Taking it All (15 page)

Tate took the hand not held by James, and for a moment she was suspended between the two men, one her husband, the other her Dominant for the evening. Tate gave her hand an encouraging squeeze but didn't put to voice any of the things she saw in his eyes.

“The others will remain on the periphery,” Tate said in a low voice. “When and only when it is time for them to participate will you see them. Enjoy my gift to you, my girl. I know I certainly will enjoy every moment.”

Then he turned his attention to James. Chessy blinked because Damon had discreetly removed himself from the trio and she hadn't even seen him leave.

“Undress her slowly,” Tate ordered. “And then prepare her as I already instructed you.”

The command in Tate's voice sent a delicate shiver of delight cascading over her flesh. Her fingers curled into fists so her trembling wouldn't be noticeable. Equal parts nervousness and anticipation vied for control.

James tugged firmly at her leash, pulling her away from Tate and closer to himself. Tate took a step back but kept a watchful eye on Chessy as James slowly began to divest her of her clothing.

“Very nice,” James murmured when he was down to just her stockings and stilettos.

He ran his hand over the swell of her behind and then grew bolder, sliding his palm underneath one breast. He brushed over the nipple with his thumb and it puckered in reaction, hardening to a point.

Her breath caught and then she let out a gasp when he lowered his head to her breast and sucked the nipple wetly into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “You taste every bit as good as you look.”

Heat scorched over her skin and she lifted her gaze to find Tate, only focused on him even though another man was pleasuring her in his stead.

Her action brought immediate reprimand from James. He yanked on the leash, forcing her gaze back to him. His eyes glittered in irritation.

“I am your master tonight. He is only an observer. You are to look only at me and obey my commands.”

She started to launch an immediate protest because that wasn't the case. No one but Tate would ever be called her master, and it was a silly term anyway. It wasn't a word that she or Tate ever used. But something in James's eyes halted her objection. She shivered and wanted to look to Tate for reassurance, to gain his reaction to James's forceful dictate, but she didn't dare look away from him again.

James ran his palm lightly over her jaw and then turned her body so her back was to Tate, effectively preventing her from the temptation of seeking her husband's guidance. It confused her that Tate was allowing this man such leeway.

James positioned her over the bench that had an inverted, padded cutout that would cradle her abdomen. Then he stretched her arms outward, tying one wrist to one of the two posts situated in front of the bench. After securing one, he then secured her other wrist so she was stretched over the bench, her ass in the air, both arms tied tightly enough that there was no give when she tested the strength of the bonds.

James disappeared from her view and then she felt leather straps circle her ankles, securing them to the legs of the bench. She was spread wide, her most vulnerable areas accessible.

“Start with the leather flogger,” Tate directed.

She took immediate comfort in hearing her husband's voice and her early apprehension eased and melted away as Tate took control of the situation. She relaxed, mentally preparing herself for the first kiss of fire.

“Administer ten blows, spread out so her flesh is evenly marked and colored,” Tate continued. “When you are finished, offer her the appropriate praise and then bring her close to orgasm with your hands and mouth. Then switch to the leather strap and mark her ass so that when you fuck her ass the flesh will have been scorched by fire. As I said, her mouth is mine, and I'll fuck it while you fuck her ass. She doesn't come again until she's been flogged, untied and is being held down by the men waiting.”

She closed her eyes as his words flashed like wildfire through her mind. She was bombarded by a host of decadent, sinful images, and already she could feel her body climbing to orgasm and they hadn't even yet begun.

A gasp exploded from her when the first lash landed across her ass. She'd been so absorbed in the dreamy fantasy Tate was describing that she hadn't braced herself for the first blow.

Her eyes flew open and yet she could see neither man, not James nor her husband. Only the wall stared back at her. She was positioned facing away from the rest of the entire room. For all she knew everyone was observing her flogging. That didn't bother her. She'd long since gotten over any shyness when it came to being naked in front of strangers. But she didn't like not being able to see Tate. She knew he was there, but he wasn't in her line of sight.

She wanted to see the approval and pride in his eyes. She wanted to be able to lock gazes with him and share the intensely personal connection between them. To forget that anyone other than the two of them existed, even if another man was charged with her submission.

Her jaw clenched and she winced when another blow rained down on her. James wasn't as careful as Tate was in the administration of his lashes. There was something undisciplined about James's flogging, almost as if he lacked the proper experience for the job. Or perhaps he was merely a sadist who only cared for his pleasure and didn't concern himself with the delicate line between pain and pleasure for her.

There were no words of praise or approval from James as Tate had demanded. Nor did James offer her the pleasure Tate had instructed him to. Where the hell was Tate? Why wasn't he admonishing James for not heeding Tate's dictates?

There was no break between the flogger and the leather strap. Fire spread rapidly over her skin and she bit into her lip to prevent the cry of pain. This was no longer about pleasure. Certainly not hers at least.

And then she felt an insistent prodding at her anal opening and she realized James was trying to force his way in without the aid of lubricant. This was not the way Tate had told him to do things. Why wasn't Tate putting a stop to it?

“Relax, damn it,” James growled, his fingers digging into her hips. She was certain she'd wear bruises from his grasp. “You're going to get fucked and it's up to you whether this is easy or hard.”

She cried out, shocked that he'd persist and that Tate had nothing to say. And then, as if to punish her for her resistance, James cracked the strap down over her shoulder blades as he thrust more forcefully into her reluctant body.

Tears ran down her cheeks and sobs welled from her throat. “No! Stop! I don't want this,” she said in a garbled tone.

Her safe word. God, what was it? Her mind was a chaotic mess of fear and pain.

“Rain,” she croaked out. “Rain!”

TATE
had just uttered his last command to James when his cell phone vibrated against his side. Out of habit, he glanced down quickly to pull out the phone enough so he could identify the incoming caller, fully intending to hit ignore.

He swore under his breath before glancing back up to where James had administered the second lash of the flogger. This was an important call but it had to come now of all times? Tabitha Markham had strung him along for weeks over whether she was going to transfer her late husband's portfolio—her inheritance—to Tate's firm and he was supposed to have a firm commitment from her any moment. Apparently she'd chosen
now
to inform him of her decision.

This was going to have to be quick.

He yanked up the phone, glanced at Chessy, who was facing away from him, and then uttered a crisp hello.

“Tate? Where are you? I can't hear you.”

Tabitha's voice was strident in his ear. He wasn't in the mood to chitchat. He just wanted her decision so he could get back to much more important matters. Like his wife and salvaging their marriage.

He walked a few steps away toward the corner where things were a little quieter and he could also keep an eye on Chessy.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked.

“Yes, much better. I called you because I have some concerns. You've been very hard to get in touch with lately and as my financial advisor, I'd require that I be able to get in contact with you at all times.”

Tate's brow furrowed and he turned away from Chessy and James, wanting to put his fist through the wall.

“I can assure you that I am available at all times for my clients,” he said tersely.

“Well that remains to be seen, does it not? If you aren't available before I become your client it hardly seems likely that you'll be available once you win me over.”

Tate's fingers curled impatiently and he brought one hand up to cover his other ear so he could hear her more clearly.

“Look, either you want me to handle your portfolio or you don't,” he said bluntly. “I can't talk right now because I'm out with my wife and this is our personal time. If you'd like to discuss the matter further, I encourage you to contact me during business hours on Monday.”

A cry cracked through the air, freezing the blood in Tate's veins.

“Rain. Rain!” he heard Chessy scream hoarsely.

He dropped the phone and whirled in the direction of her scream. When he saw tears coursing down her cheeks and James's hands curled around her hips he broke into a run, but before he could get there, Damon and two of his security men knocked James away. Tate lunged for James.

“What the hell did you do to her, you son of a bitch?” Tate yelled.

He punched the other man in the jaw, sending him reeling, and then he turned, his heart in his throat to see Damon unfastening the last of Chessy's bonds. Chessy sagged onto the floor, curling herself into a tight ball as tears ran unchecked down her face.

Three sets of accusing eyes pinned him as he knelt down where Chessy lay sobbing.

They all looked at him, condemnation in their eyes. He'd done the unforgivable. He'd broken the unspoken rule that all Dominants lived by. He hadn't protected his submissive.

“What the hell happened?” Tate demanded.

Damon gave him a look of pure disgust. “Shouldn't you know? Where the hell were you when she was screaming her safe word? How could you have done this, Tate? This . . . This is unforgivable. I think it's safe to say you're done here.”

Tate tentatively reached for Chessy, his hand over her icy cold skin in an effort to reassure himself that she was all right. Of course she wasn't all right.

She shrank away, visibly recoiling from his touch.

“Don't touch me,” she said in a voice hoarse from crying. And screaming.

Damon barked an order to one of the bystanders to bring a blanket. Tate was gutted by the utter devastation in Chessy's eyes. Worse was the fear that gripped him. He'd fucked up. Had done the unforgivable as Damon had accused. There wouldn't be—and shouldn't be—forgiveness for not ensuring his wife was safe every second of their time at The House.

The blanket was delivered and when Tate tried to wrap it around her, she drew sharply away as she'd done just moments earlier. Damon took the blanket, gently arranging it around Chessy's huddled body. Then he simply looped his arms underneath her slight form and stood from his squatting position, cradling her against his chest.

“It will be all right, Chessy,” Damon said quietly. “Let me take you into my office where it's private. I'll have your clothes brought down so you can dress. Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

She began to quietly weep once more, each tear like a dagger to Tate's heart.

Ignoring Tate, Damon carried her swiftly from the common room and Tate followed behind, feeling the stares of the entire room as they gazed at him in disgust.

Safe, sane, consensual. He'd managed to single-handedly violate all three hallmarks of the Dominant/submissive lifestyle. And now his beautiful wife had paid for his mistake. Just another in the dozens of times he'd failed her in their five-year marriage. Apparently he could do nothing right when it came to her, which made no sense given how much he loved her.

Damon carried Chessy down the stairs and then shouldered his way into his office and gently set her down on the leather sofa, pulling the ends of the blanket around her to shield her nudity. Her shoes had fallen off at some point and she looked fragile barefoot with only a blanket and her stockings to cover her body.

Tate went to his knees in front of the couch and tried to gather her hands in his, but she withdrew them, knotting them into fists in her lap so he couldn't grasp them. She wouldn't even meet his gaze but then he could hardly blame her.

“Chessy, I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “God, I'm sorry. I only stepped away a few seconds to answer a phone call. I'd already ended it when I heard you say your safe word.”

At that she met his gaze, her eyes cold enough to freeze an inferno. “So that's what you were doing while I was being raped by the man you chose to dominate me? Taking a goddamn client call?”

Her words paralyzed him. The depth of his betrayal hadn't truly sunken in until now. He'd stood by while a man handpicked by him to be intimate with his wife had hurt her.

“I'm partly to blame,” Damon said quietly from just a few feet away from the sofa. “I gave Tate the names of several men I thought were good choices. There was nothing in the past to indicate James's behavior tonight. The safety of my members—all of my members—is my top priority and I failed you tonight.”

Chessy shook her head vigorously. “No,” she said vehemently. “You aren't to blame, Damon, and I won't allow you to take any part of it. The person at fault here is
me
for trusting my husband to put me first in his priorities. For believing his promises that he'd change. I should have never allowed myself to be involved in this situation, and you can be assured I won't ever again.”

Tate couldn't breathe. A hand clutched mercilessly at his throat and squeezed until he was lightheaded from oxygen deprivation. Her words sounded so . . . final. They were no less than he deserved and yet panic still shattered his nerves. His life without Chessy? Unthinkable.

A knock sounded and a moment later, Damon returned with Chessy's clothing. She stared at the items, distaste in her wounded eyes. They were evidently a reminder that Tate had arranged this evening when she wanted to do nothing but forget.

Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes, her brow knitted in an effort to regain her composure.

“Tell me what you want to do, Chessy,” Damon said in a gentle voice. “I'll have a car drive you wherever you want to go. Is there someone you'd like me to call for you?”

Tate bristled and was near to exploding as he whirled to confront Damon. “I will bring my wife home,” he said icily.

“I don't recall consulting you in the matter,” Damon said. “You lost that option when you abdicated your responsibility as Chessy's Dominant and allowed her to come to harm.”

Tate had no response to that, which only served to piss him off even more. His hands shook violently. He was rattled to his very core when he usually met each situation with calm and decisiveness.

“I'll ride home with Tate,” Chessy said so softly Tate wasn't sure he'd heard her right.

He was afraid to hope or read too much into her statement. She still wouldn't look at him. As if she couldn't bear the sight of him.

“Let me help you dress, baby,” Tate said gently. “Don't worry about your shoes. I'll carry you out to the car.”

She shook her head. “I can get dressed on my own. Just leave me be for a few minutes. I'll come out when I'm done.”

Tate dug in his heels. “I need to make sure you're all right and I need to see for myself just what that bastard did.”

“Do you care?” she threw out in a bitter tone.

His jaw clenched. “Of course I care. Goddamn it, Chessy.”

She waved her hand like she just wanted it over with.

“I'll wait outside,” Damon said, leaving unsaid the fact that he'd wait to see if Chessy changed her mind about wanting him to see to her ride from The House. But it was implied in his tone.

As soon as Damon left the room, Chessy allowed the blanket to fall loosely away but hunched forward protectively as if she didn't want Tate to see her. Tate immediately turned her on the sofa, swearing softly when he saw the welts on her back. There were already bruises forming at her hips where the asshole's hands had gripped her.

“How far did he take things?” Tate asked hoarsely.

She shrugged indifferently. “Far enough.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Chessy pinned him with the weight of her stare, her eyes accusing and utterly devastated. “Oh, I'm sorry, Tate. Have I annoyed you? How selfish of me that I'm not giving you my full attention.”

The heavy sarcasm in her voice made his heart sink. Self-loathing filled him, brimming in his heart until hatred was a living, breathing emotion in his soul. He was utterly sick at heart, knowing full well that he didn't deserve forgiveness for what he'd done. For what he'd allowed to happen to her.

She got up, moving away from him to dress. She yanked on her clothing without care and then glanced down in disgust at the formfitting dress.

“I'm ready to go,” she said.

“Chess, are you sure I don't need to take you to the hospital?” Tate asked uneasily. “How badly did he hurt you?”

Her gaze found his and she stared unflinchingly at him. “Not nearly as much as you have.”