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

Chapter Two

Angel

She loved their special time after leaving the dungeon—her men bathed, pampered, and cherished her. They seemed relaxed, their focus entirely on making her feel loved. Angel tried to ignore the small flutter in her stomach telling her all was not right in their world. Master embodied absolute control, but even in the reaches of subspace she saw the kiss. It was more a touch of Master’s lips, but it crossed the invisible line Sir marked in the sand.

Sir washed her hair, massaging his fingertips into her scalp, while Master’s wet hands smoothed across the lines on her flesh created by the rope. Master’s touch held a mystical quality.

She couldn’t help the uncertainty she felt due to the kiss, and her mind drifted to Hooriya, the other her, the woman she once was. Hooriya died to escape an honor killing by her family. But the frighteningly real memories of torture and death remained deep within the reaches of Angel’s mind. Master and Sir rescued her from that world. They didn’t think her unclean. To them, she was honorable and they daily built her feelings of self-worth. In return, she offered everything.

After their ritualistic time of pampering, they sat down at the large dining room table for dinner. Angel looked at her food, feeling a lump swell in her throat. The sound of Master’s chair scraping against the floor gave her a start, but she kept her head down. He gently pulled her up and directed her to the floor by his chair, nodding for her to kneel. Even though she knew it bothered Sir, she gratefully sank into position, feeling such an incredible thrill submitting to Master’s dominance. The delicious taste of herbed chicken passed her lips, fed by Master’s hand. She automatically chewed then swallowed.

“Good girl.”

His voice sent shivers across her skin and she opened her mouth for the next delectable morsel. The rolling in her stomach eased and peace settled around her. Master always knew. He could be doing one hundred other things, but his awareness of her never stopped.

“What’s going on, Monroe?”

Her head jerked to Sir, and she guessed that he felt the uncertainties that had clouded their day. The fact he brought it up in front of her didn’t bode well. She lowered her eyes back to the floor, feeling her heartbeat accelerate.

Master’s hand settled on her head, gently smoothing her hair. “I leave in the morning. There is unfinished business that I must attend.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sir toss his napkin down. “Fucking spy business you mean?” He stood and walked a few feet from the table.

Master continued the slow, sensuous motion of his hand on her head, offering comfort.

“Is that what that fucking kiss was about?”

“Zachary.” Master’s sharp voice resounded throughout the room and his comforting touch stilled.

She dropped protocol and gazed between the two men. Sir glanced her way and the stricken look on his face made her heart seize. She knew they occasionally argued, but around her, they rarely raised their voices.

Sir turned and left the room without a word.

Master’s fingers tipped her chin in his direction. “I am sorry, Angel. I have no choice in this matter or I would not leave either of you.”

He held her chin, but her eyes dropped, fighting tears.

“Come.” He stood and lifted her to her feet.

She glanced back at their barely touched food, thinking she needed to remove the dishes to the kitchen.

Master spoke, “Marguerite will take care of it.”

“Undress for me, love.” He said when they reach his room.

His intense brown eyes shone in the soft light and she could do nothing but comply. She yearned to give him everything he desired. He undressed quickly and sat on the side of the bed waiting. She couldn’t help admiring his wiry muscular build, which was very unlike Sir’s more heavily defined muscle. She could feel his eyes piercing her flesh as she, ever so slowly, folded her clothing and set it neatly aside just the way he liked.

He pointed to the soft carpet and she walked over and knelt between his thighs.

“Look at me.”

Her gaze traveled up past his muscled legs to the juncture of his thighs where his cock was slowly coming to life and then to his defined abs. She loved the slight sprinkling of hair that traveled upward then peppered out to his nipples. The sparse hair didn’t hide the scar that ran from chest to shoulder, but, at this moment, she didn’t think about the pain he’d suffered. She gazed at his chest… rock hard all the way to the corded muscles of his neck. Her breath hitched at the slow, steady pulse just below the skin. She admired his shaved jaw, and then his softly curved lips that turned the harsh planes of his face into a sensual promise. His control, such a part of him, relaxed with his smile and showed a depth of feeling that shattered her world.

His husky voice sent a thrill directly to her core. “Take my cock.”

She smiled and leaned in, her eyes focused on his. She placed one hand beneath the tight warm sack of his balls and smiled naughtily when his cock jumped. With her other hand, she aligned his burgeoning flesh with her lips and ran her tongue over the bulging head.

His eyes closed briefly then flared open. “Hands behind your back.”

The throaty order made her smile around his flesh and comply without hesitation. He loved it this way, just her mouth fucking him, her eyes on his, with his hooded gaze taking in every nuance of her obedience.

She treasured everything about his cock—the silky flesh, hard length, and musky, salted taste. She knew the different flavors of her men and would never be able to choose which she preferred. Saliva released from the glands in her mouth as she sucked him deep into her throat, swirling her tongue under the crease beneath the head. He shuddered and she gloried in her ability to give him pleasure. Undeniably his slave, she relished the power of her servitude.

Warm hands encased her head and he increased the tempo of her movements until he cried out and pulled her forward. She couldn’t breathe as cum slid down the back of her throat, but she savored every second of his undoing.

Air entered her lungs when he eased away. His eyelids were now closed as he regained control of his breathing. He sank back on the bed while she rested between his thighs waiting for his next command.

Finally, he reached down and pulled her up beside him. His fingertips trailed over the swells of her breasts and he sucked on one nipple and then the other until she writhed. His fingers traveled to the folds of her pussy, glistening with need and swelling at his touch. Then, her breath caught when he stopped his exploration and lifted her hands, bringing them to his chest.

“Touch me.”

He’d never asked this of her. She always touched Sir, but Master didn’t invite this intimacy. Her palms traveled his hard chest, cherishing his warmth, accepting his gift.

“Touch me with your lips, Angel.” His breath ruffled her hair.

Using her mouth, she feasted on every inch of bared flesh while never ceasing to explore with her hands. A low growl left his throat and he rolled so he pressed her body into the mattress. His thumbs moved across the tears she hadn’t known she’d shed, and then his hot tongue licked the wet trail before returning to her mouth.

He made love to her. Not a play scene or artistic creation, but pure unequivocal love.

Chapter Three

Monroe

Mastering the intricacies of rope was much like mastering the nuances of Angel. And tonight, he discovered that no rope on earth compared to the touch of her lips against his skin.

His nose rested in her hair, his arms held her close while she slept. For the first time in years, he sank into memories of his past.

His parents had little time for the odd child that shied away from a mother’s embrace. The best doctors, psychiatrists, and therapists made little headway past the walls that kept the world out of the workings of his mind. Medical professionals bandied diagnoses and tried different therapies, but Nathanial, from his earliest memories, felt he stood on the outside looking in.

His nannies and tutors bragged about his brilliance in every subject, but his parents wanted a normal child. Nathanial Jason Monroe would never be normal.

When he was ten years old, a stodgy British bodyguard by the name of Stephens put a length of rope in his hand. The braid, perfectly woven from small filaments, told Nathanial a story. He studied the rope for hours, unfurled the strands, and then tried to reconstruct their original form. He wrapped the cord around his wrist, liking the feel against his flesh. It wasn’t cold or warm and felt nothing like human touch. But, for a young boy caught in a void, the rope was alive.

A few days later, a book of knots was smuggled into his room along with more rope. He studied the book and practiced each instruction for hours until he could tie them with his eyes closed.

One day, Stephens put his hand out and invited Nathanial to tie his wrist and show what he had learned. For the first time, he voluntarily touched another human being. Focusing on the intricate knot formation, he stroked Stephens’ skin and admired the way it compressed within the strictures of rope. He looked up.

Stephens smiled. “You learned well.”

Nathanial rarely spoke, but he needed to communicate too badly at that moment. “May I do another, sir?”

The bodyguard’s eyes brightened, his smile deepened, and he nodded.

Nathanial double looped the rope and then wove the next knot. He asked to tie another and then another.

“I made my own knot, sir. May I show you?”

“Yes, lad, show me your design.”

The knot was a combination of several, and Nathanial closed his eyes and let his fingers construct the picture in his mind. When finished, he looked at the weave covering Stephens’ lower arm.

“You have found beauty in the rope.”

It was beautiful and much more alive than when he practiced on the bedpost.

Stephens put his other hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded knife.

“It is important that you find a way out if the rope becomes stubborn. My knife is sharp and will cut deeply if misused. Can I trust you to be wise and use it only in times of trouble?”

Nathanial nodded.

Stephens did not raise his voice. “I wish a spoken answer.”

Nathanial did not hesitate, “Yes, sir.”

Stephens placed the handle of the knife into Nathanial’s hand.

“Now cut the rope and see how sharp it is.”

Nathanial didn’t want to slice the beautiful creation and Stephens understood.

“I must know you can use the knife. There is more rope. I will provide whatever you need. It is important that I know you are practicing safely.”

Nathanial sliced the threads, allowing the dull side of the blade to run across Stephens’ skin. The rope snapped free and Nathanial looked up in question.

“Very good, young sir.”

Nathanial smiled.

More books appeared in his room. Within a day of each gift, he could master the knots with little more than looking at the pictures. Then the book arrived that completely changed his life—a large coffee table picture book of Shibari. The kimono-clad men and women fascinated Nathanial.

He went to Stephens and asked to use him to practice some of the designs within the book.

“I cannot allow that. My job is to protect you, and I must have at least one hand free and not have my movements restricted, but… I have an idea.”

After dinner that night, Stephens took him to the kitchen. Marguerite, their cook, was cleaning the last of the dishes. She seemed unsure of Stephens’ request at first, but then agreed to have her hands bound. Nathanial had known her for years, liked the cookies she baked, but especially liked that she never tried to touch him.

Her skin was different than Stephens’—softer, with no calluses, and it reddened more when he wound the rope around her hands and arms. She remained stiff while he wrapped and knotted the cord. He rarely noticed the feelings of people around him, but when he looked up, he saw her worried expression.

“I will not hurt you,” he assured her with a calming smile.

“S
í, Señor Joven.
”

“I shall be quick and then you may join me for milk and cookies.”

Marguerite laughed, and their ritual of bondage and milk and cookies began.

Stephens’ next gift was a collection of kunai, Japanese throwing knives. He taught Nathanial to handle them with incredible accuracy. They practiced for hours, but Marguerite promptly turned him down when he asked to use her for a demonstration of his newly acquired throwing skills.

“
No estoy loco,” she said with conviction.

He knew she was not crazy, but he thought it odd that she reacted so vehemently. He would never hurt her. His unusual bond with these two adults changed his world. They accepted him as he was.

He attended college shortly after his sixteenth birthday and began learning about the complexities of human nature. Outside of his studies, he watched the mannerisms and intricacies of relationships, trying to understand society’s need for interaction.

At twenty-one, and only a few months away from earning a master’s degree in bioinformatics, h
is parents died in an automobile crash. He never quite understood the concept of death. In his early college years, he took classes on religion and metaphysical analysis to try to gain insight into something that made no sense. His curiosities about death went unanswered until the finality of his parents’ passing. He experienced grief for the first time and their loss created a need he did not understand.

Nathanial finished college and then made a life-altering decision. He always admired Stephens’ military training and without a backward glance at his many job offers, he joined the Marines. The structure formed a world in which Nathanial excelled with little effort. His accuracy with any and all weapons placed him in the sights of the military elite. His standoffish behavior became a commodity. He was twenty-three when he killed for the first time. He settled the feelings surrounding that death in the far reaches of his mind. The man had murdered innocents and needed to die.

His participation in the BDSM community evolved through his quest for sexual gratification with as little human contact as possible. He became known for his artistic rope work and allowed several photographs of his designs. He examined the pictures, but they left him cold because they did not convey the correct precision of his work. He built a studio in his childhood home and started controlling all aspects of his gift.

Through his BDSM club associations, he was introduced to Mistress Melody Charles, a world-renowned photographer. Though more than fifteen years his senior, she became his first long-term lover. A kinky switch, she taught Nathanial a more diverse dominant roll.

She got along with Stephens and Marguerite, scheduled models, and when their relationship shifted more to friendship, she found male and female submissives that interacted within the confines of Nathanial’s needs.

Years later, he rescued Zachary and yearned for something he never before desired. Maybe it was seeing Zachary bound in a tangle of messy rope work or the look in Zachary’s eyes as he waited for death. The young soldier made Nathanial crave that elusive bond that was stronger than rope... love.

Through Zachary, Nathanial found Angel, and for the first time he had a family that accepted him as he was. Now, after one kiss, Nathanial realized he may have changed their dynamic forever, and he feared things would never return to the way they once were. Nathanial pulled Angel closer, trying to shake his troubled thoughts from his mind. He had no idea how to fix it however even if he did, he had to go away.

Hours later, he felt the bed dip as Zachary joined them. Angel’s body shifted slightly away, but Monroe held on. Zachary’s leg settled between hers, and Monroe finally closed his eyes and let the world drift away.