by Dakota Trace
“Fuck it. I can’t be any more miserable than I already am.” Surging off the swing, he brushed off the resulting physical ache and followed Jude inside. If they wanted him, they were going to get him – consequences be damned.
Stalking down the hall, he wasn’t quiet when he pushed the door open. The thud of the handle smacking the wall behind the door had both occupants freezing. Micah couldn’t stop the growl building in his chest. Olivia lay naked on the bed already with her thighs parted, exposing the tender folds between her shapely thighs. More than anything he wanted between them.
Uttering a hoarse curse word, he reached behind him and gathered the back of his shirt before stripping it over his head. His back gave a slight protest, but whatever Ethan had mixed into the ointment he’d put on his back for the past few days had helped. It was no longer an agonizing mass of flesh anymore.
Jude pinned him with a glare. “You won’t hurt her.”
The low warning sent the self-anger inside of Micah flaring higher. “Like I would ever hurt her. Where’s the trust you claimed to have, Larson?”
Jude grunted. “It’s still there, but you need to calm the fuck down or I’m not letting you touch her. I know you’re angry at what happened and even understand why, but I won’t watch you lash out at the woman I love.” Blue eyes meet Micah’s. “If you need a whipping boy – then my back is there for you, but you’ll touch our Mistress with the care she deserves.”
Micah’s shoulders slumped. Jude’s offer to allow him to beat him defused the anger he’d been carrying around since he woke up in the hospital. Even when he’d held Olivia on the first night, his anger hadn’t subsided. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her so he’d merely tolerated her presence until she’d calmed.
“Fuck.” He looked down at the floor, keeping his voice low enough it wouldn’t carry to the bed. “How the hell am I supposed to do this? Every part of me feels conflicted. Like I’m gonna be torn apart from the inside out.”
Jude clapped a hand over his shoulder. “One step at a time – only do what feels comfortable. Either way we’re happy you found the courage to join us.”
Nodding, he watched as Jude rejoined Olivia on the bed. Watching as his friend dipped his head to kiss Olivia, the familiar pool of excitement in his groin made his cock harden. Even before he’d run down to New Orleans, he’d loved to watch Jude kiss their Mistress. She always had a delightfully bemused look on her face when Jude finished.
Wanting to see it, he moved closer to the bed. When Jude lifted his head, Micah got his wish. With her lips swollen and a glazed expression in her eyes he wanted nothing more than to kiss Olivia, but didn’t dare. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he felt her mouth against his.
“Beautiful,” Jude rasped before reaching for the ties on the stand next to the bed. Seeing the leather in Jude’s palm caused Micah’s breath to rattle in his chest with anticipation. They were either the same ties they’d used in Chicago or their twin. He kept his gaze on them as Jude gently tied her hands together at the wrists. “Is it okay? Not too tight?” He prodded at them before squeezing her fingertips to check for circulation. It was something Micah had seen a thousand times before, but this time it seemed to have a deeper meaning.
This isn’t the same as what I saw between Leland and his bitch of a Mistress. Even when he disrobed her, he was rough and impatient. There wasn’t this level of caring between them. Fool that I was, I assumed it was just passion which had him being so rough.
“Do you want to check them?” Jude’s question drew Micah out of his thoughts. He had to quit comparing Olivia to that bitch. She was nothing like her and he knew it even if his instincts were screaming otherwise. Nodding dumbly at Jude, he traced the leather, checking for any area which would pinch or bind. Despite the fact he was submissive, he knew the restraints as well if not better than a seasoned Dom. Experience told him where the leather would rub and possibly cut off the sub’s precious circulation.
“They look good.” He allowed his fingers to trail down her upraised arms, now secured to the top of the headboard, across their sensitive undersides and over her armpits. As he suspected, she wiggled a bit as she fought not to laugh. “Ticklish?” He arched a brow at her when she whispered “yes”.
“Yes, what?” Jude’s tone was harsh as his knuckles tipped her face up to his. Olivia’s gaze widened before her tongue darted out to lick at the thumb just scant millimeters from her mouth.
“Sir?” The softness of her reply didn’t fool Micah for a moment. She would never call a man Master and mean it, but at times like these she wasn’t above playacting.
The corners of Jude’s mouth twitched before he looked over at Micah. “What do you think, Micah? Was it sincere?”
He slowly shook his head, running his hand up and over the swell of her breast as the way she shifted was an attempt to get him to touch her where she needed. “I don’t think so. I think she needs to be punished.” When she wiggled again, trying to brush her hardened nipples against his palm. He tsked in amusement. “It looks like someone wants something, Jude.”
Jude chuckled. “Yes she does and I think I have just the thing.” He moved off the bed to dig around in the duffel sitting on the dresser. It only took a few moments before he straightened with a satisfied “aha!”
As he turned back to the bed, Olivia gave a squeal. “You wouldn’t dare!” She began to struggle against her bonds. After handing Micah a small box, he returned to his former position, leaning over her until their noses nearly touched. “Are you safewording on me already, Mistress?”
“No…but you can’t put those…” She cried out as Micah attached one of the small nipple clamps on the peak nearest to him. Like a good Dom he’d tested it on his pinkie before attaching it, but with her attention on Jude, she’d never seen it coming. Arching her back, she sent the small attached weight swinging. “Son of a bitch!” Her cries were aphrodisiac to his ears as he handed the other to Jude.
“Don’t you dare…” Her threat was lost in a garbled moan when Jude took her nipple into his mouth, sucking strongly. Pleas and gasps filled the room as Micah watched his partner torment the succulent berry between his lips. When he released it with an audible pop, Olivia didn’t have time or breath to protest as Jude attached the second clamp. “Oh my God!”
“Give me the chain.” Jude’s request sent a bolt of lust through Micah. Blindly reaching into the box, he snagged the matching chain which hooked the two clamps together. Handing it to Jude, he groaned as the man attached an end to each clamp. Giving it light tug, Jude seemed to savor the sounds dropping spilling past Olivia’s lips. She promised to be a good girl – anything as long as they removed them.
“Enough. A good sub accepts her punishment without complaint – correct?”
Micah groaned but the irony of the words wasn’t lost on him. He’d heard those exact words many times as his Mistress had punished him. “Relax and it won’t sting as much.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Very funny, mal-chick. I’ll remember that the next time I have you bent over the spanking bench.” Instead of fear, her words brought a wave of lust so strong, Micah nearly spilled into the soft sweats he’d put on earlier in the day.
Out of the corner of his eye, and standing next to the bed, he caught a glimpse of Jude disrobing. He was still as muscular as he had been the last time Micah had seen him unclothed. He wasn’t surprised to see Jude had kept up the grooming regiment which they had started when he’d accepted his place as Olivia’s sub. The itch of the hair growing back in at his own groin reminded him it had been too long since he’d shaved. It gave him an idea. One which, if it’d been two weeks ago, he’d have no problem suggesting. Forcing back the ill-thought notion of having Jude help him shave, he turned his attention back to Olivia.
“Perhaps. But first I think Mistress needs something to keep her quiet. What would you suggest, Jude?” Without answering, Jude straddled Olivia’s torso. If Micah hadn’t been watching he wouldn’t have noticed the wince
Jude gave as the move tugged on his outer thigh.
“Open up, little subbie. I want to feel you swallowing every inch of my cock.” With a low moan Olivia obeyed, lifting her head off the pillow. Without thinking, Micah moved to support her head when Jude stopped him.
“Why don’t you see if you can get her to scream around me, Micah? I bet she’ll go crazy if you did what you did last time.”
Jude’s pointed remark and glance over his shoulder was all it took. Micah scrambled between Olivia’s legs, sprawling on his stomach to bury his face in the folds he’d been admiring earlier. Cupping her ass in his palms, the first tickle of his agile lips over the slippery entrance to her cunt was met by a muffled squeal and a harsh expletive from Jude. “Damn, boy. Whatever you did, do it again.”
Micah obeyed without thought, not caring that Jude had taken complete control of the scene. He was lost to the familiar taste of his Mistress. Holding her with one hand, he spread her open with his other, fucking deep, hard and fast with his tongue into the clenching warmth pressed against his mouth. Savoring her unique flavor, he wanted – no needed more. He licked up to find her ripe little clit. Nibbling at it, he shoved her legs over his shoulders so he could slip two fingers inside her sheath. The sounds of rising ecstasy coming from above him had him pressing his cock against the bedding in an effort to stave off his own building pleasure. God, so good.
Angling his fingers, he sought out the roughened patch of flesh which was the heart of his Mistress’s desire. Finding it, he rubbed good and hard, wanting to coax her closer to the edge. He groaned as a fresh wave of cream escaped her. Lifting his head and continuing to hold her open to his gaze, he stared down at her wet sex. The inner lips were swollen and clinging to the length of his fingers. The contrast of her inner pink flesh and his dark skin made him growl. “So god-damned sexy.” He blew across the swollen little bud at the top of her sex. It quivered and her garbled mewl of pleasure made him feel as if he were the best lover in the world.
He was vaguely aware of Jude jerking away from their Mistress’s mouth to kneel at her side as Micah continued to blow on her. His chest was sweat covered and he had his fist wrapped around the base of an angry, close to bursting dick. Micah couldn’t help but stare as Jude fought for control. His head was tipped backwards and he looked like he was close to losing it. When he finally dropped his head, his gaze met Micah’s.
“Make this little bitch come, because I want to see her cover your face in pussy juices.” He glared up at Olivia. “Then I’m gonna fuck you into the bed and force you to come even harder.” Jude’s hoarse demands sent Micah into overdrive. Desperate to not only feel his Mistress climax, but to also please Jude, he latched onto her clit. Drawing into his mouth in a fast sucking rhythm he didn’t protest as Jude pulled her legs off his shoulders to press them against her chest. The rising moans had him rocking his hips against the bedding.
“Now, Micah. I want to see it.”
He groaned as Jude found what felt like a leather flogger and swatted him lightly on the ass. Where the hell…
“Make her come.” The command drove him over the edge. Yanking his fingers out of her sheath, he thrust them inside her ass. Her screams as she orgasmed were met with his own groan of completion as he once more filled his pants with seed. Man, I’ve got to stop this. I’m gonna run out of clean clothes was his last thought before Jude gently rolled him away. He watched with dazed eyes as Jude mounted their mistress and thrust wildly before stiffening and finding his own release. Olivia climaxed hard again before Jude’s body slumped over her. The sound of their mingling pants were the only thing which reached Micah’s ears.
Chapter Sixteen
Standing in the steadily rising morning heat, Rena waited for Ike to pry herself out of the passenger seat of the rental. Having already made the mistake of trying to help the heavily pregnant woman yesterday, she wasn’t in mood to have her head ripped off again. Especially after drinking the crap Thomas gave me. She’d never heard of a family who didn’t drink coffee, but evidently Thomas was the only one who occasionally imbibed the liquid nirvana Rena needed to even begin to function. And the fool only drinks instant decaf. She couldn’t stop the mental shudder which ran through her. Eying the upscale coffee shop on the corner, she wondered if she could make it down it there and back before Ike managed to free herself from the car. She hadn’t had time before picking up the assassin to stop for coffee thanks to some highly erotic dreams about her boss.
“Don’t even think about it. Bitch of Sin first, coffee second.” Ike strode up to her wearing dark capris, a leather coat over a tailored button down maternity shirt and carrying a battered satchel over her shoulder. Her short spikey hair defied the warm breeze, while Rena’s long dreadlocks felt like they weighed about fifteen tons. She’d piled them high on her head in deference to the uncommonly warm weather, but she prayed to God by mid-afternoon she was somewhere comfortable like her motel room where she could shed her outer layer. You wouldn’t think 45 degrees would seem warm but it does. Especially after trudging through below zero weather to go to the airport back home.
Sighing, she followed Ike into the French restaurant. The smells of French roast and bacon reached her nose. While waiting for the maître ’de to seat them, Rena heard Ike muttering under her breath about pansy-assed men walking around like they had a stick up their asses with towels draped over their arms. She had to agree, the waiters seemed a bit pretentious considering the hour – for Christ’s sake it was only nine in the morning.
This was definitely not a place she’d frequent of her own freewill. In fact, if she’d been back home, she’d have eaten at the office, dining on fresh croissants and to-die-for preserves everyone swore Jackson had made. But one of these days, I’ll catch him ripping off the label of some fancy jam jar and prove them all wrong. There is no way something that delicious came from the Cajun playboy masquerading as my boss. Jerked out of her thoughts with the arrival of the maître ’de, she hoped they would be seated quickly. She was ready to tear off someone’s arm for a good cup of Joe.
“Bonjour, mesdames. Combien sont-ils aujourd’hui?” The thick phony French accent grated on Rena’s nerves. She didn’t have to visit France to know when some backwoods hick country boy was faking it – although during her last tour of duty she’d been based out of Istres Air Force base as one of the few female MPs. As he continued to slaughter what she considered to be one of the sexiest languages in the world, Rena strove for patience. She would not lose her cool. She would show Ike she knew how to be professional even if it killed her.
She needn’t have worried. Ike reached out, grabbed the man by his jacket and nearly dragged him over the podium. “Either you knock off that fuckin’ fake French since you can’t seem to keep from butchering it and take us to Fiala Svoboda’s table, or I’m gonna rip your goddamn throat out.” Smirking, she released him to cock her hip as well as an eight month pregnant woman could, before cracking her knuckles. The man paled. “So if you can’t figure it out with your third grade IQ, that means there’ll be three of us having breakfast and one of those is eating for three. Now you wouldn’t want to deprive a pregnant woman of her food, would you?”
The man shook his head before checking the seating chart. “This way, ladies.”
Rena kept quiet as they followed the man through the cloth covered tables. They finally arrived at a table where a perfectly done up matron in her mid-fifties sat. Her slightly graying auburn hair was done up in an elegant twist and she wore a crème color morning suit with a rose colored blouse. Her make-up had been applied with a tasteful hand and she seemed to be the epitome of French gentry.
“Good morning…Ms. Edmunds is it?” Mrs. Svoboda dabbed at her mouth with the ivory napkin after Rena and Ike had been seated. Rena cringed, waiting for Ike to explode like she had in Chicago. What is it with these people and their names? But not for the first time Ike surprised her. She calmly picked up her napkin and draped it across her belly.
; “Good morning, Mrs. Svoboda. And it’s Ike. Remember that and we’ll get along fine.” Picking up the menu, Ike scanned its contents. As if realizing Rena was staring at her in shock, she glanced up and arched an eyebrow at them. “What can I say? Thomas has been nagging at me to be more polite and not deck people when they do that. Said something about it being a bad influence on our baby. But if she tries it again, all bets are off.”
“Unbelievable,” Rena muttered under her breath as the waiter arrived to take their order. Needing some support to get her through this, Rena ordered the strongest and largest cup of espresso they had on the menu despite the exorbitant rate they charged.
Fiala took a sip of water before clearing her throat, after the waiter had left with Ike and Rena’s orders. “From my understanding you’re here to inquire about a party I might have held last week?”
Rena nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We believe a person or persons who hurt a friend of mine may have attended the party. An associate of yours, Jason Wasterson III stated he met them at your function on the fourteenth.”
Cocking her head, the woman fiddled with a knife next to her plate before straightening it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that, my dear. I arranged several parties for Valentine’s Day. It is a premier holiday for those who enjoy the fetish world.”