by Angel Payne
Realization set in. She was bemused by Mary’s bearing. Correction, lack of one. Her friend was so…calm. And that was so not normal. The little dancer was always a whirlwind. It even looked like Mary was on her way to rehearsal, dressed in a gray T-shirt and sweats, her blonde hair pulled into a tight twist.
“Hey.” Dasha shook the weirdness free and gave in to genuine delight. She crossed and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “I don’t care why you’re here. I’m just glad you are!”
David would’ve been proud. It was the complete truth. When music couldn’t calm her rampaging nerves, choice number two had to be a girlfriend visit or an ice cream binge. Mary arrived just in time to save her from the latter.
“Ditto,” Mary replied. But when they pulled apart, her friend reverted to that strange concentration again, studying her from head to toe. “How are you? You look…really good.”
“And you sound surprised by that.”
“I think I am.”
Now her friend’s mien carried to her voice: a knowing undertone Dasha had never heard before. She chose to ignore it. Her head simply wasn’t bolted on properly right now.
She headed for the safety of humor. “So did David give you the secret spy passcode to get in here or just send you with thugs who blindfolded you along the way?”
To her relief, Mary chuckled. “Actually, Raife brought me.”
“Aha. So what’s the deal? Is the torture master breaking out some dance steps I’m going to kill him for, all in the name of ‘keeping the show fresh’?”
Just like that, Mary’s smile dropped back to Mona Lisa territory. “Torture’s probably on the menu, yeah.” Her eyes went wistful. “If I know Raife.”
Okay, it was official. Dasha wasn’t imagining the woman’s weirdness. Still, she tried a little half laugh. “Well, thanks for taking the detour my way.”
Before Mary responded, she scooped up Dasha’s hands. Her sky-blue stare didn’t blink this time. “David said you might need it.”
So much for mystery now. Her friend peeled off her veil of intentions with one clean sweep. “He said that, huh?” Dasha punched out a harsh breath, thinking—hoping—she still interpreted Mary wrong. “Well, well, well. What else did he tell you?”
Her friend’s gaze softened. But again, her regard was way too steady for comfort. “Pretty much the Reader’s Digest of what happened last night. Downstairs…in the dungeon.”
Dasha knew now why the woman clasped her like a wrestler. “Let me go.” She seethed with fury and embarrassment. How dare he share something like that, even if it was with one of her closest friends?
“No.”
“Mary, don’t—”
“No, you don’t. Before you tear out of here to crucify him, hear me out.”
“Oh, I’m planning more than a crucifixion.” Though a combination of a hammer, nails, and David’s balls sounded pretty good right now. Something to match how deeply he’d humiliated her.
“I know what you’re probably feeling—”
“I don’t think you do, okay?”
“Look at me.”
The woman backed the command with force that stunned. She grabbed Dasha’s chin to back it up. Not that it would have been necessary, once Dasha took in the overlay of new beauty on her friend’s face. Everybody always called Mary pretty, but this strength across her features turned her into a new creature. A person that murmured her power instead of shouted it. A woman wholly sure of her identity, especially after the next words she spoke.
“Dasha, Raife has been my Dom for three years now.”
For a long minute, she said nothing. As she stared at Mary, a playback tape began in her mind. She recalled all the moments where she’d marveled at the harmony between her two dance leads, all the subtle and thorough ways they seemed to know each other, as if reading each other’s thoughts…likely because they had. For three years. Even after these few short weeks with David, she’d started to understand that. Attentiveness, openness, and willingness…they were the very foundation of D/s relationships, weren’t they? She thought about all the new things she’d learned about David since New York, then tried to mentally multiply it by three years.
The overload of it made her sink back to the couch. “Whoa.”
Mary joined her. “I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. I always had the feeling you’d understand, but still…”
“Yeah.” Dasha chuckled. “Not the kind of thing you can spill over a latte and a scone.”
“To up your ‘whoa’ factor further, it’s actually how we met David.”
Dasha frowned. “He told me he saw you guys perform at a club.”
“Not a lie.”
“God forbid if David did that.”
Her friend took a turn to laugh. “Right. Honesty is up there on Raife’s list too. It was a lifestyle club. A place similar to your fantasyland downstairs, only open for lots of people to come and enjoy and learn new things.”
Dasha let her amazement show. “They do that?”
“Oh yeah.” Her friend’s face lit up now. “It makes for a very interesting night. And like I said, you learn all kinds of new stuff too.”
She watched the happiness light up Mary’s features all over again, feeling a little like Dorothy tossed anew into Oz. She’d been living in a black-and-white Kansas, and suddenly the world was brilliant Technicolor, with roads to places she’d never imagined. And friends on them that she’d never really known before now.
She had to force out her next question. “What…were you and Raife doing when David—uh—”
“Flying,” her friend answered with a wink.
“What?”
“Raife is into suspension bondage.” Now her look took on a naughty twinkle. “Rope,” Mary clarified. “Used in creative ways. Very creative…”
Dasha could only stare at her friend for another long moment. Mary looked half drunk now, her eyes glittering, her grin a loopy slide. She remembered staring at the same gleam in her own eyes, reflected back at her from the elevator doors at the Viceroy Miami. Right after David had given a very creative twist to the word piercing. A slow smile curved her lips.
“So…he tied you up and was doing what?”
Mary shrugged. “Oh…a little of this, a little of that. Some twirls, some spanks, a few whips, a few kisses, and some…other things.” Her eyes drifted shut; she sank against the cushions with a sigh. “Ahhh. Nobody does it better than my Master.”
Dasha looked away, grinning wider. Funny. She’d just thought the same thing about David.
And…right after that…Kress too.
Thunderheads curled in her chest again. The darkness curled downward, twisting her stomach. She knotted her hands there, forced her next words out.
“Mary…have you and Raife… I mean, has he ever…”
“Shared me?” Shockingly, she jingled with a new laugh. “Okay, I sort of suspected you’d ask.” She reached for Dasha again, resting a soft hand on her shoulder. “And yeah, it’s part of why David asked me to come talk to you.”
The words came out like such normal conversation, they didn’t register for a long moment. Then they hit like a piano tossed off a skyscraper. “Oh God.” Dasha gasped. “You mean—you and Raife—with—”
“Oh God!” Mary echoed. “With David? Oh my fucking stars, no!”
Dasha was actually grateful for the mirth they shared at that. It gave her a comfortable way to continue. “But…you have been with Raife and…someone else, then?”
There. She’d gotten it out. Even so, the statement astounded. Just a week ago, she and Mary had gone shopping in Miami, chatting the whole time about fashion, nail polish colors, and the hot but gay valet boys. Her friend, ever generous, had even let her have a good rant about Crystal the Pistol, as she’d taken to calling Dad’s new wonder staffer. Now they sat here discussing spankings, whips, and being at the mercy of two amazing men at once. Well, amazing in her case. She glanced at Mary, suddenly realizing her friend’s s
tory might not be the same fairy tale. And what if Mary’s second “prince” had really been a terrible wolf? How would that change how she felt about Kress?
Because, she now forced herself to admit…she did feel things for Kress.
A lot of things.
Her thoughts got interrupted by Mary’s new statement.
“His name is Philip,” her friend gushed. Yeah, gushed was right. Mary’s eyes twinkled with brilliant blue joy—though Dasha noticed her lips quivering in sadness too. “And I’m missing him something fierce right now.”
Two feelings hit. Dasha was sympathetic for her friend’s heartache, but she welcomed a rush of relief too. “So…he still…”
“Plays with us?” Mary filled in. “Hell, yes. Though it’s been entirely too damn long since Master and I have seen him. The three of us met when we toured with Jennifer Lopez. When David hired Raife and me for your gigs, Jenn promoted Philip to her lead slot. He couldn’t say no.”
“You don’t say no to J.Lo,” she quipped.
“Not if you’re sane.”
“Especially if you’ve got the name of an ancient English prince.”
“Okay, biatch, watch what you’re saying.” They giggled again, but Mary sobered fast. “If it makes any difference,” she said, “I think I know what you’re feeling right now.”
Dasha leaned her own head back. “I guess you do.” She sighed. “So tell me it gets easier.”
Mary gave a contemplative hum. “Which part?”
She stopped to ponder that. Mary’s answer wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d hoped for another flippant laugh and a reassurance that the happy-ever-after button was going to get tripped any second now, that all of this would start making sense and life would work itself out. Whatever that meant. “The confusion,” she finally said. “And the…guilt. The crazy sense that you’re walking in a dream but never wanting to wake up from it. The feeling that you’re doing something so wrong…”
“That’s never felt so right?”
Dasha swallowed back tears. “Crap. Yeah.”
Mary gave a sympathetic sigh. “I wish I could give you the answer you want hon, but the path doesn’t get simpler. Discovering your submissiveness is just the first step. Figuring out what that entails and what to do about it… That’s where we’re all different. And a lot of times, it’s where all the shitty head-trip stuff comes in.”
“Hell,” Dasha groused. She appreciated the little snicker Mary gave up for it. But she twisted her fingers tighter into her friend’s grip. “I just know…that nothing has ever made me feel so…”
“Complete?” Mary whispered into her silence.
“Yes,” she admitted, equally as soft.
“Free?”
“Oh yes.”
“Loved?”
“Damn it.” She followed that awkward blurt by pulling her hand away in order to cover her eyes with it. “Yes,” she finally confessed. “Loved.”
“Which means, if I know you, that you give the love back in return.”
She didn’t move for a long second. At last, she nodded. It was true. The confession clamped on her heart with searing, scorching surety. She was in love with David. And every time he bound her physically, more of her heart got tied to him.
“But it can’t be real…right? How can you fall in love from…doing this?”
Mary smiled softly. “Don’t you mean how can you fall in love when it involves taking so much pain?”
Dasha winced. “Shit…yes.”
“Because it’s the pain that frees you, D. It’s what gets you to that pure place in your soul, beyond all the walls you’ve built around it, so the love gets set free.”
She could only nod. It was true. Every word of it.
“But the journey to get to that freedom,” Mary went on, “it’s not an easy one. No regular person would willingly pick up a flogger and use it on you, even if you begged them for it. It takes extraordinary men to understand women like us…to see the spaces in our minds that crave this, then find the courage in themselves to take us there, but then the control in their minds to stop when it’s time too. None of that is easy. It takes a lot of cajones to be that guy.”
Dasha lowered her hand. “You’re right.” She didn’t hide the amazement from her tone. How the hell any of that made logical sense, she had no idea. But it did. Crazy, wonderful sense.
Her friend shrugged. “Why shouldn’t you be in love with your Dom, hon?” With that, an entrancing sparkle entered her gaze. “I’m completely in love with mine.”
Like they were in a play and those words were a cue, the door opened, and Raife strode in. Dasha imagined the guy would look different to her now, but his ensemble drove the change home: a black formfitting shirt overlaid with a pewter vest, black cargo pants with carabiner hooks at the belt line, boots made for commanding a battle ship. His black hair, normally a just-out-of-bed mess, was slicked back from his sharp Italian features.
“Well, look at this.” He intoned it in the voice Dasha normally heard when the guy got ready to persecute the dancers with a tricky new step. “Two lovely pets in a row. Very nice.”
Dasha felt her cheeks flame, but Mary’s face was a sudden forest fire, ablaze with need and longing. “Master,” she said, rising in an eager swoop. “Your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
“Really?” Raife paced over, eyes dancing but black brows arching. “I’m not inclined to agree, love.” He tugged at the front of her plain gray shirt. “Is this the state you intended to greet me in?”
Fresh heat lit up her friend’s eyes. Without hesitation, Mary threw off the shirt. That revealed a shiny latex corset in a rich, dark blue, with black laces cinched to push her breasts up into generous, matched swells. Along the side of one breast, Dasha noticed a swirled tattoo: the letter R. Before she could see if Raife’s last initial got honored on the other side, Mary shucked her sweatpants as fast as she’d lost the top. Beneath them was a barely there pair of black latex shorts layered over Caribbean-blue fishnet stockings. Both showed off the woman’s toned dancer form to naughty perfection. Since the dancers often wore heels to rehearsals, the black Mary Janes on her friend’s feet had clued nobody, including Dasha, to what the sweats really hid.
“Better?” Mary asked, lifting a hopeful smile. But Raife wiped it off her face by jerking her head back with one hand, then smothering her lips with his own. Dasha felt she should look away but instead couldn’t help gawking at her friends. They barely came up for air before sealing mouths again, clearly not caring if she watched, left the room, or started swinging from the ceiling fan.
When they finally pulled apart, Raife used his hold to push Mary right to her knees. As she dropped, her shining eyes never left his face. “Better,” he crooned and gently stroked her hair. He broke contact with her for just a second to let a wicked grin fly free. “Hey, Dasha.”
“Uh…hey.” Bewilderment still reigned on how to relate to this new, take-no-prisoners version of her buddy. Raife let her deal with that dilemma in private, his desire for his woman now flashing in his eyes and playing across his jaw. He plunged his tongue into her again. This time, he also scooped a hand inside her corset, pinching the treasure inside. Mary moaned, running a hand up his arm, but her action made him stiffen. He twisted, caught her wrist, and angled it sharply back.
“Forgetting manners already, pet?” He added a harsh tongue click. “Oh, it has been too long, hasn’t it?”
Mary visibly trembled at that. Dasha couldn’t figure out if she’d gotten terrified, aroused, or a combination of both. “Yes, Master.” Her rasp didn’t clarify it either. “It certainly has.”
“Maybe it’s good that I called in some reinforcement.”
New emotions lit up her friend’s face. Anticipation. Lots of it. “You did?”
The next moment, Mary let out a shout that bordered on a squeal as a stranger strolled into the room. Dasha had to admit, the guy bumped the BPM on her pulse too. Though dressed in similar attire to R
aife, his tanned face, gold hair, and leonine grace made him more suited for a gladiator thong. When his gaze found Mary, he gave her a smile of both lover and predator.
“Well, well, well.” The man’s voice sounded like velvet over sandpaper. “How’s my favorite little play toy?”
“Naughty.” Raife supplied it as Mary jostled at his feet, clearly yearning to jump up and attack the guy. “And ready, Sir Philip. Look at the way she can’t control herself. Just had to pull her off me for getting handsy during a reward kiss.”
The golden god issued some tsks of his own. The sounds carried the same sand-and-silk quality of his voice. Dasha began to regret using his name and anything ancient in the same sentence—especially when he threw an openly sadistic stare at Mary.
“Is that so?” Philip crossed the room until he towered over her. “Does someone need a refresher about pawing their Master correctly?”
Dasha watched Mary’s reaction. Mesmerizing. The little blonde stopped squirming, though her breaths now came fast and furious, shoving her breasts tight against their constraints. Her lips fell into an obedient line; her stare dropped to the tips of Philip’s boots. “Yes, Sir Philip,” she answered. “Your toy would appreciate the instruction…very much.”
“Perhaps the toy shouldn’t be neglecting her manners again.”
Mary frowned. “Sir?”
“Maybe there’s a ghost in the room, or do you have a friend here?”
Dasha skittered back as the Dom nodded toward her. She’d been absorbed with the interaction of the three before her, almost joyful that their dynamic unfolded in such a natural way. Observing Mary’s adoration for her men had eased Dasha’s impression about being a deviant herself; now she felt a lot more like her friend, a woman simply with a lot of love in her soul to give. She didn’t want to shatter that special bubble for Mary, Raife, and Philip.
Mary, however, already smiled her direction. “Permission to rise, Sir?” she asked Philip.
“Well done,” he praised. “Granted.”
Mary approached and took her hand. “May I introduce my dear friend, Dasha?” To Philip, she added, “She’s called ‘D’ by her Sir.”