Unholy Promises (21 page)

“We’ll have to work on your technique, Kitten, but that’s later,” Master promised. I turned to see his lips twist in a snicker then dropped my gaze to watch him pull out a third collar. “Collar me, Kitten.”

What game is this? I wanted to scream, my head reeling as I reached and took the collar from his hand.

I swallowed hard, lifting the collar to his throat, pausing only long enough to gaze in his eyes, seeking the secret to what was going to happen next and finding no clues whatsoever. Feeling like I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t, deciding hell with it all, as I closed the collar around his neck and fastened it as tightly as I felt he’d tightened mine, so that it was a heavy nuisance, a constant thought.

He nodded at me when the job was done, the three of us standing there with identical collars on. I admit I was curious as to what would come next and wouldn’t have been surprised if some fourth person had leapt out from behind the sofa in that moment. But no surprise Dom made an appearance, it was just the three of us and, even though he wore a collar, Master was definitely the one in charge. “Undress me.”

Having learned my lesson with Lord Fyre, I started with Master’s shoes, slipping the woven leather shoe he’d imported from India from his bare feet and setting them to the side before standing to unbutton the deep red short-sleeved silk shirt and slide it over his shoulders. Standing so near Lord Fyre, he seemed so pale, even though it was only the night before that I had remarked on his tan lines, and he was thinner, just as lean, muscled, but not as bulked. It always seemed they stood toe to toe and eye to eye, but seeing them so close together, it became obvious that Lord Fyre was the larger man by several inches in height and girth.

Folding his shirt and laying it neatly on a nearby chair, I told myself I would stop the comparison there, but my brain kept clicking and pacing, smaller feet, smaller hands, and as I unzipped his expensive, tailored slacks and slid down both pants and silk boxers, I flushed eight shades of red as I made comparisons as he was exposed.

Garrett was circumcised at birth, as are I think most American babies. Lord Fyre was as he was the moment before he was born, uncut, and, seeing his erection straining at the foreskin covering his head, I longed to push it back, exposing all of him. Garrett too was sporting a hard-on and it made it hard to not notice how well-endowed he was … and then compare that Lord Fyre’s was not only equal but obviously thicker and a bit longer.

I couldn’t understand why their differences were so obvious this time. I had seen them both naked before, even naked in the same bed, but nothing had compared to what was going on between the three of us in that moment.

I helped him step out of his slacks, then folded them and placed them with his shirt before turning toward both men again, willing my mind to stop. It wasn’t that one was more handsome than the other, or even that one was better at sex than the other, it was just that they were both so different and yet, they held my heart, body and soul in equal measure.

From there, everything happened at once. Lord Fyre grabbed my upper arm and moved me to not only face him but pulled me tight into his chest, hugging me, restraining me, not that I planned on going anywhere, but it was obvious his intent was for me to not move. I heard the click as a short chain linked our collars together, holding our faces so close that we had to either graze cheeks or kiss and I’m not even certain who made the decision that we should kiss, but we did and it was hungry and savage, nothing like the kiss of only a few moments before. I wasn’t sure what had shifted the mood from soft and hazy to unbearably intense, but I knew I couldn’t get enough of his mouth and tongue and he seemed of a same mind.

I barely registered a second click, then Lord Fyre’s lips had left mine and he and Garrett were kissing, but I was trapped between them, or rather our three necks, attached, made it impossible to do more than turn my head enough to kiss them both on their rough cheeks. It was enough to regain their attention and then the three of us were kissing and tongues became merely tongues and I wasn’t completely sure whose was in my mouth, not that it mattered as we kissed and licked and sucked for what seemed like dear life.

Pressed between them, Lord Fyre to my chest and Master to my back, I had no time to wonder or question where we were going from here when it became obvious that Lord Fyre was fingering my clit and Master was sliding his finger into my pussy from behind.

In only moments I was wet, crying out for more and as Garrett slid his fingers, wet with my moisture, to my anus, I knew that my wish for more would soon be met.

Lord Fyre lifted me up onto his waist so that he held me with my legs wrapped around his waist and then I was sliding down and he was filling me. I closed my eyes, his mouth locked on mine, his tongue and his penis filling me as deeply as they could. Our tongues began sparring, sucking, biting as he softly thrust.

Master, from behind me, pinched a nipple. Hard. Harder.

I cried out, breaking the bond I had with Lord Fyre’s mouth, but he wouldn’t be denied. He reclaimed my lips as Master continued pinching and pulling my nipple, as Master slid first one finger, then two into my ass, still pinching.

I convulsed against Lord Fyre’s chest, the combined sensations overwhelming.

“Don’t you dare come, Sophia.”

Oh God.

I felt Master’s dick pressing against the rim, as he used his fingers to spread my moisture, and then he was pushing, the pressure building as he forced his way in, not because I was tight, but because with Lord Fyre already filling my vagina, it was a tight fit. Then he was in. He was all the way in, grabbing my shoulders to arch me back against him.

Because of the chains connecting our necks, Lord Fyre was pulled forward. “Are you ready for this?”

He pulled out slightly to thrust hard, pushing deeper, and the sensation of the two dicks filling me, separated by only a thin wall of muscle, pushed me over the top.

“Please, please, please! I’m going to come.”

“Not yet,” Master whispered against my cheek, then he bit my jaw, not drawing blood, but holding onto me with his teeth. One more sensation added to the others.

Oh God, oh God.

“Master!”

“Not yet,” Lord Fyre growled, and I realized that he too was holding back.

Their rhythm matched and I started screaming, a vortex of pleasure lifting me. From behind me I heard Master panting as his thrusts became stronger as I loosened more.

Their breathing grew heavier, their pants matching, building to a crescendo, and all I could do between them was moan and scream and beg for release. My vortex peaked …

and I was falling … my orgasm shattering in its intensity—no permission granted.

I awake, realizing I’d dreamed but more I awake, facing the truth of something I’ve denied, of something I didn’t want to remember. We hadn’t used condoms that day … so this child could be Garrett’s, or it could be Thomas’s. By the end of the scene, there had been semen everywhere…

I hadn’t even considered pregnancy…

I’m on the pill.

I lapse back into sleep, back into dream, thinking…

I cannot be pregnant.

I dream and my dream is filled with images of baby … ten fingers, ten toes, dark eyes and pouty lips … I see myself bound, tight leather cuffs hold my wrists and my ankles … my belly is swollen … I am huge … grotesque in my pregnancy … but not grotesque … not really. I look radiant and beautiful.

“The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food…”

~ Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

I haven’t seen Kitten since returning from Paris and now, not only do I have to face her, but under the worst of circumstances. The traffickers, captured and still alive, are being detained at a local lock-up until international authorities arrive, the girls are safe, their parents already on planes to retrieve them, and I find myself, mere hours later, sitting in Garrett’s living room, preparing to accuse Garrett, my friend and lover, of trafficking. Tonight I will blow my cover because tomorrow international agents will be arriving to question him as part of a human trafficking investigation that involves four countries. I close my eyes, wanting to start the day over again.

I’m afraid the easy part of the evening is announcing, I’m an international agent, living here in San Francisco undercover. It’s complicated.

Garrett is quiet as I laid out the entire story—the prequel to why I have really invaded his house at the ungodly hour of eight a.m., including my faked death, betraying Eva’s trust, my brother and the danger he has put himself in to keep me from being in that place, my coming to the U.S., then, while on a mission, meeting Latisha, who came to be under my protection, but who during that time saved me from myself by allowing me to love her…

How losing Latisha and the children to Africa had reawakened old memories and the need for Eva had resurfaced, and even though I had originally gone to Paris to save Nikkos, I had sought out Eva, who now incidentally is near death and I want nothing more than for her to live and come to love me again as it once was … even though I am completely in love with both he and Kitten. Then, as a final footnote, an oh-by-the-way,

“You are under investigation.”

He blinks, then stands, excusing himself to the kitchen. I am not invited to follow.

George doesn’t wait for an invitation, he just follows, leaving me on the couch alone, catching only the occasional phrase as Garrett discusses the problem with George.

“Should our lawyer be here?”

“Is the oven preheating?”

“I’m not guilty of anything, George, why do I need a lawyer?”

“Trust me, you need a lawyer,” George whispers, asking louder, “More garlic?”

“Yes, I think so, more garlic and maybe turmeric.”

“I hate it when you use turmeric.”

“Turmeric reduces stress levels.”

“There isn’t enough turmeric in this house, Garrett.”

I can see Garrett through a large paned-glass window that divides the gourmet Mecca from the metro chic living room. The window allows in great expanses of natural light from the penthouse’s main feature—the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that spans the length of the over-sized living room and looks out over both cityscape and bay. Garrett is on the defense, waves of angry energy flying from his body, but as he stands behind his mammoth cooking island, grilling honey and orange salmon, Cajun shrimp kabobs and Jack Daniel’s marinated porterhouse, his body is well-schooled, emanating calm, cool, control. Nine in the morning and he’s preparing a feast for a king.

No, standing in his Mecca, he is king. His wine selection, taking a quarter of the wall, attests to the fact that he enjoys and can afford the good life. On display are wines collectors would kill for—in the wine cellar, out of view, are his everyday selections, still the best, still expensive, but not as rare. He faces the room’s other showcase wall—tidy rows of shiny cylindrical tins, his spice rack, neatly labeled and arranged by geographic origin first and alphabetically second. At last count, there were over two hundred spices and yes, he knows exactly the best use of each. I never argue an invite to Garrett’s for the sake of eating. That today, he is including a meal of grand proportion, speaks loudly of just how uncomfortable he really is.

What a fucking mess.

Garrett’s houseboy feather-dusts barefoot around the living room, looking very Diva-ish in his white capris and sailor-striped midriff-baring T. I’m well used to his obvious prancing and posing, paying him little heed. I am certain that Garrett sent him out as a distraction, so that he and George could have some semblance of privacy to discuss the situation. I sigh, watching him with no amusement.

“Relax,” he commands me in a hushed whisper.

“I didn’t realize I was tense.” I meet his eyes, now knowing he wasn’t putting on the show for me, but rather Garrett.

“Kitten knows you’re here,” he whispers. “If you care for this woman at all, you will go to her. You do not know how badly she has needed you. So busy you are in your own head, ignoring her problems.”

Her problems? I open my mouth to protest, but Garrett sweeps into the room, announcing, “Dinner is served.”

Between bites of salmon and steak, I ask casually, “Is Kitten here?” I realize even as I ask how much I miss her.

Mid-bite himself, Garrett lowers his loaded fork to the plate and nervously runs his palms over the linen napkin covering his slacks, before meeting my eyes. “Actually, she’s hiding in the bedroom. I’m to be the messenger and deliver the news to her whether you still want us or not. Or if our relationship is officially over.”

A second later Enrique is at his side, holding his shoulders, and sending me a hate-filled look across the table. “Vye? Vye would you do this—vye you break deez tu vonderful people’s hearts?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” George insists, standing. “Are you the one investigating Garrett? Has that been your sole purpose all along?” Realizing the implications, he turns to Garrett. “Could you at least express some emotion here? Is it odd that I am angrier at what is happening than you?”

Standing, Garrett crosses the room and stares out over the city to the sparkling bay.

White dots mark a scattering of small boats and larger sea vessels. Keeping his back to the table, he asks, “I’m under investigation—are you here as my business partner, my lover, or in an official capacity? Because I’m not trafficking anything, human or otherwise, and I should probably have my attorney here if you are acting officially.”

Standing, I walk over to him, bumping his shoulder with mine as I step in close. “I’m here as your friend and because I love you. I’m the one blowing my cover here … to prepare you for what is coming. I’ve been nothing but one-hundred-percent honest with you. All I want to do is protect you.” Just to make sure he understands, I grab his face and kiss him. I rarely kiss Garrett, and never in front of anyone other than Kitten, but this morning, to seal the pact we made almost a year ago, I kiss him, hard, hard enough that his lips will still feel me long after I leave him and I will feel his. Releasing him, I call out, “Sophia!”