Delicate Ties (Trinity Master Book 8)

by Mari Carr

  “Christian,” Vincent barked. “You should have known she wouldn’t understand and helped her. You’ll earn yourself a paddling if you don’t behave.”

  Charlotte bit back the smirk and the desire to say “ha ha.”

  Christian murmured, “Yes, Sir.” He cast her a sideways glance. “Sit up, then kneel on the bed.”

  Kneeling sounded good. Lots of yummy things could happen while kneeling.

  Charlotte rolled onto her stomach and stopped with a gasp. The plug shifted in her ass every time she moved, making her hyper aware of every breath she took. She pulled her legs under her and moaned as the plug shifted, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings in her ass.

  She waited there, on her knees, for the swift, hard fucking she wanted. Maybe he’d spank her first. Oh yeah, she was a bad girl. She deserved a spanking, then a fucking.

  “Kneel up means your upper body is up, not your ass.” Christian urged her to lift her shoulders and head off the bed, until she was facing the wall. The position was losing its appeal quickly.

  “Turn around and face him,” Christian murmured.

  Knee-walking, Charlotte turned until she faced Vincent, who waited at the foot of the bed. His arms were crossed, making the muscles swell. He looked like a warrior king.

  “Spread your knees apart.” Christian guided her as he spoke. “Now raise your hands, put your wrists on top of your head.”

  With her knees spread and arms raised, Charlotte was keenly aware of how vulnerable she was. Lying on the bed, she’d had the security of something against her back. Now she was open to them. Unprotected.

  Hopefully they’d do something, anything. If she didn’t get fucked soon, she would not be held responsible for her actions.

  Vincent nodded his approval to Christian. “Now play with her labia. Don’t touch her clit. Don’t put your fingers inside her.”

  Christian lay across the bed behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see him lounging, head propped on one hand. The other hand danced lazily across the skin of her inner thigh, moving up, up…and stopping just short of the good stuff.

  Charlotte let her head fall back on a groan of frustration, and Christian’s fingers traced the folds of her pussy.

  “Time to test exactly what you’re offering me in your submission.”

  She really didn’t know what that meant, but if she managed to move at just the right time she might be able to fuck herself on Christian’s fing—

  Crack.

  Charlotte yelped and her head snapped down. She stared at Vincent, who had one knee on the bed, a riding crop in his hand. Holy crap. There was a stinging spot on the outside of her right thigh.

  Vincent’s face was hard, but not cold. The heat in his eyes was enough to burn her skin, which was already flushed hot with arousal.

  He raised the crop again. His eyes dropped to her breast.

  She should turn away. Drop her arms. Scream.

  She did none of those. Instead she thrust her chest out, raising her breasts to the stinging snap of the folded flap of leather at the end of the crop. It struck just beside her nipple.

  “Did she just?” Christian asked.

  “Yes,” Vincent growled.

  “More,” she demanded. “Harder.” Damn it! Those weren’t any of the words she was supposed to say. “More, harder, Sir.” There. That fixed it.

  The bed trembled lightly as Christian muffled a laugh, his finger sliding through the wet valleys of her sex.

  The crop struck again and again. On her other breast, low on her belly, just below her mound, the inside of each thigh, the sides of her breasts, and finally a stinging slap to each nipple.

  With a hoarse cry, Charlotte’s whole body clenched. Her ass clamped around the plug, and the thick, hard girth of it only made her more aware of how empty her pussy was.

  That was it. She couldn’t just kneel here any longer. Charlotte dropped her ass down to the bed, trapping Christian’s hand under her. His fingers bumped her clit, and she snarled with satisfaction.

  Vincent grabbed hold of her wrists and jerked her up. She pulled against him.

  “Fuck me, Vincent! Sweet Jesus. Fuck me now or I swear to God—”

  Muscled arms wrapped around her from behind. Charlotte fell back against Christian, cradled between his legs, her head against his chest. He guided her hands back, until her fingers laced behind his neck. The position left her breasts exposed to his fingers.

  The first pinch made her cry out, “Fuck me. Fuck me or I’ll—”

  Her threat morphed into a scream when Vincent thrust inside her hard enough to rattle bones.

  She came. There was no holding the orgasm back. Christ. Every single nerve ending in her body exploded at the exact same time. A nuclear weapon didn’t pack this much punch.

  Charlotte clenched her eyes tightly against the white-hot agony. There was no other word to describe this.

  Agony.

  Perfect agony.

  If Vincent was mad at her for coming, he gave no indication. Nor did he seem to acknowledge the fact that she was out of her mind, lost to the sweet madness of it all.

  He continued to thrust—hard, brutally, beautifully fast. He held back nothing. Gave it all.

  Christian’s fingers were relentless on her nipples—pinching, plucking and twisting. He bit her earlobe, breathing heavily against the side of her neck.

  Her arms ached to hold Vincent, to scratch a path along his muscular back, to irrevocably mark him as hers. She settled for fisting handfuls of Christian’s hair.

  The orgasm rumbled on, ebbed and flowed like the tide. Never ceasing, never easing.

  And then Vincent was there with her, crashing heedlessly through the white foam, both of them hoping as much as dreading that they’d find the solid sand of the shore.

  Charlotte couldn’t begin to guess how much time had passed by the time she opened her eyes. Vincent was still buried deep inside her, his weight resting on his elbows as he held himself above her.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about any of the threats directed our way by these purists. We’re doing a pretty bang-up job of killing each other in the bedroom.”

  Charlotte laughed at Christian’s joke.

  “Still too soon?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Too accurate.”

  Vincent never cracked a smile. His face was still serious, and she wondered if he was upset that she’d failed to follow his commands. Again.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Vincent scowled. “What? Why?”

  She lifted her shoulders slightly. “I’m afraid the concept of submitting is pretty foreign to me. I mean it’s like that Shakespeare class I took in college all over again. Why couldn’t that guy just speak regular English?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Christian’s question revealed genuine horror.

  Charlotte shook her head. “Couldn’t understand a word of it.” Then she looked at Vincent. “You agree, don’t you? That Shakespeare still exists today so sadistic English teachers can torment kids with it?”

  Vincent clearly agreed, but he didn’t verbalize it. Instead, he just said, “I’m tapping out on this conversation,” when it was clear Christian was becoming apoplectic.

  “Coward,” Charlotte muttered just before Christian launched into poetry.

  “Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” Christian lifted his hand indignantly. “You can’t seriously think that’s torment.”

  “Well,” she admitted. “That was pretty. It’s okay when you say it like that, but it’s when he put thousands of those lines together in a tragedy that he lost me.”

  “You have no soul.”

  Charlotte grinned. “Of course I do. You want to hear poetry? X is equal to negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4ac over 2a.”

  “What the fuck?” Christian shook his head.

  “Quadratic formula,” Vi
ncent supplied.

  Christian shot him a dirty look. “That’s not poetry.”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Vince replied drolly. “If it’s okay with the two of you, I’d like to get this conversation back on track.” He slowly withdrew from Charlotte before dropping down beside her. She held her breath as he removed the plug from her ass and tossed it to the floor by the bed.

  She was snuggled between some seriously sexy man flesh. She’d always thought the benefits to joining the Trinity Masters were the doors it opened professionally and the opportunities to network with like-minded individuals. More the fool her. The true benefit was this. Right here.

  “Why did you apologize?” Vincent asked her.

  “I disappointed you again. I don’t seem to be the submissive type. I mean…I think with practice I could figure out how to play the part, but the truth is I don’t really feel the need to obey in silence or without question. I’ve never been that type. It’s probably a terrible character flaw, but I speak my mind and if I want to know something, I ask.”

  “I want to make something very clear to you, Charlotte. You have never—and you will never—disappoint me in bed. For the exact reason you just said. You’re open and honest about your feelings. I never have to question how you feel, what you enjoy. That’s a gift, not a flaw.”

  “But it doesn’t match up with—”

  “Did you like being tied up?” Vincent interrupted.

  “Holy shit, yeah.”

  “And the spanking?”

  “So awesome.”

  “Christian pinching your nipples?”

  “It hurt in all the best ways.”

  “You’re perfect for me, Charlotte.”

  “Perfect for both of us,” Christian interjected. “Except for the Shakespeare issue.”

  “What about your club in New York?”

  “What about it?” Vincent asked.

  “Can we still go there? Even though I’m a shitty sub?”

  Vincent rolled his eyes. “There are a million ways to play, to submit. Look at Christian, he’s not a true sub either.”

  Charlotte was reminded of Christian’s dominance. “You can say that again. I don’t know who that guy was tonight, but he was super-hot.”

  Christian laughed. “I’m a switch. Vincent’s a Dom. And you’re a shitty sub.” He winked at her. “Believe me, it works.”

  “I’m glad. Because I love the way we fit together.” Now that they’d set her mind at ease, the last part of her relaxed, giving way to intense physical exhaustion. “Feels like I just ran a marathon.”

  “Amen,” Vincent muttered, his tired tone betraying his own sleepiness.

  None of them said anything more. Instead, they wrapped their arms and legs around each other and let their mingled heavy breaths lull them to sleep.

  It was a deep one that lasted for hours and hours.

  Until something in Charlotte’s subconscious jerked her awake.

  “It’s White!” Charlotte sat bolt upright in bed, heels of her hands planted on the men on either side of her.

  Vincent sucked in a breath.

  Christian sat up, shaking his head. “Uh, Chuck? It’s really not white.”

  “Huh?” Charlotte looked down. She’d managed to plant her hand a scant half inch from Vincent’s cock. “Oh that. No, it’s not white. I mean White. Honestly, Christian. Don’t be racist.”

  “What? I’m not the one who said his cock was white.”

  She started to scramble up. Vincent rolled protectively onto his stomach, covering the jewels and nearly falling off the bed in the process. She gave his ass a nice smack as she climbed over him. Vincent growled.

  “Charlotte, are you okay?” Christian asked.

  “We fucked her brains loose,” Vincent observed.

  The afternoon sun was peeking through the room-darkening curtains. She slid them open widely.

  Vincent winced, then turned away from the bright light, rolling onto his side to face Christian. The two of them kissed, and Vincent’s hand slid toward Christian’s rapidly hardening cock.

  Charlotte was tempted to join the fun, then recalled what had woken her up to begin with. She dashed into the bathroom, yanked on a robe, and grabbed a cup off the counter. She filled it with water, ran back into the bedroom, and splashed the cold water over them. “Come on. We don’t have time for the two of you to fool around.”

  Two heads whipped toward her, the expressions different but equally dangerous. Christian looked outraged and ready to exact revenge. Vincent’s face was set for battle, as if the water had been a gauntlet thrown at his face.

  “Oops. Bad idea.” Charlotte turned on her heel and raced out of the room.

  Footsteps pounded behind her.

  She heard Vincent issuing commands. “Go left. I’ll go right. Remember the safest tackle is shoulder to the midsection.”

  “No tackling!” Charlotte put the couch between them. They were coming at her from the sides. With a yelp, she leapt over the back of the couch. Someone caught the hem of her robe and she yanked the tie free, letting it slip off. Naked, she raced for the bar, sliding behind it. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, prepared to throw it.

  “Hold it. That’s expensive champagne.” Christian held up his hands in the universal sign for “calm down, crazy person.”

  “I’ll buy another bottle,” Vincent said darkly. “I think she’s begging to be turned over my knee and paddled until she can’t sit for a week. I intend to oblige her.”

  Charlotte was almost distracted by that. Turned over his knee, maybe wearing a little negligee he would slowly raise. She’d have on satin—no, lace—panties and he’d…

  She hefted the bottle. “Stop trying to distract me.”

  “Distract you?” Christian put a restraining hand on Vincent’s shoulder. Vincent glared at him, but Christian held his ground. Vincent didn’t step back, but he did stop stalking her. Christian exhaled. “Charlotte, talk.”

  “The blueprint was signed CFM. But it shouldn’t have been.”

  Vincent paused, but she still wasn’t sure he was listening. He was definitely in Dom mode. Christian, however, was more focused. “Right, you said that last night.”

  “The clue is obviously pointing us toward someone else, but I couldn’t figure out who.”

  “And now?”

  “All the sex made my brain work better.” She bounced on her toes. “Don’t you see. It was White!”

  They stared at her.

  “Not the color. Stanford White. The men were Mead,” she pointed to herself, “McKim, who signed the blueprint, and Stanford White. Do you know about him?”

  Vincent shook his head.

  “Actually, the name rings a bell,” Christian said.

  Charlotte grinned. “He was a famous womanizer. He kept whole houses in New York he used to seduce young girls. And that’s what killed him.”

  “Heart attack in the middle of sex?” Vincent asked drolly.

  “Shot by a jealous lover.”

  “I remember this now,” Christian said. “It was a huge trial.”

  Charlotte nodded enthusiastically then shoved her wild hair out of her face. “We have the library designed by White, which has the Trinity Masters headquarters under it. We have the tunnels, which they said connect the headquarters to the Trinity Church. The church was designed by Richardson. Mead and McKim worked for Richardson.” Charlotte pressed her hands to her head. “There are all these connections. White played a key role. He had to. It was his library design. The artist’s genius…”

  “Charlotte?”

  “I think…I think we need to go back to the Grand Master’s office.”

  Vincent started to press for more, but Christian shook his head. “No, she’s right. What time is it? I need to call Seb.” Christian had his phone in his hand before he even finished speaking.

  Charlotte glanced at the clock and winced. “Jesus, it’s nearly three in the afternoon.”

  Vincent stepped clo
ser. “We had a late night. Put it on speaker, Christian, so we can all hear.” It was clear Vincent was still miffed about the idea that Christian had kept secrets from them about the case.

  “What’s up, bro?” Sebastian said as he answered.

  “What do you know about Stanford White?” Christian asked.

  “Nothing. Should I? Is he a member of the Trinity Masters? Do you think he’s one of the purists?”

  “No. White was the third partner in the architectural firm that drew the blueprint currently in the Grand Master’s office.”

  “Oh.” Sebastian was quiet for just a moment. “Hey, yeah. I didn’t know you were giving me a history quiz. I know who you’re talking about. Wasn’t he sort of a loose cannon?”

  Before Christian could reply, Sebastian groaned quietly. Christian recognized the sound, having made it himself a few times last night.

  “Really, Seb? I’ve got you on speakerphone with my partners and you’re getting a handie while we’re trying to solve your mystery?”

  “You hope it’s a handie,” Vincent muttered, prompting Charlotte to giggle.

  “Hold on a second, Christian. Give me a minute, Elle, and I’ll be right back to bed. Promise.” It was obvious Sebastian’s wife wasn’t happy with the interruption. Nor was someone else when they all heard a man say, “I told you not to answer the phone, Seb.”

  A minute later, Sebastian was back on the line with them. “Okay. Number one, it’s not my mystery. The purists are a genuine threat to all of us. And secondly, it’s your honeymoon, Christian, not mine. Bloom off the rose already?”

  Christian raised his hand quickly to cut off Vincent, who was obviously more than prepared to tell Sebastian exactly how bright that rose was. Charlotte felt heat creep to her cheeks, blushing as she recalled everything they’d done last night.

  “Maybe Charlotte should just explain what she’s come up with,” Christian said.

  “The words from the inside of the book cover—I don’t think they were meaningless. Not the way we thought. They’re another clue—about the identity of the artist.” Charlotte felt the weight of everyone’s attention on her. She bounced on her toes. “I memorized them. Box. Hill. Warden. Cliff. Electricity. Bowery. Bank. New. York.” She’d snagged a small pad of paper and written the words on it from memory.