyes. He looked around and then let out a long, shuddering breath. Angel began crying again and his free hand, uninhibited by the IV, reached out and pulled her close.

Marguerite stubbornly placed a quick kiss on his cheek, gave him an affectionate look, and then walked to the door, followed by Stephens.

“You will be better soon, el invalid,” she turned and said.

Monroe didn’t take his eyes from Angel as he gave a weary nod.

Chapter Nineteen

Angel

She held onto Master tightly. After repeated nightmares that ended in his death, she had trouble believing he was real. He usually disliked touch, but when she tried to take her hand away, he grumbled low in his chest and didn’t settle until her hand covered his heart again.

“I love you. Don’t leave me again,” she repeated the few times his eyes opened.

Mostly she watched him sleep.

The bed dipped and Sir moved in with his chest against her back. He kissed her shoulder and neck while threading his fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, Angel.”

She didn’t take her eyes from Master. “This is truly real?” Even she could hear the doubt in her voice.

“This,” he pressed in closer and kissed her tear-streaked skin, “Is incredibly real.”

Angel feathered her hand across Master’s skin. It seemed slightly cooler than earlier, but she wasn’t letting go.

“How?” she asked without turning.

Sir’s breath was warm against the curve of her shoulder. “I don’t know the full story but he came to the house when the intruders broke in. He helped stop them and saved my life. It’s a knack he has when it comes to the two of us.”

Angel could hear the smile in his words before he grew serious again.

“His assignment wasn’t complete and he didn’t want you to grieve again if he didn’t return.”

She couldn’t form a coherent sentence because too many thoughts swirled through her head. To take away her chance to see Master a final time was unconscionable. She’d dreamed of one more kiss, a last goodbye, and to say she loved him just once more.

Sir stopped speaking, but continued to hold her, and he eventually fell into a light sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes and wake from this dream, so she thought about her commitment to Master.

He had found her after the death of her roommate, Ifrah. He gave her no chance to protest moving to his house. She was deep in the confines of depression, and with little trouble he drugged her and took her home. The first days were terrifying but her night terrors finally brought her to rely on Master. His calming breaths created a bond. She hid, shied away from all physical contact, and behaved like a scared rabbit. Master gave her space and showed endless patience.

He also gave her a bedroom with pictures of the man who had rescued her from human traffickers. Zachary, bound tightly in intricate weaves of beautiful creations, never looked enslaved. The photographs mesmerized her, opening her eyes to a different world and culture. His sculpted muscles wrapped tightly around female models with intricate designs told a story. The art was shocking, but also intriguing. She envied the models in the photographs with him.

She caught glimpses of the models that came to the house for Master’s art. Their calm demeanor and obvious worship made her curious. She watched from a corner in the large studio, resting on a soft blanket, trying to go unnoticed. Soft classical music lulled her and she’d drift into the knots and intricate ties that only accented the beauty of the women he worked with.

Her first husband demanded the respect that these women gave to Master willingly. But, like the wives of her husband, they waited for a smile, word of praise, or endearment. For some reason that she couldn’t comprehend, Angel felt comfortable in this world.

The sensual aspect of his art was a bigger adjustment, but for the first time in months her body throbbed with sexual cravings. She knew Master watched her closely, and when he asked if she would like to have her hands bound, she shook her head, retreating further into the corner.

He walked over and crouched down so their eyes were level. “Marguerite was my first model. I would tie her arms in different patterns and then we would share milk and cookies. You may want to come closer when you watch so you can actually see the threads of the rope.” While he spoke, he lifted a piece of her hair and caressed it between his fingers.

The thought of the plump, middle-aged Marguerite being his first model made her smile. His lips curved up and he winked before walking back to his work in progress.

Over the next few days, she inched closer. The women gave her encouraging smiles with no shyness about their nudity. Master often removed his shirt and she fantasized about running her hands over the sculpted plains of his chest. She managed to fight her desire until she noticed Master’s pants balloon with an erection. She squirmed, the dampness of her panties making it hard for her to concentrate. He continued working the rope, but suddenly his intense gaze landed on her and an electrifying quiver went from her toes straight to her pussy. She inhaled when he looked away, realizing she’d been holding her breath. The stark look of longing on his face was a mirror of what he had to see on hers.

The following afternoon, he cut a six-foot section from a skein of rope and carried it to her. His long, dexterous fingers displayed the offering.

“Hold this.”

The piece of rope was nothing compared with the look in his eyes. So dark and mysterious, she wanted to float into their depths and discover the man inside. He stood patiently waiting as she finally managed to tear her gaze away and look down at the rope. She felt he was offering a piece of his soul.

Her fingers traveled the braided fibers. The texture mesmerized her and she looked up to see him watching her hands. Without a word, he took one end of the rope and intricately tied it around her upper arm, weaving a pattern down the length until the end rested in her palm. His intimate smile made her clench her thighs together. She wanted, so badly, to reach out and trace the curve of his lips. He seemed to know her thoughts and a low chuckle came from under his breath before he turned and walked away.

Angel forced herself to look away from his backside. She glanced down, and using her opposite fingertips, traced the strands as they wove their delicate pattern on her skin. It was similar to the henna tattoos painted on her hands and feet to ward off evil spirits before her first wedding. A piece of rope—such a small simple thing, but in Nathanial Monroe’s hands it came to life.

When he finished with the design he’d been working on, Mistress Melody took photographs. Master walked over and held out his hand. Angel tentatively placed her fingers in his. He turned her wrist up and slowly removed the rope. Placing the now-coiled length back in her hand, he curled her fingers over the center.

“Bring this with you tomorrow.”

Becoming his model was a continuation of that first piece of rope. He adjusted to her modesty by making their time in the studio private. Removing her clothes was part of his art and her shame floated away as the strictures of rope told a story on her flesh.

The journey to their Master/slave relationship evolved quickly and became as vital to her as breathing. He saw deep into her consciousness and fulfilled needs she didn’t know she had. He bound her tightly and then sexually tortured her. The confines of the rope set her desire free until she experienced the most mind blowing orgasms of her life. Her guilt and shame drifted away with the lull of subspace. The simple touch of rope against her flesh took her to a world where the memories of degradation, suffering, and death had no power over her. Master’s weave healed her soul.

She wanted nothing to invade the peace in their small world, but one afternoon, deep in subspace, Master asked her about Zachary. She knew he was one of Master’s most talented models and also that Master apprenticed him in Shibari. She’d had dreams of him and was worried Master would know she lusted after another man. She’d seen Master’s exhibits of Zachary bound in rope, which didn’t help the dreams. Her thoughts of destroying the only happiness she’d found in years caused her to panic when Master told her he was going away and leaving her in Zachary’s care. It was the first time she rebelled. Master’s disappointment left her feeling insecure and brought up old memories of shame and degradation. He asked for her trust in his decision to leave her in Zachary’s care, but she stubbornly refused.

The night before Sir’s arrival, Master secured her facedown on his bed. She kept her body limp and non-resistant.

“I found you for Zachary. He never forgot about you. He will watch over you while I am away. He may take you to the playroom, and he likes pain mixed with pleasure. The women he enjoys accept this. He will not force you and you will promise me to be truthful to him. I have seen your muscles screaming for release, but you say nothing. I believe you will welcome more pain than I give you. Zachary’s proclivities are different than mine, though no less intense.”

He was breathing deeply now and began placing kisses along her shoulders.

“There are many sexual practices we haven’t explored, and Zachary will take you on a new journey.”

Angel couldn’t see his face, but his words held no jealousy. She refused to agree and Master took the choice away from her. She was so wrong to fear Master’s decisions, because when Zachary entered their world… her love didn’t shift, it blossomed to encompass both men.

She snapped out of her thoughts of the past and focused on the men lying next to her.

She continued to hold Master, but shifted slightly so she could see Sir’s face and give her rebuke. “You should have told me. But he… should not have asked this of you.” The stark shadows beneath his eyes and his haunted look broke her heart. “He’s with us now and I shall speak to you both when he’s completely out of danger. It’s time you stop sheltering me.”