I desperately want to explore some of the leather-bound tomes in the room to gain some insight into what the hell is going on. It’s very unusual for a mortal to have powers, never mind one who isn’t even dead yet. Then there is the mystery of the living unity brand, something usually reserved for the gods. Something very unusual is afoot, and I want to get to the bottom of it.
Tate’s happiness at seeing our resident dungeon monitor, Michele Soper, shoots through me unexpectedly, and Tate’s head swivels toward me. I quickly tighten the shield barring our telepathic link. Thankfully, she’s too distracted by our Ms. Soper to give the sense of my presence more than a passing thought.
Michele and Tate are clearly close friends, and they pick up where they left off. There’s some kind of sexual tension between them, too, although it’s clear they’re not attracted to each other sexually. Michele quickly cuts to the chase and lets Tate know we’re the subject of speculation at the academy. Most of the staff think Robert and I, and possibly Nameless, are fucking this very attractive woman. We are not, but our reasons vastly differ. Tate’s hackles certainly rose when she brought the subject up. I almost laugh as Tate tries to squelch a jolt of jealousy.
“And, are you?” Tate studies her friend with casual interest that might fool most, but every nerve is taut as she waits for the answer.
Michele gives her a wicked grin. “Tate, honey, I know you think the sun rises and sets with your Bob and that he’s Eros himself, but he’s too much of a tight-ass for my taste. As for the other guys, I might give them a second look if I wasn’t too busy with my guardians.”
“He is not a tight-ass.” Tate frowns. “What makes you say something like that?”
“I was with you in Seattle. Remember? We were together day and night. Remember? We talked. Remember? Your Bob, much as I love him and sweet as he is, is the epitome of a control freak. And you yourself told me how much you’d love to role play but that he wouldn’t because he wasn’t comfortable doing it.” Michele puts air quotes around the word comfortable.
I have to remind myself to steady my shield and hold my delight at this piece of breaking news. Gianna loved to role play. It was something the three of us had shared in that first lifetime together. She had been—
Tate’s sharpened voice cuts into my thoughts. “Just because he doesn’t like to play roles doesn’t mean he’s a tight-ass. He’s just not a good actor, that’s all. I also told you about the great fantasy nights he threw like the Victorian boudoir and the room within the room.”
Now, that one sounds interesting. I make a mental note to find out more about Robert’s fantasy nights. Michele was right, though. Of all of us, Robert is the most careful and has always taken the least risks. But his word is his bond, and there is no one else I’d rather have at my side in a battle than him, Caleb, and Nameless.
“And he’s a very good lover, and I also always told you that.” Tate sounds even more defensive, and I tune back in, my curiosity piqued—why is Michele pushing this?
“And you always had to have sex under his terms. You also told me that.” Michele looks back at Tate just as defiantly. Gods. There’ll be fireworks with these two in charge.
Tate sighs. “I never said Bob is perfect. I said he’s perfect for me. Why are we arguing about this? James was vanilla, and you weren’t too happy about that, but I didn’t pick on you about making changes, did I?” Tate sticks her tongue out at Michele, who bursts out laughing.
“Oh gods, how I’ve missed you. Girlfriend, I’m not picking on you. But, you’re going to have to confront the things you’ve been avoiding. Bardo is where we’re supposed to learn true love, and a huge part of that is discovering our true sexual nature. You’re going to have to admit to your innermost longings.” Michele laughs again at the look on Tate’s face. “Honestly, hon, you’d think I just told you you’re about to be assassinated or something. This place is our wet dream come true. Trust me on this.”
“I’m back with my Bob. He provides all the wet dreams I need.” Tate sounds a wee bit on the smug side, but it’s clear by the look on her face that Michele is having none of it.
“I saw the way Francis and Caleb looked at you in the staff meeting. Honey, they want to jump your bones big-time. And Francis. Hubba hubba.” Michele fans herself. I can’t help but preen just a little—not very manly, but I have no trouble identifying with my feminine side.
Tate reaches forward and gathers Michele in a hug that makes me envious. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice is husky as she leans back, still holding Michele. Michele squeezes her traps and gives a wistful sigh. “Me too. How is he?”
Tate gathers her in for another hug as she says, “He’s good, hon. Nothing replaces his mom, of course, but James stepped up, and he’s well nurtured. I can see from Tate’s thoughts that they’re talking about Michele’s young son and her husband.
“How did you find out?” Michele sniffs, pulls away, and grabs a tissue from the coffee table in front of them.
“James called me. We chatted for about forty minutes.”
“Forty minutes? What the fuck did you talk about?” Michele seems genuinely astounded.
“He found our books and the flogger, I think. He didn’t actually say flogger, but he kept asking about what we did in Seattle. He asked if we could meet to talk further once the dust settled, but he never called. A couple of months ago, he texted a thank you.”
“How—” Michele shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m shocked to see you here, though. How did you die?”
“That’s the thing—I’m not dead.” Tate’s dark, burnished curls bounce around her head like a halo.
“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not dead?” Then Michele’s face suddenly changes to deep concern. “Oh, hon. You don’t know where you are, do you?” She sounds as if she’s talking to a child.
Tate frowns at her. “Of course I know where I am, Mick. I’m in Bardo. And the rest of you are dead. But I’m not. I’m lying in a coma in Mount Sinai.”
“No shit. Then how did you get here?”
“It’s the weirdest thing. One minute I was thinking about the movie Meet Joe Black and the angel of death. Remember?”
“Fuck, do I remember him. Fair warning, if he’s one of your guys, I’m fucking him anyway.”
Tate shoves her shoulder. “You’re going to laugh at this. Bob looked just like him when I woke up from ascension cold fever.”
“But how did you get here?”
“Hera. She snatched me from my hospital bed and told me they need me to get things in order here. Then she gave me to Bob.” Tate tips her head closer Michele. “He healed me from the fever with sex, and one second he looked like my Bob, and the next like Joe Black. I thought I was in a coma dream. And once the pain went away, it was some of the best sex of my life.”
I notice Nameless’s guitar is remarkably silent, although by all appearances, he’s quite caught up with it. But sound is one of his gifts, so he’ll have no problem hearing exactly what they’re saying.
“You always said he was a great fuck.” Michele gives a tell-me-something-new wave of her hand.
“Yes, the best. I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s even better.”
“Lucky you.”
Tate looks at her left wrist for the non-existent watch then rubs her right wrist. Michele grabs her right arm and pushes her suit sleeve up. “What the fuck is this?”
“Francis calls it a unity brand. I woke up with it—”
“I know what it is,” Michele says impatiently. “I mean, do you know what it means?” Michele’s voice is reverent.
“The guys tell me it means I’m bound to them.” Tate points to the first flower. “This sprang open after I had sex with Bob. The second one began to pulse when I had sex with Francis, but it aches like hell. I don’t mean with pain—”
“What do you mean, when you had sex with Francis?” Michele’s body goes erect with curiosity.
Tate’s ear tips light up in embarr
assment. “It’s not like it sounds. We had to save him from the Nyx.”
“Sure, you did.” Michele laughs.
Dorbhe takes that moment to flit in and drop off fresh coffee in the form of a full silver service. While she pours two cups, she basks in Tate’s appreciation, her eyes widening when Tate tells her she doesn’t expect her staff to serve her coffee. Meanwhile, I put a misdirection charm on Michele’s coffee. I need time to investigate my theory on the unity brand and its impact on the clan before anyone spreads that around. Dorbhe finishes up and flits back out of the room.
Tate and Michele doctor their respective coffees. Michele leans forward conspiratorially. “What was he like? He’s a Dom, right? I can smell them a mile away. Speaking of floggers.”
Tate’s ears go even redder. “We were not speaking of floggers, and it wasn’t like that.” She takes a sip of her coffee, trying to control her curiosity, but she can’t. “Do you really think he’s a Dom?”
“Huh.” Michele slaps Tate’s thigh. “You are attracted to him. You can’t fool me, girlfriend.”
Tate glances around the room. Nameless keeps his eyes glued to the notepad he’s now scribbling in. Tate looks back at Michele. “Okay, but you can’t breathe a word. It’s just a fantasy, after all.” Another glance around. “Do you really think he’s a Dom? We never met one of those in Seattle. He doesn’t act all bossy and everything. He’s more like an old-fashioned courtier.”
“And what happens every time you’re around him? You want to spread your legs wide and do whatever he wants, right?”
Color now spreads into Tate’s face, but she soldiers on. “That doesn’t mean he’s a Dom. I want to spread my legs and do whatever Bob wants, too, and he isn’t a Dom.”
“Well, he is, but he’s too much of a tight-ass to know it. And speaking of tight-asses, have you told him yet? I know how you two tell each other everything.”
“He was there. We all saved Francis together. And ever since, he’s been losing his shit. He’s already had a meltdown I wasn’t prepared for. He settled down when I assured him he’s the only one I want.”
Michele snaps her finger. “You always were too naive, girlfriend. If you want to fuck Francis again, offer to let Bob watch. From what I remember, he’s one hell of a voyeur. And, he loved it when you told him your fantasies. So, tell him one about Francis.”
“I don’t know.” Tate looks skeptical. I start making plans.
“One thing we both agree on, I know men, right?” Michele looks at Tate like she’s the older sister, when in actual fact, Tate is quite a few years older, centuries, if you count past lives.
“Mick, you really are impossible. I don’t think we have much time left, and I need your help for the fast track on all things academy. My first priority is rooting out this incubus and making this place safe.”
“Thank gods for that. The academy is a joke right now. Looks like they brought you here to do for this place what I did for Bacchus House, and nobody better.” The two women hug, and then, heads together, set to work. They spend the next fifteen minutes doing what sounds like arguing and quibbling, but at the end of that time, Tate has drafted a list of priorities and has Michele’s rather unique take on the sexual habits of the staff.
10
— Tate —
I’m so fucking glad to see Michele and would have loved to spend the entire afternoon with her, but duty calls. One thing her visit did remind me of is how very short life is, whatever form it takes, and how important it is to wring every ounce of enjoyment out of every minute that we can. So what if we just happen to get one hell of a lot of enjoyment out of sex? So what if that sex is with more than one guy? At once? I blush at the thought while my pinkish parts glow in equal measure. Dear gods.
While part of my mind is on the one-to-one meetings with the twelve professors, another part can’t help planning how I’m going to handle things with the guys going forward. And trying to figure out what the fuck I want. And trying to avoid thinking about the fire that’s brewing in my loins every time I look over at Nameless. And trying to avoid my desire to throw everyone out of my office and work with him on that song—even if it’s for his girlfriend—and see where that leads.
It gets even worse when Francis takes over for Nameless. I thought it was going to be Caleb. Am I disappointed? Not really . . . I want to see them all. Holy gods. I’m in deep shit. I can’t even glance at Francis, or my clit lights on fire. And I want to wipe that smug look off his face . . . with mine. I have a vision of taking a rather inelegant leap over the desk and planting my face on his before I drag my attention back to the woman who teaches rough body play and is explaining the importance of consent and how there have been some very shady things going on recently that smacked of dub-con . . . dubious consent. I assure her we will take immediate action. Almost as soon as I think the thought, Dorbhe appears, notepad in hand. I invite her to stay and take notes.
Seeing Michele reminded me of all our discussions about sexual freedom and, above all, sexual honesty. Without it, there can’t be true love. So, if I walk my own talk, I need to tell Bob I’m attracted to Francis . . . and Nameless . . .and maybe just a bit to Caleb. Because when I look at him, I see my kindred spirit and the chance to have a cougar moment. I mean, seriously, what woman hasn’t wanted to have a hot young guy fresh off the rack just once? If you meet one who says they haven’t, they’re either a religious fanatic or a liar. While I nod and say all the appropriate and encouraging things, I run lines in my head. And try not to glance at Francis. Who, I swear, is starting to smirk. Something Nameless has perfected.
I drag my attention back to the beautiful elf sitting before me. Arnon, the spanking professor. And my mind immediately recalls the feel of Nameless’s lap until I register the actual feel of Francis’s eyes as he reads my thoughts and bores into my soul. How fucking lucky can a girl get? I sigh. There is definitely something in the water around here because I’d probably want to fuck poor Arnon if he weren’t gay. He’s gorgeous.
I thank the gods he’s the last interview because I definitely need to talk to Bob, meltdown or not. What none of them understand is how he gets me. On a cellular level. How he’s always treated me as an equal. How I’ve always been his other half, corny as that sounds, and he mine. I thank Arnon, assure him I’ll be happy to observe one of his classes, and walk him to the door.
I close the door with a sigh, needing a moment. Done with talking to people.
“Come here.” The command in Francis’s voice is like a magnet. I slowly approach the love seat where he sits. He pats the cushion beside him. “Back to me.”
He slides his hands on my shoulders and slowly starts to massage them, deeply kneading the muscles. It’s comforting and sensual. I moan. Close my eyes. Tip my chin to my chest.
“Now, what were you thinking about that spanking earlier?”
I can’t help it. The image of how I fit on Nameless’s lap floods my mind. Francis’s fingers move hypnotically, pulling the memory from me. How I shivered when his calloused finger grazed my nipple. How my breath caught. How I forgot everyone else in the room. They’d simply no longer existed. There’d only been me, Nameless, and that beautiful hand.
“What happened next?” Francis’s hot breath tickles the hair on the back of my neck.
My back arches with a will of its own as Francis’s finger traces the arc of my spine with three fingers, three fingers like Nameless had thrust up my cunt while I’d squirmed like a girl gone wild, as Bob calls me. Let’s face it, I’m just one depraved individual.
“I certainly hope so, but that remains to be seen.” His Scottish accent along with those hands moving lightly over my back almost make me come on the spot.
“You started to shake.”
His voice pulls an answer from me. I can only nod.
He puts his mouth right beside my ear. “Then, you made those delightful little moaning whimpers that have always let me know just how much you want me.”
My
body defies me, and one of those moaning whimpers escapes. Some part of my rational mind tries to fight to the surface.
“Not yet. Remember what it felt like to come.” That whisper of his sends bolts of heat to my core. Every cell in my body wants to strip my clothes off and open my legs wide, just like Michele said. Shit.
His chuckle is low, but I hear it, and my pussy responds with another shot of juice. “You’d better run along. I think your Bob’s about to tell you what it was like to share you.”
But the door opens, and Bob has come to me, instead. It takes all my determination not to leap up as if I’m doing something wrong. But I’m not. And I’m so glad to see him. He’s my best friend, and I need to talk to him. And, gods, he looks good. I stand to greet him. He smiles that smile that melts my knickers right off, grabs both cheeks, and kisses me so deeply that heat rushes to my toes. Gods, I love this man. We suck face until I need to breathe. I step back, laughing, and he puts an arm around my shoulder, sitting us down on the love seat beside Francis with me squished between the two of them, feeling the desperate need to fan myself.
“So, did he tell you?” Bob asks. Now, it’s not as if Bob hasn’t done a one-eighty before in our lives when he realizes he’s taken a wrong turn, but this certainly is a surprise. From my read, he’s full of anticipation and horny as hell.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“Yes, tell her what?” Francis mocks, but it seems in good humor.
“Sprite.” Bob kisses the top of my head. Gods, have I mentioned how much I love this man? As I snuggle against him, against them both, my brand sends tendrils of warmth running through me. “Francis reminded me I was being a selfish jerk. What matters is you and your needs.” He squeezes my shoulder again. “He reminded me we’ve shared you before, and I remember that now. I wish we could figure out a way to help you remember. It would make this all so much easier.”
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