Chains and Canes (28 page)

“He wants to come in me the way you’re going to come in him. He wants…the
us
. Not me and then him, not you and then him. All together. Circles and triangles and building something pretty, pretty.” She wasn’t fully rational, but she
was
making sense.

Because Remy knew exactly what she meant.

It scared the living shit out of him.

“Yes.” Daniel agreed with her. “That. That’s it. What I need.”

Naya deserved to come one more time. She needed it, in fact, if she was going to slide down to earth before the end of the year. “Time to come again,
chère
. One more time. It’s Daniel’s cock, but you’ll give your orgasm to me.”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

Daniel all but attacked her. Each drive was pure taking. He hitched her legs up, around his waist. Her ankles draped over Remy’s hips. They were one entity, just as they’d wanted.

Remy knew otherwise. He’d yearned to be part of this strange magic, but even if they wanted him—even though they’d let him into their world—it wouldn’t last. He’d never left the swamps behind. That foul stink never set a man free. He couldn’t
make
perfection last. Naya couldn’t fly forever. Daniel couldn’t submit forever. And Remy couldn’t control them forever.

His control would end as soon as he came, which meant that although it promised to be one of the best orgasms of his life, he never wanted it to happen.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Naya came as easily, as forcefully, as she had all evening. Her body seized. She gasped names in turn: Daniel, Remy, my love, my Sir, oh my God, and
Dios mío
. She was a garbled mash of happy and mindless, but Daniel could only appreciate it from a far, far distance. He was too tied to his own needs. Yes, he envied her abandon and the freedom Remy had given her to take and take, but—

“Your turn, Daniel,” came Remy’s whispered words.

Naya’s legs circled back around Remy. Remy’s arms crisscrossed beneath her ass. They held on tight, together, without words. Her cunt pulsed with the last sweeping waves of her orgasm, like a fist around Daniel’s dick. Their bodies trapped his so that he had to work harder to pump his hips. He dug his knees into the mattress and took what he’d denied himself—what he’d
been
denied—since stepping into the bedroom.

His body shut down even as it did exactly what a man’s body was designed to do. Come. Come.
Come.
He lost sensation everywhere except the length of his dick, from balls to head. Pleasure like fire. Pleasure strong enough to wipe a mind clean of higher thought. He checked out with one last thrust and a hoarse, grunting moan.

“Good.” Remy’s praise was breathless, and the stream of words that followed was frantic. “
Mon Dieu
, Daniel, so good.
Fuck.
You get me now. All of me, no matter how much it hurts. Take this. Be my good boy.”

Oddly, the pain was easier to endure knowing he’d dragged Remy this far—he and Naya, together. Their cool, distant Dom bowed over their bodies until his forehead pressed between Daniel’s shoulder blades. That merciless prick swelled during the seconds before Remy grabbed Naya’s hair and Daniel’s hair and growled a stream of curses. French and English. Whispered and cruel. His orgasm was
fierce
. Daniel tucked his face against Naya’s neck, groaning his agony and the satisfaction he’d never be able to put into words.

Time passed, but Daniel would never know how much. He’d never know how they’d untangled, only that Naya’s compact little body was stretched between them. He’d never know how he’d sunk so far, from man to the base creature to an even stronger man who slowly, slowly climbed back into his own mind.

Naya flew. Daniel descended. Remy gave them freedom in two different ways.

He was amazing.

And he was restless.

Whereas Daniel’s bones had dissolved and Naya looked like she’d never move again, let alone dance, Remy was fidgeting with the sheets. His eyes roved over the canopy as if calculating every dollar that had made their sanctuary possible.

Daniel wasn’t himself yet. He would never be the same self again. But it was his turn to take charge. After such an out-of-body experience, he welcomed the return to something approaching normal.

“Hold her. Talk to her.” He encouraged Naya to sink into Remy’s embrace. “I’ll be back.”

Minutes later, he returned with the supplies they’d need. He stood in the doorway, listening to Remy’s words.

“You did so good, my
chère
. Nothing was too much for you. I didn’t hold nothing back. You know that? I gave you everything I had in me. Hell, girl, my arm is gonna be sore tomorrow. You were perfect.” He kissed her face and forehead and jaw, while softly stroking her curled-up arms. “Just perfect.”

Daniel’s heart pinched. Hard.

Soon her comedown was in full swing. Daniel had a headache to end all headaches—probably his rational mind clubbing his caveman brain back into a corner—but that just meant a few aspirin and a bottle of Gatorade. He took care of Remy’s condom, even as the man arched a curious eyebrow.

Don’t say a word,
Daniel silently begged.
Yes, I’m still serving. Let me. Let me, before it wears off.

Remy stayed quiet. Together, they worked to bring Naya down to earth. She was crying, grasping at Remy, burying her face against his bare chest. “Stay, Sir. Please.”

A shudder worked down the man’s body as he smoothed Naya’s hair and stroked her oil-paint-red back. “More begging,
chère
?”

She surprised Daniel and maybe Remy when she stilled and quieted. She pulled her head up, looked him dead in the eyes. Daniel sat close enough on the edge of the bed to see that she wasn’t
all
there. In fact, she was a long way from “all there.”

Her earnestness compensated for that lack.

“I’ll stop, Remy,” she said, her voice clear and calm. “You’ll stay or you won’t.”

That was the extent of her control. Shakes overtook her shoulders and wound down to her toes. Daniel wrapped a cashmere throw around her naked body, then nodded toward her as his sobriety returned in full force. “You gonna leave her like this or help me?”

Remy stared at the ceiling again. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he took a deep breath. He glanced at the supplies Daniel had assembled on the nightstand. “What’cha got there?”

“Everything a falling girl needs. Chocolate, Gatorade, lidocaine, Tylenol.”

“And you? What do you need?”

Daniel quirked a smile. “My ass hurts, Sir.”

“Toldja,” Remy answered with a tired, smug expression.

Then he leaned against the pillows stacked along the headboard and pulled Naya until she was half-propped against his chest. She burrowed into him as he whispered more of those quiet endearments—the praise she needed from her Dom. With the Dominas they’d hired in the past, Daniel had been the one to soothe her. But this… She needed Remy. She needed her Sir and all the praise he could lavish.

Daniel stayed back. Although he needed that praise too, he was protecting himself. He didn’t want to hear whispered endearments from a man who might bolt at any second. He didn’t want to know how that would feel if he couldn’t keep it forever.

“You’re staying,” she said against his neck. “You’re staying with us tonight. Promise me.”

One more sigh. Remy held Daniel’s eyes. Warred. Threatened.

Backed down.

“Yes, Naya. I promise.”

Daniel hid his relief by holding her head as she sipped Gatorade. She carefully swallowed a couple Tylenol. He unwrapped a chocolate bar. The hit of sugar helped to ease her somehow. Maybe the sugar propped her high for a few minutes, so she didn’t plummet so quickly.

Meanwhile, Remy surprised him by taking his own role in Naya’s aftercare. He rolled her onto her front and lavished her tender, abused skin with lidocaine cream, even as he continued to admire and praise her. “Oh,
chère
, you’re gonna love seeing these marks in the morning. Bruises from the flogger. Cane marks straight and deep. Your ass is a work of art. You let me do that to you.”

“For me.”

“For…?”

The catch in his voice surprised Daniel. Remy looked away, even as he continued to lightly massage her back and ass. Daniel lay down beside her, face-to-face, still encouraging her to eat. “
For
us,” he said to Remy, although he and Naya never looked away from one another. “Do you know what a gift this was? I don’t know if you ever will.”

They stayed quiet for a long time, holding her through the shakes and resupplying three exhausted bodies. Remy urged Daniel onto his front, providing a little TLC to one very tender asshole.

Only then did Naya seem to perk up. She was sluggish in her speech, but her eyes were beginning to clear. “You two were so fucking hot.”

Daniel shrugged. “No hotter than any other two guys banging on one chick.”

“Or one guy getting his ass pounded for the first time,” Remy said with a half grin. “Happens all the time.”

“Yup. Don’t know why you’re getting your pretty little head in such a tizzy.”

She slapped Daniel on the chest and half-heartedly tried to throw a pillow at Remy. “
Güebóns.
I hate you both. Lots and lots and lots.”

Remy crawled over Daniel and straddled her. He took her head in his hands, leaned close and kissed her. “Liar,” he said against her mouth.

She snaked her hands up his sides until he doubled over, laughing, felled by whatever wizardry told women exactly where to find ticklish spots. Remy collapsed against her far side, grinning but trying to look stern.

In a way Daniel would never be able to articulate, he and Naya had resumed working together on their deeply intuitive level. Again, she curled against Remy’s body from toes to shoulders and began to stroke his chest. The most tender trap. Daniel reached over to dim the bedroom lights. A pale wash of deep, deep gold turned real time back into dream time. This wasn’t a session anymore. This was sharing the beautiful aftermath, although Remy hadn’t relaxed.

“Where you from, Sir?” came Naya’s joy-quiet voice.

Daniel noticed right away, and he couldn’t tell if she’d done it on purpose. She’d solicited information while referring to him as
Sir
.

“You don’t wanna know that old trash, Naya girl.”

“Now you have to tell.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cuz I heard the word
trash
. That doesn’t apply to you. Dancer. Choreographer. Company leader. Friend. Colleague. Lover. Dominant. Lots of words. Trash isn’t on that list and never will be.”

“What if it was?” Remy swallowed audibly. “Or should be?”

Daniel held very still. He kept a reassuring hand at Naya’s waist, but if anyone could get Remy to fight his past, it was her—especially when she was still touched with the fuzzy quality of a woman just shy of the real world.

Talk to her,
he urged as his mental faculties sharpened and his intellect completed the crawl up from Cro-Magnon.
Talk to this happy space cadet. Maybe she won’t remember a thing. Just talk to her, Remy. Talk to her, Sir.

“
Should
be? Trash? Don’t be silly.”

She tossed the throw blanket aside and petted the circular line of his tattoo, then defined each thread of muscle with a trembling forefinger. She was naked. Beautiful. Remy’s gaze caught on her breasts where they pillowed against her arm, whereas Daniel was treated to the swoop of her back and her round ass—the proof of how Remy had given her what she’d needed.

“I was your good girl, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” he said on a quiet hiss.

“Do me this favor in return? Just talk, Sir. Please? I need your voice. I need to be close. Those Dominas? They were here because we paid them, and they left as soon as their hour was up. You’re our Sir. You won’t leave us. I know it.”

“You don’t know shit, Naya.”

His tone was angry, but he didn’t move. In fact, he sank deeper into the mattress and pulled her closer. She was shivering again, so Daniel brought back the blanket. Those hot and cold spells could continue for hours, as her body righted itself.

“The swamps might as well be another planet. Momma was fifteen when she got knocked up with me. Barely educated. Don’t even think she knew that sex led to babies. She lived with her momma and tumbled with boys and men twice her age. So my daddy? Who knows?”

He tried to sit up. Naya pushed against his chest, more forcefully than Daniel would’ve thought possible in her condition. Perhaps she felt it too, that this would be their only chance. “So, skip him. Daddy didn’t get you here.
You
did.”

“Oh, I had help. Or we could call it motivation to get the fuck out. My meemaw’s younger stepbrother was twenty-five. He was plenty motivating. And if you try to get those details out of me,
chère
, I
will
leave.”

She kissed his neck, his shoulder. “What you can tell, my Sir? Only what you can tell.”

“He…” Remy cracked his knuckles until Daniel reached over to ease his restless anxiety. No one would’ve believed the man had come in spectacular fashion only an hour earlier. “He taught me lots. How to hold my liquor. How to make fake IDs. How to forge Momma’s signature to pay bills. Don’ know how he got her on the disability rolls, but it was free money. Meemaw’s too. Not like we had anything else coming in.

“I was thirteen when I’d had enough. Men in and out of the house. Momma high on whatever she could find—mostly meth and sniffing paint. And that fucking piece-of-shit uncle coming after me whenever he had the chance.”

Remy’s body was rigid. He’d stopped moving, as if being motionless was protection. Maybe it had been. For a man who moved with such grace, stillness was the equivalent of Remy as a corpse.

“I hoarded everything I could. Pickpocketed the guys who stayed the night. Stole those checks. Sold meth I snatched from mom’s stash. I probably had a grand when I hightailed it. Thirteen years old with a trash bag full of clothes and a wad of cash. I walked to Baton Rouge, through the swamps and the back roads. Fifty miles? Didn’t trust hitching. Didn’t wanna get caught by my family. Or anyone else.”