Chains and Canes (24 page)

“Good. You get a reward for behaving.”

He untied Naya’s hands then turned her. She was rubber or jelly or putty—responsive to his direction, with little will of her own. Remy held her skull between his big hands and angled her toward the camera. Elegant fingers slid down to cup her jaw and trail along her neck.

“See this pretty face?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You miss it. You miss her mouth.” Remy dipped his thumb between her lips and wrenched her jaw open. Her dark eyes were half-lidded and smoldering. “You want to fuck her mouth as hard as I fucked her delicious cunt.”

Daniel shuddered. “I do, Sir.”

“Then do it. I don’t want to see your face, just your cock giving up its juices. Come. Come on the screen, in this pretty, sexy mouth.”

Daniel’s hand shot toward his dick. Quick strokes sent pleasure rippling over his skin. His balls drew up, and he hardly knew where to look—Naya’s open mouth, or to where Remy loomed over her shoulder, brooding and almost cruel. He’d transformed Daniel and Naya into objectified sex toys.

His brain mashed to pulp until nothing remained but need and sex and
coming
. His release splashed across the screen and keys. Fuck, he’d have to clean that later. Fuck, he didn’t care. Maybe he’d just buy a new one—or a half-dozen new ones, so they could do this again and again.

Remy closed Naya’s mouth and kissed her. His tongue plunged deep, as if licking her clean of Daniel’s taste. They looked so goddamned amazing. Daniel ached, greedy and yearning.

“We’ll call you later,” Remy said.

The Skype call winked out. He’d disconnected without warning, without fanfare. Without praise. Daniel was left alone in his sunny Hong Kong suite.

He sank into his leather chair, hands shaking, thighs trembling. Events were escalating at such a ridiculously fast pace. Part of him remained convinced it was a good thing. Yet he was alone in a faraway hotel room, while Remy and Naya must be curled together in bed.

That part of his mind, poisoned by shocking jealousy, feared they were heading for a crash.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Naya kept checking the clock, but mental calculations didn’t change the time. It was three in the afternoon. Daniel had texted his arrival at JFK an hour ago. He mentioned heading back to the penthouse to rest and get cleaned up. He’d be back in time to see the dress rehearsal at the warehouse.

He’d been gone sixteen days.

No, he’d been gone a lifetime.

There was still so much to do. She was exhausted but charged with the electric excitement of being so near to something amazing. That same excitement shone off Remy. His bare torso was painted with a watercolor-sheen sweat. Hell, all but three of the male dancers were topless, and even they wore form-fitting tank tops.

I love this job.

Aside from the occasional distraction of fine man flesh, Naya’s attention was drawn back to Remy. Over and over. They’d had sex almost daily since the first Skype session with Daniel. Sometimes it was S&M. Sometimes vanilla and rough. Sometimes they’d included Daniel, although infrequently enough to perforate her confidence with pinpricks of guilt.

The last few days, however, they’d simply been too tired to move. After their Wednesday night performance at Devant, she’d fallen asleep in her dressing room. Roughly two in the morning, she’d awoken stiff yet cushioned. Remy had been curled along her back, right there on the floor.

That hadn’t been sex. That had been…wonderful.

They’d stayed there, only to rise at seven to wash, change clothes, grab breakfast and head back to the warehouse. Remy had ducked her questions and most of her curious gazes. She’d made the conscious decision to let the moment be just for her, because there was no telling what it had been for him.

Yet, he’d curled up with her.
He’d
made that choice to comfort her or seek comfort from her. They were partners in running Transit, but when it came to Remy Lomand, she was quickly losing perspective. She knew little more about him now than she did when they first met, yet she cared for him in new ways every day.

She glanced at the clock again. Fifteen past three.

Daniel would arrive, and she’d be able to see and feel and touch him. And she would know that nothing had changed. Or that everything had changed.

“Hey, Ortiz,” came that familiar Cajun voice.

He’d taken to calling her by her last name when among the other dancers, which felt like a private tease—the most formal name he could choose, after all the intimate, filthy ones he’d bestowed. She liked
Naya girl
best. It was the only name he could change from sweet to raunchy with a twist of his drawl.

“You gonna do this, or you got someplace better to be?”

So telling…the way his glance flicked to the clock too. The set of his shoulders told stories of tension and worry. She’d learned his body so very well. Hiding from her physically was impossible now, although he still tried.

“Hot date,” she said as casually as she could.

It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Remy closed down and turned away. She wanted to reach for him, hug him around his middle, to whisper reassurances against his bare, sweaty skin. She didn’t know what those reassurances would be.

The only one that came to mind was
I love you both
.

“Eight other dancers over here don’t give a sweet damn. Let’s go.”

She lined up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, her stomach sick with churning acid. Dress rehearsal had nothing on the frightening words that had exploded from her heart to her brain.

One of her light-and-shadow boys wasn’t in this number, so he flipped on a hard-hitting pop song. He cranked it up loud in order to drown out the echo that doubled back from the other side of the warehouse. Four beats later, they were moving.

This was Remy’s vision for ten people. Basically, a choreographed orgy. It was decadent and sensual and bawdy. Following the sharp, sexy opening thirty seconds came an eight-count he’d dubbed
treat your girl how you want
. During practice, Naya had been fascinated by the variation. One man had pulled his partner into a deep backbend. He’d crisscrossed his arms above and below her generous breasts while thrusting his hips. Another had knelt, then slid his hands from low thigh to temple in a move that screamed slithering possession. Each had revealed his fantasies in the eight beats of freedom Remy had permitted.

At that moment, Naya was his.

He spun her until they were face-to-face. Then he kissed her with vulgar power, biting her lower lip. With every rehearsal, his bites intensified. She was convinced he’d break skin on the night of the demonstration. His palms skimmed down the sides of her breasts until he gripped her hips, pelvis to pelvis.

That’s where his raunch ended. He simply held her there, knowing full well how their stillness would look amid the other dancers’ bump and grind. Pure confidence and anticipation. His dirty grin promised he could fulfill anyone’s eager hopes. But that grin belonged to Naya.

Then it was back to the synchronized steps. Five men lifted five women over their shoulders as if they were Neanderthals dragging prime pussy back to isolated caves. Remy’s hand clasped her butt to the point of pain. A glance faster than thought revealed that despite having been given permission to improvise personal desires, the other male dancers were more…polite. Their hands were cradling, supporting, not ones intended to tweak the healing welts on Naya’s ass.

The music ended. The dancers stepped back and clapped. It was their best run-through yet. Even Remy grinned.

“That’s the good stuff,
mes amis
.”

Yeah, he’d closed off part of himself—the part that had anything to do with her, Daniel, and his place with them—but he was a whole different person within the embrace of the company. He led Transit. The dancers had put themselves through hell for the monetary equivalent of a bag of peanuts, because his vision had become clear to everyone. He had that intangible quality leaders needed in order to pull everyone along, even when fatigue and frustration threatened to mire them in clinging mud.

“I’m glad no one’s expecting a PG show.”

Naya turned. “Daniel!”

She broke free of Remy’s lingering hold and raced across the warehouse. The trip was just long enough to take in brief details: dark blue cambric shirt, tan slacks and a huge grin. She barreled into his embrace, arms and legs wrapped around him. He didn’t even step back as he absorbed the momentum of her impact. She’d been held by Remy for weeks, but Daniel was still Daniel. On every level, he was still the strongest man she’d ever known.

“Ah, God, angel,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,
mi cielo
.” Tears gathered in her eyes. Exhaustion amplified her emotions. She didn’t have a tidy box for any of them. Instead they spilled out all over the place, leaking saltwater onto his soft shirt.

“I’m here now. Promised I would be.”

“You did. Good flight?”

Trivialities. Fucking trivialities.

“Too long. Everything about the last couple weeks has been too long.”

He smelled amazing. Plain, fresh soap and warm skin. His hair had grown out a little. She fisted her hands in it and dragged his mouth to hers. Only moments before, Remy had bitten her lower lip. It still stung. Daniel kissed deeper, and in her mind, she was being kissed by both men.

Arousal settled between her legs. She rocked her hips against his hard abs, while his arms circled her low back. She could keep kissing him until they flirted with the obscene. He was new—so new as to be almost entirely unfamiliar. Different taste. Different tempo of his tongue sliding along hers.

Because he’s not Remy.

That had been a magnificent thrill when they’d started—the novelty and the shared exploration of the man who satisfied them both. Now it was terrifying. This was
Daniel
. She loved him. Feeling as if she were kissing a stranger made her sweat-touched skin go cold as snow.

“Ortiz.”

Naya pulled back enough to find Daniel’s vibrant eyes. “He’s so bossy,” she said with a tight grin.

Daniel’s eyes weren’t free of clouds either. His expression matched the confusion in her heart, which was cause enough for another cold shock. Goose bumps beaded from head to heel.

“You need to get back to work. I’m only here to
watch
.”

Watch.

As he’d been doing for sixteen days.

He let her slip to the ground, but her feet were numb by the time she touched concrete. So many sentences jumbled in her mouth that none of them found voice.

You let this happen. You love it too. I’d never leave you. I need what he gives me. You needed to explore. I don’t know what to do.

I love you both.

“Go,” he said, his pale eyes still dark and unreadable. He licked his lower lip, where their kiss glistened on his sleek skin. “He’s waiting.”

Not,
your colleagues are waiting.

Not,
the company is waiting.

Not,
I’m waiting to see you dance.

Remy had become
he
.

She felt Remy’s presence at her back—his warmth and the confident bearing he’d developed within that warehouse. He radiated assurance, even more so than when performing at Devant. Only, he must’ve heard Daniel’s chilly words too.

“Welcome back, Mr. Baker,” he said, extending his hand. “We appreciate all you’ve done for Transit.”

Naya glared at them both and turned away. “You’re both stubborn
pendejos
, you know that?”

Daniel’s expression hardened. His smile was forced. “You shouldn’t call me names, angel. When I got back to the hotel, I spoke to the owner of the Palladium Regent Theatre. Transit can use the smaller of the two ballrooms for the showcase. Make a bigger impact. I’ve got it all arranged.”

Naya could’ve just been introduced to Remy Lomand and she would’ve recognized his stiff flinch. Knowing his movements so well, she felt it like a tidal wave slamming against her side.

“You have no right—”

She raised a hand and planted it dead center of his chest, holding him back. Actually silencing him. His heart was a dozen thundering horses.

“Daniel, we’ve got this, okay? Like Remy said, we appreciate everything. Only I’m saying it without the sarcastic bullshit and hair-trigger anger,” she said, tossing her partner a glare. “We’ve staged it for here. It
works
here. What we’ve been planning—
ache
, believe me, it would look out of place in a fancy theater. I’d feel like I needed to wear a tutu and pointe shoes, not a getup like this.”

At least with that comment, both men dropped their scary distrust in order to look her up and down, frankly appreciative of her skimpy nightgown-style dance costume.

She rolled her eyes. “
Now
you line up.”

“It’s an easy thing to agree on,
chère
.”

“Wanting to see you wear that,” Daniel said, his voice low and hinting at a tease, “and wanting to see you out of it.”

“You two.
Jesus Cristo
.”

“That’s right,” Remy said with an appreciative grin. “He was very good to send a girl like you our way.”

“The man isn’t wrong.”

Daniel was smiling.

Remy was smiling.

Idiots.
But at least she could breathe again.

Apparently it was Daniel’s turn to extend a hand, which Remy mimicked while wearing a slight frown. Hidden from the others by their small triangle, Daniel didn’t offer a standard handshake. He petted the back of Remy’s hands and up his forearms. Caressing. Remy inhaled sharply, in contrast to the slow drift of his eyelids. He closed them and shuddered softly—another subtle movement that felt as powerful to Naya as a slamming earthquake.

“Glad you’re home, Daniel,” he said quietly, eyes still closed, still hiding.

“Glad to be home.” He trailed his fingers back down Remy’s forearm and released him. “And we’ll go home. All three of us. As soon as I see what you’ve been working on.” A hint of that unexpected coldness crept back into his voice when he added, “Because I haven’t been able to see everything.”