Chains and Canes (18 page)

So she would keep her growing feelings for Remy separate.

She could try to.

Tension bubbled under her skin—more of that lava.

Forcing her mind back to the present, she stepped into the hallway and focused on the dance awaiting her and Remy. “Lizzie, have you seen Remy?”

The curvy little blonde had just emerged from her own dressing room, followed by her imposing Russian husband. She was dressed to the Latin ballroom nines in a fire-engine-red costume that revealed a lot more than it concealed—and what it concealed was covered with spangles. Tricks of the trade. By contrast, for the contemporary piece she and Remy had choreographed together, like two cats trying to agree on how to dance, Naya was wearing a simple midnight-blue satin dress. It looked more like a nightie than something to be worn in public, but again, tricks of the trade. A matching pair of tap pants kept her decent during sensual full-body caresses and athletic lifts.

“My guess is his rehearsal room.” Lizzie flipped her feathered hair in a move suited for the stage, already in dramatic character. “You’ve got him strung out pretty tight, girl. I’m proud.”

“You promised,” Dima said in a low rumble.

“I said I wouldn’t pry, not that I wouldn’t say good job.” She winked, then sauntered off. Dima followed, as tall and intimidating as always in his Latin dance tuxedo, but he was shaking his head in apparent exasperation.

Strung out? Her?

She sure as hell didn’t need
both
of them choked by nerves. The first night had been easy. No way Daniel would pick Thursday, which was practically a practice night. Each performance without word of their ambitions’ futures ratcheted up the tension.

Damn it, Remy.

She strode up the steps, two at a time. Her feet were bare except for a pair of half-sole lyrical shoes. The provocative, thumping music coming from rehearsal room two was nearly powerful enough to overwhelm the punchy Calypso beat that signaled the beginning of Lizzie and Dima’s routine.

Naya looked in. And froze. Remy was shirtless, wearing the loose suit slacks they’d agreed on for his costume.
Agreed.
She’d thrown a tirade worthy of her mother, insisting that he would
not
wear jeans for their showcase.

That concession to propriety was shredded when he thrust and spun and throbbed in concert with the uncompromising music. Sweat shone across the muscles of his upper body. He gleamed. He glowed. Every movement was precision and sharp anger, as if at war with his body. Bones wanting to rip free. Skin waiting to split and reveal something even more raw than Remy Lomand.

She would dance with this man in less than an hour. Not only that, she had to dance an old-school jazz piece meant to invoke the feel of a gritty, sexy by-invitation-only club. That meant taming this beast and her own nerves.

Oh,
carajo
. Fuck.

Her body jolted.

Yes. That was exactly what they needed.

Naya slammed into the rehearsal room and flipped off the music. Remy spun to stare her down. “What the hell?”

“Come with me.”

“I don’t take orders from you, little girl.”

She propped her hands on her hips and glared right back. “You know that bullshit doesn’t work here,
Sir
.”

It was always like this in their practices. He seemed to think their sessions had bearing on how she lived the rest of her life, even if that life involved him.

Fat chance.

Her nerves were dissipating by the second. That couldn’t be helped when he was obviously more worked up.

“Now grab your shit,” she said, nodding to a pile in the corner. All she could hope was that the rest of his costume wasn’t noticeably wrinkled. It looked like the leavings of a one-night stand. “And come with me.”

For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t relent. He
blazed
. Something fierce and furious was bubbling inside him, and she had no idea where it came from. He’d blazed that way a little more each day. Devil-may-care Remy was being completely undone by the potential this weekend held. Potential for massive success. Potential for heartbreaking failure.

On stage and with her and Daniel. They would know his secrets, or it would end. There was no compromise on that score. He hid too much for complete trust.

Was she ready? Was he? Only Daniel seemed confident that it would all work out. For once, she didn’t quite believe her stalwart fiancé.

Where did that leave their awkward trio if Remy couldn’t find some brass for balls?

He nodded curtly. Grabbed his stuff. Stalked after her.

“I know what you and Daniel did the other day,” she said over her shoulder, attempting casual. More than that, she was trying to get his mind off whatever the hell had turned him into a demon in a dance studio. “Quite a big deal to Daniel. He was all over me, telling the story, reliving it.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Asking me? Well, well. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

She grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers, yanked him into Declan’s business office and shut the door behind them. Had it been glass, it would’ve shattered.

“
What?
” He looked around the crowded, tight office strewn with stacks of papers and filing cabinets with drawers that didn’t close. “You want a repeat? Perform for Declan before hitting the stage?”

“This is the only room in the club where Declan hasn’t stashed a camera.” She shrugged, then slipped off her half slippers. “Daniel suspects it’s because the last thing Declan wants is to be reminded of how much work it takes to run a club. He sure as hell wouldn’t think anyone might fuck in here.”

“We’re gonna fuck, is that it?”

“
Sí
, you stubborn
pendejo
.” Her nylons and tap pants came next. “And we’re both going to be a lot more relaxed after we do.”

Only satin graced her skin now. She knelt and rummaged among Remy’s things until she found the stiff black belt he’d wear with his suit costume. She felt powerful, although she was handing everything to him—handing him his own belt.

That magic switch clicked over in her mind. Remy eyed the belt with a combination of hunger and suspicion. Always his suspicion, as if she’d yank it back and tease him for wanting too much. The magic switch was her submission. No more bossing around her Sir, the one she was beginning to care for more than was safe or wise. But it was happening anyway. She wanted him happy.

Remove feelings from this exploration? She’d be deluded to believe that lie any longer.

“Please, Sir. I need to be beaten and fucked, and you need to beat me and fuck me. I can’t breathe now. I know you can’t. Afterward…we’ll take a breath and do our goddamn jobs.”

“Daniel blew me,” he said hoarsely. “That doesn’t mean he’s given me permission to smack on you again. He’d flip his shit.”

“
I
give permission. Daniel has my best interests at heart, but he’s used to rescuing me and holding my hand through hard times.” She lifted the belt again, both hands now, an offering. “I’m capable of doing both by myself. At least… That’s as much a goal for me as anything to do with my dancing. You and I need to know we can do this without Daniel playing bodyguard.”

“Why? This is a fling, Naya.”

“Don’t be dense. You’re not.” She tipped her chin toward her chest but didn’t look away from his devouring gaze. “Last time I’ll beg, Sir. Even of you.
Please
.”

She saw the switch flip in his eyes. Same power. Different sides of the same craving. He grabbed the belt. “Over the desk. Show me that ass.”

A wild rush of
yes
froze her heart, just before her mind and body melted into one entity with one purpose. She was his good girl. He was going to make her hurt.

Naya cleared away a few papers and bent at the waist. Remy’s palms smoothed over her bare, vulnerable skin. He growled low in his throat, then pinched one ass cheek in his whole hand. The hard, wrenching grasp made Naya arch, giving him more. She spread her arms forward, wide, to grasp either corner of the desk.

He pushed her dress up. She needed to lift her chest away from the wood so he could pool the satin around her neck. He bowed over her body and pressed his sweat-sticky torso to her bare back.

“I could soak this naked skin with my come and walk away.”

She shuddered but held back her disappointment. “Yes, Sir.”

“I could tease your clit until coming is the only thing you think about when we’re on stage.”

“
Si
, Sir,” she said around a tight swallow.

“Wonder if you could remember what the fuck to do. What, no answer to that one?”

“Because I don’t know either, Sir.”

He scooped her loose hair back from her temples, kissed her there. “You could and we both know it.”

Remy pulled away so quickly that Naya gripped the desk against the sudden, rushing loss of his heat and closeness. He surprised her by holding the belt lengthwise in front of her mouth. “Bite. Your job, you pretty little cunt, is to keep quiet.”

Although confused, Naya did as she was told. If not with his belt…?

She shoved confusion into the beautifully dark corner where answers and questions didn’t matter. Remy was in charge. If they had any chance, they needed to know if Daniel was the essential glue—that bodyguard analogy. They’d never survive if that was the case. Remy and Naya had to trust each other and themselves. She was trusting him more now than she ever had. Alone. Submitting. Giving him control of the next few minutes.

She bit down and lowered her eyes. The heady tang of leather filled her senses. She adjusted her teeth, as well as the mindset it would take to keep silent.

Behind her, Remy rifled through his duffel. Then came the sound of plastic unclipping.

“You’re getting off lucky, sweetling. Nylon strap instead of that nasty belt. We need you to be able to move afterward. And I can’t have you flying off so high that I can’t catch you on stage.”

That was all the prelude he gave.

Smack.

Naya gasped through her clenched teeth as his duffel strap lashed across her ass. She’d taken so much worse. With any luck and lots of patience, he would give her more in the future. This was practically playtime. Sweet pain. A steady, building pain.

Yet he didn’t relent. No counting. No measured breaks. The claustrophobic room quickly filled with the slap of nylon on bare skin, Remy’s tight grunts, and Naya’s locked-down attempt to stay quiet. She gripped the desk when she couldn’t laugh. She wiggled when she couldn’t scream.

He moved to her side and grasped her waist. “Still. Now.”

Naya was about to burst. She couldn’t move
or
make noise?

Trust.

Give.

Submit to her gorgeous, breathless Sir.

Her body relaxed as if of its own volition. Remy rumbled another sound in his throat, deeper and louder now. “There’s a girl, my
chère
. So good.”

Naya shuddered when his praise and the languorous caress across stinging skin wove to become the ultimate reward for her struggle.

“We’re running out of time,” he said, leaning low over her spine. His tongue licked up three vertebrae before he bit the fleshy few inches where her back met the outer curve of her breast. Naya tensed again, but she didn’t move and she didn’t moan. This was a test, and she wouldn’t fail. Plus, it felt
right
. He’d taken her to the perfect place, where she buzzed, slightly inoculated against the pain, but still happy and in control.

He released his fierce teeth and licked the damage Daniel would see that night.
Oh, fuck yes.

“So.” Tightening his grip, he pulled her waist flush against his hip. “One more go, then we fuck. Cuz you’re right, Naya girl, we got a job to do. We gotta go down there and make every man hard and every woman wet. How we gonna do that if we don’t start here first?”

“
No podemos,
Sir,” she muttered around a mouthful of leather.

“That’s right, we can’t. Which means you were clever and just right when dragging me in here.” His voice was rough like tree bark, like another caress that powered down to her subconscious. “The only problem is, you dragged and I followed. That’s not right at all.”

He unleashed a splash of quick strikes across her ass. She was pinned and biting hard enough on the belt that her teeth felt ready to tear through leather. Each lash was just as playful as when they’d started, almost light. But the cumulative effect was driving her mind outside of her body.

The nylon strap clattered to the floor. The only better sound than its swish through the air was the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Remy shoved inside her with the heady power of a man who knew what he wanted. He wanted Naya.

He didn’t hold her down. Instead, he held her hipbones to protect them from banging against the wooden desk. That subtle show of caring made Naya’s eyes roll closed.

Yes. This was
right
.

Her orgasm was a quick, insistent thing. She felt it gathering within a few hard, thumping thrusts. Remy was close too, maybe closer than he would’ve liked. His grunts and quiet inhales weren’t steady, weren’t in control.

“Come, Naya girl.” He punctuated his demands with more forceful drives into her cunt. “I’m gonna explode, you pretty baby sub. You make me this crazy. Come for me or you’ll lose your chance.” Harder. Hands tighter. “Now.
Now
, Naya.”

She thrashed her head back, eyes still squeezed shut, teeth still embedded in the resilient leather. The climax was just like their session—intense, but grounded. She was fully in her body when it blew apart. She bowed her forehead toward the desk, swallowing her moans of ecstasy, obeying him to the very end.

Remy crossed his arms low around her hips and
fucked
. Quick, hard, unrelenting. His orgasm pulled a clipped version of her name from his lips. He collapsed across her back. Both of them were sweaty now. Slowly, he massaged her jaw, prompting, until she released the belt. He laughed, and Naya joined in when they caught sight of the deep impression of her teeth in black leather.