Tate's Task

by Lilith Darville

  I wiggle out of his grasp and stand, needing a few gulps of oxygen. This is all happening so fucking fast. And just like Bob, once he’s changed course, things move along at lightning speed. My heart does a triple-beat cha-cha.

  “So, where do we go from here?” I’m not sure I want to hear the answer while everything in me yearns for them to just take me.

  “Wherever you say, babe. You know it’s always been about you. It’s like I always say, just tell me what you want.” He looks so darned cute in his earnestness.

  Francis stands, shoots his cuffs, and glides over to me. My gods, that man is smooth. So is Bob, but he’s smooth like a jungle cat. Francis is pure masculine grace. He tips my chin so I’m looking directly into those red-rimmed blue eyes, and I’d swear flames flash in the red.

  “We will not do whatever you say. You’ll do whatever we say. Am I understood?”

  My eyes go wide, and I’m left lightheaded as another wave of lust washes over me. He holds my arm, and his strange blend of cold heat prickles my skin, giving me cravings instead of pain.

  Bob comes up behind me, his breath lifting my hair from the back. When I don’t answer, Francis tips my chin up further as his eyes uncover the depths of my thoughts.

  “That’s your only freebie, mo chridhe. Next time you’ll be over my knee. Am I understood?” His voice is firm, no nonsense, pulling me to answer.

  I take a deep breath and nod. And my girlie bits zing at his tone. But before I can venture down orgasm-fantasy lane, Francis tightens the grip on my chin.

  “Are you listening?” His voice sends liquid fire to my pinkish parts, which are now screaming for an orgasm. Because yes, it seems they’ve decided to embrace all this sexy sins stuff even if I can’t quite get my head around all of it. That grip tightens a fraction more, dragging my attention back up from the insistent throbbing between my legs.

  Francis holds my head stationary, reading my eyes. Although gods know why when he can read my thoughts. Another tug on the chin. Gheesh, demanding little shit, isn’t he? “Yes, I’m listening.”

  Demanding I may be, but little? You know I'm not. The thought plants itself in my head clear as day even though his lips don’t move. “After dinner, we’re going to start working on the next scene for the Tribunal. You’re to meet Robert and me in our play room prepared to tell us your favorite flogging fantasy.”

  The throbbing eases up just a little bit. Wait a minute, it’s one thing to tell Bob about some of my innermost fantasies and another entirely to share them with anyone else. Orgasms should not require work on my part. My bottom lip does an involuntary little pout while I ponder this latest development. “And what if I don’t have a favorite flogging fantasy?”

  Bob kisses the side of my neck just under my ear lobe because he knows it drives me crazy. “Our Tate doesn’t like to work for her orgasms. She likes to be serviced.”

  And what’s wrong with that?

  Since Francis is holding my chin so gods-damned tight I can’t move, I see the heat ramp up in his eyes. “Our Tate will just have to learn there’s no such thing as a free ride.” His smile is so wicked I damned near orgasm on the spot. “But, that might be a good starting point for our session . . . If she comes without a fantasy, she’ll need to be punished.”

  Ooh la la. “And we’re talking about me in the third person why?” I let that lip pout out farther, but Francis knows my pinkish parts are all atingle. And so does Bob, clearly, because his erection pokes into my backside.

  “Because I can, and I want to.” Francis drops the breath of a kiss across my lips and glides out the door. I start to turn to face Bob, but he grabs my hips and holds fast.

  “Don’t talk. Hands on the desk.” Bob’s voice carries more than a hint of command, ramping me up to the boiling point. I’ve only heard Bob use that tone twice, and both times count as some of the best sex of my life. I clasp the sides of the desk and wiggle my butt, taunting him. He grasps my hips hard, squeezing his fingers into the soft flesh there, and then slides his hands down my hips and over my ass before moving around to the button on my pants. I move to help him, and he delivers one very sharp slap to my backside. Thwack! It lands low on my ass. Bob cups the spot and squeezes, sending the sharp pain soaring to intense pleasure as the vibrations from the slap roll through my clit. Oh, my gods.

  “Hands on the desk.”

  I plant my hands on the desk again. Bob is an intense lover, but never like this. I like it. I’m so wet, I’m practically drowning.

  “Did I give you permission to move?”

  I quickly shake my head. He rubs his hand over my ass once more before moving back to getting rid of my pants. Once I step out of them and my saturated knickers, hands still on the desk, he kicks my legs apart. I’m dying to turn around, to kiss him. I’m tempted, knowing it will gain me another slap. Three delicious sounds follow that amp up my impatience: Bob’s belt buckle coming undone, his pants zipper sliding down, and the soft thud as his pants hit his shoes.

  When his finger slides through my juices and brushes the crown jewel of my pinkish parts, I almost come apart. Another thing that’s unusual for me. I’ve always been highly sexed, but orgasms don’t come easy. One of the reasons I love Bob is his unrelenting patience, especially when it comes to all things sexual.

  Another sharp slap makes me snap to attention. Bob’s toffee voice whispers in my ear.

  “Francis opened my eyes to a few things about you.” Bob anoints the tip of his cock in the wetness between my legs before grasping my hip with one hand and sliding deep inside me. I groan as I lean back and let his cock stretch me wide. I part my legs even farther in anticipation of the fingers that will play with my clit. Because if there’s one thing I can count on from Bob, it’s delivery of an earth-shattering orgasm. Or three.

  I damned near swoon as he slides his cock slowly in and out of my aching cunt. I moan, wiggle my butt searching for his talented fingers. But they don’t come. Instead, he whispers in my ear.

  “That’s right. Show me that you want it.” Thrust. “Want me.” Thrust.

  I moan again and match his thrusts with my own.

  “Francis reminded me how much I love watching him fuck you.”

  Normally I’d find talking like this hugely distracting. Now, it’s the kind of rush drug addicts talk about, only my drug is Bob’s voice painting deeply naughty, smutty pictures while he fucks me. Another deep moan pulls from my chest, and my ass goes in search of those magic fingers.

  “Oh, no you don’t, not yet.” Thrust. “Francis reminded me just how beautiful you are with your legs spread, a cock in each entrance spreading you wide.” Thrust. The first tingles of an orgasm appear as Bob’s cock teases my G-spot. I’m close to screaming for want of his fingers, his mouth, anything on my cunt. But he continues. His breathing matching his slow, controlled thrusts. Bastard. But I love his control, his taking over, leaving me not knowing what to expect.

  “Francis called me selfish for not wanting to share you. Am I being selfish?” He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, teeth grazing my neck. I nod frantically. Oh, yeah, you’ve been a selfish bastard, but I’ll get over it real quick if you give me an orgasm. Just one tiny orgasm. Please. That word leaks out of my mouth.

  “Ah, my Tate likes that, does she? Likes the idea of fucking Francis? With me watching?” The heat of his voice in my ear sends another wave of desire bolting through me. I start bobbing my head like one of those horrible little bobble dolls. Bob grabs my curls the way I love to stop what’s quickly turning into an involuntary seizure.

  “Ah, yes, she likes that. Good.” He gives another deep thrust, groans and stills, both hands on my hips. His lips remain a hair away from my ear. “Because tonight you’ll let Francis and I know just how we’re going to fuck you.”

  Just like that, he pulls out of me, pulls up and zips his pants, and saunters out the door, leaving me panting with need . . . and a deep desire to give him a swift kick in the balls for leaving me in such a
state.

  11

  — Francis —

  I’m leaning against the wall in the corridor as Robert emerges with a rather smug look on his face, adjusting his pants. With my heightened hearing, I was able to hear everything that went on during the last few minutes. I know from the thoughts swirling around in Tate’s head that she’s filled with lust and ripe for a new experience. She’s equal parts delighted and outraged that Robert pulled out and left her wanting. The term bastard is being volleyed back and forth in her mind as she applies it to us both with equal fervor. Good. I straighten as Robert joins me although I have to admit to a small, sharp jab of jealousy—he always gets her first. But I’d much rather have whatever piece of her essence my Gianna is willing to give than not have her at all. Being without her for several centuries has certainly taught me that lesson.

  “You’re looking rather full of yourself.”

  “As I suspect you’ll be later this evening. We’re all set.” Anticipation flies off Robert like sparks. Tate’s not the only one eager for this evening.

  “Any insights? Concerns?” I say this to give him the opportunity to get anything he needs off his chest.

  He shakes his head. “No concerns, just curious. Who’s in charge tonight?”

  Our Robert might like to think he goes with the flow, but he’s almost as married to procedure as Tate is.

  “She is.” I hide a smile as he frowns. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll explain as we walk.” We head toward our quarters.

  “It’s a common misunderstanding that being a Dom means being in charge. As a Dom, my entire job focuses on giving my sub what she needs.” Robert’s frown deepens, and I hurry on. “Bear with me for a minute, and I’ll explain. Tate has control issues, correct?”

  Robert eyes me with those radiant blue eyes and nods.

  “And along with the control issues, she has safety and trust issues based on a number of experiences over a number of lifetimes with more than a dash of nature thrown in, would you agree?”

  “Yes. Controlling her environment is as much a part of her as breathing. It’s one of the reasons she likes me to take charge during sex. But only within the boundaries she’s set.” Robert gives a wistful smile. “She has a lot of limits, and I’d never do anything to betray her trust.”

  “You’re right on the first two counts but miss the mark on the third.” I throw him a glance, but there’s no suggestion that I’ve offended him, only curiosity.

  “How so?”

  “Our Tate does not really want to set the boundaries. Keep eyes and ears open tonight when we pull the fantasy from her.”

  Robert barks out one of his rich laughs. The man’s voice really is golden. “Pull being the operative word. I’m not at all sure you’re right about this.” That’s our Robert, always the skeptic.

  Oh, I’m right, all right. And if I had any doubts about my instincts, Tate’s chat with Michele confirmed it all. Our Tate loves role play.

  “Another reason we’re putting her in the driver’s seat. You just might be surprised at how large her appetite for kink is.”

  “She said something similar,” Robert muses as he shuts the door.

  I head back to the office. Dorbhe waves me in with one of her many blushes and a wink. Like Tate, her diminutive appearance is deceptive. I wouldn’t want to have to duke it out with our Miss Dorbhe if she went into full protection mode. Tate looks up and grins when she sees me.

  “You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself.” I cross the room and perch on the edge of the desk. The scent of Tate’s lust fills the air. It actually floats around the room as ether. I drink it in, replenishing the stores diminished by the invisibility cloak.

  “Checking up on me?” Tate’s grin widens. She’s loving the attention. And so she should. She is one of those women who have such a large sense of presence that men rarely see the sensual creature underneath. Robert had seen it the moment he met her all those centuries ago just as he had in their last life.

  Legend has it our Robert, bless his wee asshole heart, resisted the pull for months before falling. Even the mortal me had recognized that, for a woman like Gianna, giving her sex, truly freeing herself to be who she was, was the deepest expression of her love. But she kept it beneath layers of shields built through centuries of having to defend and fend for herself.

  I stand and crook my finger at her. “Come here.” Two words. Complete command.

  She rises from her chair and takes the two steps to where I perch. Slowly. I wait silently, wait for her to take her place before me. Letting my mind pull her. After ten seconds that seem like an eternity, she stands before me, licking her upper lip. A lip that tonight will be tight between my teeth.

  “I’m here. Now what?” she says, her eyes dancing with desire.

  I put my index finger over those plump lips. “Next time I call, move faster.”

  She tentatively darts the tip of her tongue against my mouth. “Or what?”

  I lean even closer to her mouth. Her breath hitches, and she silently screams for me to kiss her. With gargantuan effort, I resist her pull. “Or, I’ll tan your hide, mo chridhe.”

  She doesn’t move a hair, but her breathy voice burns the words in my mind. “So you keep promising. And I’m still waiting.”

  “The earthly you was a lot more hesitant.” I couldn’t think of another word to describe her delightful blend of innocence and lasciviousness. It was how she’d hid her true nature.

  “All the more reason for me to embrace what Bardo has to offer, right? I’ll be back on earth before we know it. I might as well enjoy this while it lasts.”

  I grab a fistful of her curls in my hand, cradling her head, effectively immobilizing it. Her eyes blaze, drawing me in. My lips crash down on hers, tongue thrusting into her mouth. As her tongue meets mine, her mind moans, Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Both of her small hands go around the back of my head in a vice grip as she deepens the kiss, giving and taking of ether in equal measures. I wrench myself back . . . panting. Panting? Vampires don’t pant. We don’t really breathe, yet here I am doing both since reuniting with Gianna. My mind brings my carnality to a screeching halt. I drop my hands to Tate’s shoulders, force myself from her clutches, and slip from the desk.

  She glares at me, eyes wild with lust. “If you walk out of this room right now, I’m going to kill you.”

  I pull a Robert move and cock an eyebrow. “And if I stay?”

  She takes a step closer to me. Reaches a hand to my chest. A hand I immediately trap beneath mine before it can stray. “I’m going to jump your bones.” Her eyes positively glisten with need. “There’s been enough orgasm withholding for one day.”

  I smile down at her. “This is most unlike you, mo chridhe.”

  “Yeah, well, Michele reminded me life is short, and I have a lot to make up for.” Her other hand palms my chest, and my second hand joins it, capturing her small hand beneath it.

  “So, tell me your fantasy.” Her hands still in mine, I walk backward, drawing her to the love seat.

  A startled look briefly dims her lust. “What, already? I haven’t figured it out. I don’t even know if I have a fantasy. It’s not like I spend my time fantasizing about having two guys, right?” She reclaims her hands.

  My misdirection has the desired effect. I sit on the love seat and watch, loving the way her body moves as she pings around the room, nibbling on her lower lip.

  “I don’t even know what you’re looking for? What kind of fantasy?”

  “As I understand it, you and Robert enjoyed a whole lot of sexual activity in your last life, as did we all in that first life, I might add. He says you wrote him a few fantasies.” I don’t mention that he said getting them out of her was like pulling wisdom teeth.

  She perches on the love seat, still worrying that bottom lip. “You guys just don’t get that I don’t really think that way.” Her brain sifts through and tosses a few ideas, none of which appeal. “I’ve had an ongoing fantasy ab
out cottaging beside a famous movie star, but I don’t think that will suit.” She’s thinking about one of those men deemed the World’s Sexiest Man several years in a row before he fell from grace. Then a book cover and an image of her on her knees in a white room flashes through her mind.

  Look at me. Her eyes lock onto mine. Good. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She hesitates a moment longer, and I plant the vision of her bare butt over my knee. She shivers. “Okay. I was remembering a book that kind of turned me on.” Translation, really turned her on. “I don’t even remember the title, but it was about a mute guy who kidnapped a woman. He put her in a padded room. I might be remembering this all wrong. Like, it might not have been a white room.”

  Silence. Her mouth immediately snaps shut. “I don’t care about the book. What happens in your fantasy?”

  Abject misery is the only way to describe the look on her face when I finally ask the right question, and it almost makes me laugh except I know there’s no faster way to shut her up, and I want to hear the fantasy.

  She wets her lip again, tips her head back just a bit, and closes her eyes, letting images of her desire drift through her mind. “Different things, really, but mostly it always starts with him giving me a choice to go over his knee to get real food and stuff or stay on the floor, naked in the cell, eating broth or something similar because—”

  “I get it. It’s not about the food. What happens next?”

  More lip licking. Her eyes flash open for a second, but she must see what she needs to because she relaxes and continues. I realize her fear comes from being judged for her evil thoughts. Traces of flames flash through her mind. I send back the image of Robert and I holding her hands in the flames and pull her against my back. She moves without resistance.