Three-Part Harmony (25 page)

“What bastard is going to take you to the dungeon and do whatever he wants with this?”

“You!” Her heartbeat thundered; her body accelerated. “You…please…”

“Excellent. Say it again. Beg me for it, D.”

“Please.” She grew aware of his clothing, rough and demanding, against her nude skin. Every contact sparked her higher, consumed her deeper, beckoned her into the beautiful abyss of submission. “Sir…please take me to the dungeon.”

He rewarded her by angling her face toward him and snaking his own down. He kissed her deeply once more, mating her tongue deep with his. Before long, Dasha didn’t know where she ended and David began. He continued to tease her clit as they kissed, kneading the slit of skin until her breaths came faster and harder, and she felt her body climbing to a precipice of bittersweet sensation.

Oh dear God, yes…

David yanked his mouth away. “Don’t you dare,” he ordered. “Don’t even think of coming yet. Control it. Rein it in.”

She searched for the retort to that. Couldn’t find it. The abyss had her now. His will was her will, even if it meant the hell of dominating
herself
for a long minute. She took deep, harsh breaths, forcing her heartbeat to slow. “Y-yes, Sir.”

She sounded like a child who’d just had a lollipop ripped from her mouth. David clearly got that too. As he turned her to fully face him again, the shithead unfurled a grin of cocky satisfaction. Dasha couldn’t help but glare back, still gasping for control.

He cupped a hand to her cheek. She bared her teeth, letting him know what she longed to do to those teasing fingers. His eyes twinkled. “You’re gorgeous.”

And I’m not going to show you how that dissolved my bones.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, purposely clipping it.

“So…you want a trip to the dungeon.”

She let him hear the hitch in her breath. “Oh yes, Sir.”

“Then present yourself properly for that.” He answered the question in her gaze by jerking his head toward the dungeon door. “On your knees in front of it, please. I think you know what position to take as well.”

“I do, Sir.”

“Perfect. Remain that way until I come get you. I won’t be long.”

He emphasized the request by pointing to a spot on the floor near the entrance to the dungeon. Dasha felt her anger fading back as the mental abyss again beckoned. As she moved into place and pressed her back to the floor, she remembered the first time he’d guided her into this position, on that magical night in New York. They’d come so far together since then, yet it seemed every
time felt like that first time, filled with so much wonderment, amazement, fear…arousal.

Her womb came alive with anticipation now, her body using her feelings like gasoline on a fire. Her labia quivered from the rush of cool air over her wet skin. Fresh juices sluiced down her vagina, dampening the exposed folds at her center. It was ecstasy. It was agony. She already yearned to climax for him, hard and loud.

Instead, she dug fingers into the carpet and watched David slide back the door to the dungeon. That was when she frowned a little. The second door, the one that was actually part of the building, was already pushed open. And was that music she heard drifting up the stone stairway? It was a melodic but gothic sound and thoroughly hypnotizing. But how had David turned it on? He wasn’t even at the first step yet. Remote control?

Her question got answered when she heard a long, female shriek from below, penetrating the velvet curtain, shooting straight up the stairs.

“Outstanding.” Every syllable shot off David’s lips with equal fervor. He flashed a breathtaking smile down at her. “Seems like we have some company, sweetheart. Back in a second.”

“A second” was a tad inaccurate. Lying there on the carpet, waiting for her Sir to return, she almost gave in to the urge to curl into a don’t-look-at-me ball. Short of being completely naked, she was as exposed as it got. Her nipples jutted toward the ceiling, still puckered and red. Her mound was open and wet, her arms spread to her sides. If anyone walked past the study right now, it’d be as if the harness didn’t exist. They’d know exactly what she was waiting for. What if that anyone was one of the mansion staff? What if that anyone was Kress? What if he had the little brunette from Dad’s staff with him? Oh shit, what if the girl told
Dad
what she saw?

She got so agitated imagining that scene, David startled her a little when he reappeared. He offered both hands to help her stand, yet that shit-eating smile still adorned his wicked lips. “Come on,” he bade. “We don’t want to miss the show.”

The show?

She ached to fire it at him aloud but held her tongue as he took her hand and guided her down the stairs. As the music got louder, now backed by a Gregorian chorus who sounded like they’d hit purgatory, so did the real-life outcries. When Dasha entered the dungeon, she saw their source. It was Mary. Her little friend’s naked body was crisscrossed by an elaborate web of red and black ropes, which were all tied into one of the suspension rings in the middle of the room. Mary lay sideways in the bonds, her wrists and forearms encased in a black rope gauntlet over her head, a good four feet off the floor. Whoever had tied her left her backside free of ropes, and it was easy to understand why. Raife stood near her head, using one hand to swing her back toward Philip, who waited with a single-tail whip. With every pass, he used the thing to lash her ass with a precisioned flick. When Mary came back toward Raife, he stroked her breasts with a long red feather on a glittering stick.

Dasha only had to give her friend one look to know the conflicting sensations drove her crazy—in all the right ways. Mary’s face contorted with forced pain one moment, with divine pleasure the next. Her body strained against the ropes with her fast breathing, but her eyes were hooded and glossy with the double sensory assault.

She was incredible. She’d seen her friend in a lot of stage finery and makeup, but right now, with her face adorned only in surrender, Mary was at her most beautiful. Dasha couldn’t look away. She simultaneously wanted to be Mary but was terrified of ever being that exposed and helpless, swinging in midair over a concrete floor…not to mention at the mercy of that whip. Every crack filled the dungeon like a lightning strike.

Raife pushed Mary back toward Philip, and Dasha watched her body tense for the lash. But Philip caught her, instead, having shoved the whip into his back pocket. Mary whimpered as he traced a finger along several of the bright red welts he’d put into her flesh. “Lovely, precious toy,” he murmured. “I love what my leather does to your skin.” He sidled next to her, wrapping one arm around her waist as he bent and slowly licked one of the lines. Mary let out a deep moan.

Dasha gulped hard to avoid doing the same.

“Hurt a little, sweet Mary?” he said with lips still pressed to her skin.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Are you ready to be fucked, then?”

“Yes, Sir!” She gasped it. A cry followed it as Philip pressed a finger into her core. He lifted his head, frowning at Raife.

“Wet,” he pronounced. “But not wet enough. I think five more lashes should have her ready.”

Dasha’s gut knotted, but her own sex got wetter as Mary gazed at Raife with eyes full of dread and joy combined.

“Ohhh God!” Raife only scowled, but as Philip swung her back over, he grabbed the ropes and greeted Mary with a passionate, deep, openmouthed kiss.

Dasha watched the embrace with awe, almost wanting to trade places with her friend in that moment, lashes and tears and all. And David standing in Raife’s place, of course. And the stand-in for Philip?

She knew the answer to that too. She would want it to be Kress there, waiting for her at the other end. She could almost see him there now, powerful and rugged, a half grin curving his lips that conveyed only one thing.
I can’t wait to get my hands on you.

She closed her eyes and forced his image from her mind.

Until she turned and realized the four of them weren’t alone.

There was somebody else in the room, and now that person shifted in the shadows. Dasha glanced in time to see David give the person a familiar, guy-to-guy kind of nod. She peered the same direction, and—

Oh God. It was Kress. Very alone. And looking very uncomfortable—and just as turned on—as David.

Her body responded immediately, churning fast toward the realm of pure need.

Which gave brand-new meaning to the term “dazed and confused.”

Kress looked at the turmoil washing over Dasha’s face and called himself five kinds of a shithead.

He could’ve downplayed how he’d gotten down here. How he’d done the class act by the cute Natalie, despite the brunette’s either-you’re-dead-or-you’re-gay-not-to-notice moves on him all the way to the hotel. How he’d pleaded a stressful day and a migraine to her rather than the real ache assaulting him: the need for sweet gold hair, an equally delicious mouth, and a certain soprano voice crying from his touch.

How he’d returned to the mansion beating himself up for that line of thought, intending to go straight to bed—
alone—
but drifted toward the back stairs and the study instead.

How he’d hoped to find the door to the dungeon open. And had.

How he’d found Raife and Philip setting up for a scene, with Dasha’s dancer friend waiting with bright, eager eyes.

How he’d accepted their invitation to stay and watch. And how he’d hoped the night would turn into
this
moment. How he’d hoped David and Dasha would join the party too.

Shithead.

Why had he wanted this? Now he longed to take back any karma he’d put into the universe with his selfishness and erase the desperate look that consumed Dasha’s sweet face. Especially because, as his stare drifted lower, he knew it wouldn’t soon be returning to her face.

“Fuck.” He grated it beneath his breath. That black-and-silver half-corset thing was good for one sole purpose. It all but ordered a man to rip it off her. The way it cupped her breasts, which looked like Pennington had taken some fun plucks at already, but then fast drew the eyes down to where it framed the V of her pussy and edged around into a sculpted Valentine arc across the top of her ass…

“Fuuuuck.” The second time around was a doomsday prophecy for his self-control. Not to mention the erection now ramming at his pants.

He had to get out of here. Right now. He had to escape before David started pulling her to the equipment, getting her naked, restraining her, and then—

He ground his jaw. Commanded his legs to move and his arm to shove the velvet curtain back.
You’ve train-wrecked this one real good, Moridian. Greedy bastard, you should’ve been grateful David shared her for even one night. She isn’t yours. Forget her. Go upstairs, grab Natalie’s number, and go get yourself somebody who’s not practically wearing her Master’s collar already.

“Moridian.”

He ordered himself to complete the exit. He could just pretend he hadn’t heard the call. But something in Pennington’s voice hooked him like a carp. He felt like one of the ugly fish too, as he gave the guy a who-me look. The entire time, he fought not to stare at Dasha again. He failed, of course.

“Are you being a fucking party pooper?” Pennington’s tone made it seem they were all at a frat party instead of a bondage dungeon with the world’s most perfect submissive standing nearly nude between them.

What the hell. He could play the act too. He gave his friend a shrug. “I crashed the soiree to begin with. Raife told me they’d be roping up their girl, and I was interested watching his knots, so—”

“Bullshit.”

Dasha’s shoulders went a little stiff. Her lips parted, and she flicked her gorgeous pink tongue over them. Like she had no damn idea what that did to his very bone marrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t throw that FBI tone at me, pineapple boy. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Pineapple—I should turn heel on you for that alone, asshole.”

Though David laughed back at that, the guy snaked a hand to Dasha’s ass and gave her a solid whack. Her eyes went wide, but she said nothing. Against his will, Kress watched her. She fascinated him as a woman and a person but even more so as a newly initiated submissive. In some moments, she completely forgot her place and turned into a feisty, spank-worthy brat. But in the very next, she’d submerge into the dynamic so deeply he assumed she’d gone into subspace before the requisite flogging. In others, like now, she was at her most adorable: oscillating between the extremes, skittish as a colt because of her uncertainty, only three times cuter. And thirty times sexier.

“Sweetheart.” David began the directive to her but looked at Kress as he did. “Be a good girl. Take Kress’s hand and lead him to the bedroom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dasha kept her eyes toward the floor as she obeyed her Sir. In that instant, Kress wished she’d opted for willful-disobedience mode. He needed to know if she had a clue about David’s grand plan here, because he sure as hell didn’t.

By the time they got to the big bedroom with the matching four-poster, he was certain Dasha had no more of an idea about this than he. She kept her gaze riveted to the floor, where she gave the ivory carpet a nervous massage with her toes. Her fingers shook as she twisted them in his, trying to disengage their grasp.

He didn’t let her go so easily. “Dasha.” He locked her hand in his. “Look at me.” She didn’t comply. He wasn’t surprised. So he let his voice go to iron. “Okay, I direct you to look at me.”

She actually stamped her foot. It almost made him laugh. “And who says your directions bear any weight here?”

“Only you.”

Just two words. But Dasha’s sigh told him she recognized their power. And was supremely uncomfortable with it.

The next moment, when she raised her head, Kress understood why.

Her conflicted gaze in the dungeon was the paltry start of what she seared into him now. The copper depths of her eyes looked like three-alarm fires. She wanted him but hated herself for it. Ached for him but damned herself for that too. And yes…felt for him. He wasn’t sure what, but…