Chains and Canes (4 page)

“And I can’t stand making it happen.” Daniel’s hands petted up and down her slim arms, until he tucked his fingertips under the sleeve of her pink T-shirt.

Remy knew sex. More than that, he loved dominating those who craved it. He curled his fists to restrain the sudden need to grab and snatch and fuck. He wanted to grab a mean paddle and see the marks left by his work.

He cleared his throat, hoping to keep his eagerness out of sight. “That’s why I’m here? You take a look at me and think I’m the guy for the job?”

“You’re as easy to read as I am,” she said. “Go on. Deny it.”

“Not denying a thing, darlin’.”

She and Daniel shared another private look. Both mouths tipped toward tiny smiles. Naya spoke for them both. “We’ll have to keep it out of the club, of course. No hint of any of this when it comes time to dance.”

“Except for when I throw in some choreography where I drag you around the stage.”

Her grin flashed wider. “That’s just inspiration.”

“And you want pain.”

A shudder worked through her. Daniel combed his hands through her hair in a comforting, sexy motion. “I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”

Remy’s cock was hard. His body gave a sudden throb.

He unhitched his belt buckle and drew the leather through his jeans loops with a quiet hiss. Doubling it over felt like the hot, bright potential of a spotlight. Focusing on Naya and Daniel jerked him two steps above ordinary. He got to be more. Better. Impressive.

“By all means,
chère
. I can make you hurt.”

Chapter Four

For Daniel, it wasn’t how the belt slid through the loops of Remy’s denim jeans, though he admitted that the slithering sound touched a deep part of his psyche. It was more about the way that Naya buzzed under his grip. The pressure trapped inside her skin was good. Incredibly good.

He’d hoped for as much when inviting Remy to their flat.

Nothing made Daniel happier than when Naya got what she needed.

He saw the magic in her submission, when her thrumming, tense energy slipped away with each blow and every cane stroke. She could let everything go when she cried. She sobbed and voiced every fear she’d ever had and then, amazingly, set them all free.

It was beautiful.

Daniel had never managed to get her there. He would lie down and die for her, but the idea of personally hurting her made him sweat and shake. He’d tried three times. By the third, they’d wound up sitting naked on the bed, holding hands, staring at the slapper he’d tossed against the far wall.

Since then they’d depended on female Dominas when Naya’s need built and built—when the limit of Daniel’s rough play still left her restless. They’d even tried a night with Geoffrey August, a friend of a friend who was known in the community as an experienced Dom. He’d used the opportunity to fuck Naya’s mouth, insisting that was what she really wanted.

What an ass.

She wanted to cry. After her sobs settled, with tears still fresh on her cheeks, she wanted Daniel to make her come.

Geoffrey’s negative example wasn’t the only drawback of including a man in their play. There would be risk when bringing in one to whom Naya felt a core-deep attraction. Daniel wasn’t surprised by her choice. Remy was athletic and insouciant—the bad-boy combination that fueled some of the fantasies she shared.

Just fantasies.

On this occasion, however, Daniel was struck viscerally by the man’s potent effect. Even wearing a casual tank top and worn jeans with holes through one knee, Remy was…attractive.

Daniel had admired men before. He’d revealed his private, curious desires to Naya with mind-blowing results as they climbed into one another’s skin. This was different. Remy Lomand wasn’t a clean-cut man in a suit, yet he radiated power. He was a living dare, like walking over burning coals and BASE jumping.

If Daniel and Naya hadn’t established years of exacting trust, he might’ve worried. He’d never had cause. No matter who they looked at or where their erotic minds wandered, or her extreme needs—none of it had dented their love. Never had. Never would. They fit each other on so many other levels. Daniel loved his angel and knew she’d be a shining star. He’d help her how he could, keeping her safe and growing and encouraged. The rest was up to her. As his reward he would, as always, smile and bask in her glow.

Remy was a diversion. A fun time. His bright eyes said he knew the score and was fine with being temporary. Maybe he liked it that way. He probably thought he was quite the hard-ass, but Daniel had become rather adept at seeing behind the fronts used by creative types. They felt deeply and used those feelings to fuel their art, but it also left them vulnerable. Daniel would’ve been blind to miss those hints in Remy. Those insecurities only seemed to make him more attractive—a man with depth, mystery and the passion to channel doubts into living, dancing poetry.

Homeless. Black eye. Scholarship student.

Daniel couldn’t deny that those details increased his interest in Remy. Professional interest? He might investigate whether Remy’s ambitions were worth financial support. But that didn’t feel entirely right, and Daniel wasn’t one for self-deception. In this case, he wasn’t lying to himself. He
couldn’t
lie because he had no answers. Only questions. Remy intrigued him in ways that left him unusually dizzy and very eager.

Focusing on that eagerness, he couldn’t wait to see him stand behind Naya. Despite that lean build, Remy had the potential to give her everything she wanted. They’d be a damn BDSM tableau. If Daniel had a speck of artistic ability, he would try to photograph them. He’d never possessed any aesthetic talent beyond recognizing when art was damn good.

Of course, he could also see when an artist needed guidance and focus. He was good at that. Sometimes it was all he had to assure himself he wasn’t an evil director of a corporate machine.

“There are rules,” he said.

Remy’s mouth bent into a smirk. “There always are.”

Daniel let his hands go where they wished, coasting over Naya’s soft, resilient curves. Her pulse pounded through the thin skin at the line between her stomach and ribs. She was breathing fast and shallow. He was as well, which was surprising. Her hand folded over his, but she didn’t stop his exploration. Every movement reassured them both.

They were skating over fine, clear ice.

“Naya’s safe word is red.”

“My, oh my. Safe words and everything.” Remy rubbed a thumb over the edge of the belt wrapped around his hand. Even that small twitch made his carved biceps shift all the way up to the shoulder decorated by a circular black tattoo. He lowered his arrogant chin, his expression filled with mirth. “Did you two learn that from a naughty book? Maybe one with a black-and-white cover?”

Daniel chuckled. He hadn’t expected to like Remy’s dry sense of humor. It should’ve been enough to see the liquid way he moved, as if he were the personification of dance, even off the stage. Just like Naya. The bonus was a whipcord-fast mind and bitingly incisive observations.

“No,” Daniel said. “We’ve been at this a while. You’ll see.”

If he were a different man, he would’ve jerked Naya’s thick hair and forced her to her knees in a deliberate echo of Remy’s backstage behavior. The problem was that he
wasn’t
that man. The right moves occurred to him, knowing intimately what Naya craved…but it wasn’t in him to bring her down.

Remy didn’t have that problem. At all. “On your knees, hands behind your neck. Present your pretty self to me.”

Daniel’s stomach flipped with a surge of excitement. Naya dropped. Her knees spread to shoulder width apart, toes together behind her ass. She lifted her elbows, which dragged the T-shirt up to display her flat stomach. She buried her hands beneath the glossy fall of her hair.

Unable to help himself, Daniel stepped back. He wasn’t supposed to be in that tableau, not when Remy loomed over Naya. The Cajun was a sinuous curve of muscle and tendon. His dark hair skimmed the back of his neck and stood up straight on top, as if he’d run his fingers through it before getting off the elevator.

Naya’s gaze dropped to the renewable wood floors. The bamboo had been polished to such a shine that she’d be able to see them both watching her. She’d feed off that. Submissive and showoff together. The worst punishment a Domina had ever inflicted was ordering Naya to put her nose in the corner. The blonde had left her there for over twenty minutes.

That unpleasant memory returned Daniel to the topic of rules. They’d learned so much as a couple, despite the fact Daniel had never lifted a hand to do her harm. “No blood play. No needles or permanent marks. Humiliation does nothing for her.”

“There’s a difference between humiliation and being presented such a lovely gift.” Remy’s gaze roamed over her beautiful pose. Then he looked up and pinned Daniel with his magnetism. A simple silver bar pierced his right eyebrow, accentuating his eyes.
Look at me,
it said.
Pay attention here. I’ll teach you things.

“Permission to speak?” Naya asked in a soft voice. Her tone was different now. She wasn’t the firebrand who could drill a phrase of steps into two dozen dancers in just a few minutes. She’d already hit that headspace, which Daniel desired almost as much as she did.

His chest clenched on a greedy jolt. This was the good stuff, his angel reaching her full potential and happiness.

He lifted his eyebrows at Remy. “Well?”

The grin that shaped Remy’s finely carved features was…slinky. Knowledgeable. “Am I in charge yet? No other rules? You’re leaving me a lot of room to play. I like that.”

There were other things Daniel could say. Warnings that Naya wouldn’t fuck Remy, that the sexual aspect was something only Daniel shared with her. After she came down, safe and cared for, she always turned to him.

Except for the first time, he didn’t want to say that. He didn’t want to…close it off.

“If Naya says red, it’s all off. No matter what.”

“Of course. A gentleman always respects a lady’s wishes. I decided awful young I didn’t want to be a man who didn’t.”

He dipped his head, which made Daniel wonder once again what secrets he hid. Some of them, at least, were unhappy.

Only Remy didn’t look unhappy now. “Permission granted, sweetling.”

He’d made her wait all that time, assured that she
would
wait. That it was his
right
to make her wait. Daniel could’ve achieved the same display of authority around a boardroom table. Easily. That would have involved strategy and power and defeating lesser opponents. None of that applied to the woman he loved.

Her lashes fluttered. The face-down pose didn’t permit a hint of her thoughts, but Daniel read how her shoulders remained curved and loose, even with the hands behind her neck still perfectly poised. With her dancer’s physique, holding the position was nothing too strenuous. Instead it was the meaning of it, kneeling at the feet of two men.

She cleared her throat, as if asking permission again. “I don’t know what to call you.”

That was new. Daniel flicked his attention between Naya’s down-turned head and Remy’s. On previous occasions, she’d waited for her Dominant’s instructions. Naya had never asked.

Remy passed his hand over the crest of her head, softly stroking her hair before tangling his fingers into the heavy mass. Naya lifted her face against what had to be a bite of pain. Her eyes were hazy, lids at half-mast. Her dusky-pink lips parted.

She looked beautiful.

“You may call me Sir.” Remy’s words hit a deeper timbre. Rougher. More assured. “Go to the couch. Stay on your knees. Keep your hands where they are. I want to see those gorgeous tits of yours take the lead.”

A growl tightened Daniel’s chest. “I warned you about humiliation.”

The look Remy snapped toward him was electric and powerful. He knew that look, when he flashed his power around the business world, when necessity meant taking down ambitious hotheads.

“Did the girl say red?”

“No.”

“Then
I’m
the one giving a warning. I know what I’m doing. We all know it, or I wouldn’t be here. I heard what you had to say, Daniel. Red means red. Decide whether you can abide by that rule, or we don’t play at all.”

Daniel’s first thought was
fuck off
, but he shoved that reaction down, far away. They were so close, sitting on the edge of something new. Giving up at this point wasn’t what he’d hoped. This was for Naya. This was about giving her what she needed while he enjoyed the beautiful view.

Remy had been right. Naya hadn’t said a thing. No safe word.

Underneath her slim-cut shirt, her nipples had beaded into sharp points. She gave Daniel a tiny nod. Many people would’ve missed it, but in that moment, between the two of them, it spoke volumes. She was still on track.

Daniel met Remy’s challenging stare and said, “Fine. Your way.”

“Good.” The word was a long, dark purr. “Now stand behind the couch. Decide where you want Naya to kneel. She’ll look right at you as she takes every one of my blows.”

Fuck, Daniel was hard. And so early. That hadn’t happened before either, not before Naya actually started crying out in relieved pain.

But he went. Without even thinking about it. He’d reached a place where he wasn’t sure how or why he was playing along…but he definitely was.

He stood behind the couch, midway between matching end tables. White leather stretched smooth beneath his hands. The supple material wouldn’t absorb wetness. Tiny salt trails would mark the path of Naya’s tears.

If Remy could even get her there.

It was a small doubt, but Daniel felt the need to prepare should this go wrong. Naya’s disappointment would far outweigh his own. He’d shaped a huge portion of their life around
not
disappointing Naya. She was the star he wanted to see rising in the sky.

“It’s been a while for her,” he couldn’t help but say.

Remy had his hand on Naya’s head again—not with an overabundance of affection. The move seemed absentminded, like touching a pet who butted up against his leg. “Is that an appeal to be merciful?” His smile was ferocious. “Or to go harder?”