Three-Part Harmony (11 page)

She glared once more, if only to save face, though she didn’t have the guts to lift her gaze all the way to his face. Then she got in under the freezing spray.

“Ssshhhhiiiit!”

“Lovely,” he stated. “But the commentary isn’t necessary. You’re there to wash clean. Get busy, baby. Soap and water everywhere. But be careful around your piercings.”

The faster she did just that, the faster she’d be free from the torture. Dasha scrubbed herself with frenzied speed between chilled breaths. She tried to shove the discomfort from her mind, focusing instead on the lean, dark beauty of the man watching every inch of her movements. She didn’t miss the way David’s mouth parted now, as if craving to take a nibble on her, or the newer jerks in his cock as that strained for her too. Looking at him spurred her to just get the hell done, and re-earn a place in his arms.

“Done.” She whooshed it with relief while reaching for the door handle.

And got pushed back from the other side.

“You’re clean,” David asserted, his hand still shoved on the glass, “but you’re not done. That happens when I tell you.”

Frustration sluiced colder than the water. But Dasha muttered, “Yes, Sir.” She let him hear every note of her misery. She thought she heard a pleased growl in return, but his next command was rock steady.

“I’m going to prepare the next phase of your punishment. It won’t take long. I’ll get you out when I return.”

“Goody.” She grumbled it as he rounded the corner into the bedroom. But her mind whirled.
Next phase? Prepare? God, what could his devious mind be concocting next?
Despite that mental roller coaster, flashes of sanity returned. What the hell was she doing here?
Why
the hell was she subjecting herself to this? She’d auditioned for assholes, undressed for crazy costumers, and sung for millions. There was no good reason to be standing here like an ice sculpture at a record-exec soiree, feeling foolish and nervous and—

More aroused than you’ve been in a very, very long time.

Before she could generate a proper rebuttal for that, David reappeared. A smile ghosted his lips as he gazed at her from head to toe, though she couldn’t fathom why. She caught a brief glance of herself in the vanity mirror: huddled, shivering, soaked, pathetic.

“Perfect.” His drawl seemed to taunt those miserable thoughts. “All right, go ahead and get out. But no drying off, so be careful walking on the tile.”

She was so grateful for the reprieve from the water, she didn’t care about the ban on the towel—until she followed him back into the bedroom, and the blast of air that almost made her look around for a penguin or two. Part of the bastard’s “preparations” had included dropping the temp by at least ten degrees. Her nipples squeezed into tighter pinpoints—a sight not lost on the man who now turned on her, arms crossed, eyes twin lightning bolts. “How do those piercings feel now?” he asked.

Fuck you.
“They hurt like hell, Sir.”

His chuckle dug in like a spur. Had she thought that sound magical just a few hours ago? “Good girl. That’s honest and a real turn-on.” He reached back, pulling the room’s spare blanket off the bed, then spreading it wide. “Come here.”

So maybe she’d forgive him for the laugh. Maybe
,
she emphasized silently, scurrying to him in two fast hops that made him hesitate a second while he watched what that motion did to her breasts. She glared, but he smiled like she hadn’t, enfolding her against him, wrapping her completely. Before she could help it, her glower dissolved into a blissful moan. The broad plane of his chest supported her head; his arms were a solid circle around her. Best of all, they both came cushioned by the luxurious Sferra fabric, making her feel like a soaked nymph who’d finally gotten into a down-lined burrow. Correction: a burrow with a Master who welcomed her with warmth, shrouded her in strength, then sought her mouth to dominate it with the thorough press of his.

For once, not a single coherent word came to mind. She loved the chance to sigh her thanks to him, wiggling to get even closer. Hmmm. If this was what Domination David described as “punishment,” she’d make plans to pull the sassy act on him more often.

“Don’t get settled, brat.”

Crap.

Note to self: make other plans. Once you figure out what they are.

David shifted his hands to her face, which caused the blanket to drop. He kissed her once more, demanding deeper access to her mouth, before stepping back and giving her body a long, assessing study. That, along with the fresh flare of air-co on her skin, caused a top-to-toe shiver; only this time, the chill wasn’t entirely awful. The strange mixture of icy and expectation got even worse as he tilted his head with purpose.

“Step into my parlor, darling; then present yourself on all fours for your spanking.”

She followed the direction he’d angled his head to an area of the floor on the other side of the bed. There, he’d spread several towels, which glowed brighter than the sand on the beach outside due to the unrelenting light from a couple of readjusted floor lamps.

“Into the spotlight,” he ordered. “I’m not a hide-in-the-dark Dom. I want to see every stripe of my handiwork on your skin.”

As if to give her a preview, he smacked her firmly across both ass cheeks, giving her body another one-two punch of flames and icicles. The sensations kept up their duel as she stepped to the towels, and he followed right behind.

“Down on the floor,” he directed. “Hands and knees. Point your gaze down and spread your legs a little farther than your shoulders. Are my instructions clear, my dear?”

“Yes, Sir.” This time, she gave the answer without hesitation. As she lowered to the floor, she tried to dissect why. Going through that crap in the shower had been humiliating and hard, but now she began to understand David’s purpose in it. She’d been a solid brick of defiance—but he needed her to be putty, ready to place her soft core in his strong hands. Ready to show him she really
was
sorry for defying his directions…and ready to atone for it.

She was certainly putty now. And if her pussy had been ignited in the process, then it was a win-win for everyone, right?

“Excellent,” he said as soon she was on all fours. He raked a hand down her back, dipped it lower until he pushed a finger inside her again. “And just as I thought, soaking wet again.”

Her heart thudded harder as his voice went low and gruff. “Oh, Little D, taming the fire in your clit is going to be fun.”

He punctuated that by landing two more swats on her ass—take-no-prisoners blows that made her gasp with shock. A couple more followed, then two more after that. The entire time, he thrust his finger inside her, a steady rhythm that made her walls tremble and her core ache. By the time he stopped the beating and pulled out his finger, Dasha was shaking and sweaty. Only by force of will did she maintain her position, though she was pulled from it by David’s hand at her scalp, bringing her head up. Something hovered in her vision. His finger, soaked with her juices.

“Open up, sweetheart. Suck it. Taste the honey of your sweet little cunt.”

As she took his finger, the tangy taste of her arousal filled her mouth, her senses.

“Good girl.” He shoved three more fingers into her mouth.

She closed her eyes, letting her head shut off as her body sparked brighter in service to his invasion. He never altered his pace, just kept on thrusting in a perfect emulation of the next thing she was sure he’d put there. Sure enough, she felt him sliding into position in front of her. She breathed in the musky scent of his lust, could practically taste his erect length on her tongue, beaded with the salt of his sweat and the—

Something flat, cold, and earthy replaced his fingers in her mouth.

She jerked open her jaw. And her eyes. She blinked, stunned, at the tapered end of his black Prada belt.

“Don’t stop now.” It was an unequivocal order; he backed it by digging his free hand into her hair. “And lick it good, darling. I want to see it wet with your spit before I use it on your ass.”

The words coated her brain like sensual magma. Black. Dark. Inescapable. Dasha didn’t even stop to question the sanity of his command this time, just realized the vortex was no longer a choice—because every inch of her body trembled in need for it. She sucked in as much of the belt as she could, laving the luxurious leather, helping him prepare the instrument he’d be using on her flesh. That connection almost made her worship necessary…a consecration of her penance. And in the doing, her salvation.

At last, he withdrew the belt from her mouth. As he glided the strip down her back, he braced one leg against her waist. His other thigh stayed in front of her, which brought his erection right up to her mouth.

“You know what to do with that, sweetheart. Take a deep breath, because I’m going to fill up that sweet mouth with my cock.”

Dasha dragged in air, but ended up gasping. For the first time, she realized the size of the flesh she was about to suck. David’s penis was like the rest of him: firm, lengthy, commanding. The veins stood out against the taut skin, all leading to the shiny head now pulsing at her lips. He was right. He would fill her, and more.

As she opened her mouth and he slid in, she expected a shudder, a groan, normal “guy” stuff that happened in the position he was in. Instead, David only grunted once, then coolly delivered the first
whack
of the belt. The lash shocked like live fire, branding her skin. The blow was worse than any pain she’d ever felt from just his hand, and she choked from the surprise. She lost her grip on his cock, and he did respond now, firing a sharp growl.

“We’re not getting off to a good start, are we?” His fingers coiled again into her hair with unbreachable command. “You’ll take my cock, and you’ll take your punishment, subbie, both right now, both with no more protests.”

The rest of the world spiraled away as he sealed his domination. The belt turned her ass to throbbing heat. His cock seared the back of her throat. And she did take both for him, submitting in a silent haze, every moment worth it as delicious male rumbles now started emanating from him. His hand set her head into a forceful rhythm, each hard ram corresponding to another slap of the belt. Thought and logic fled. Every desire became his, turned over to pulling deeper, satisfied sounds from him with each brutal thrust and each resounding whack. It was indeed punishment, primeval, ruthless, and raw. Her mouth had never been sorer. Her ass had never been more inflamed. And her pussy had never been more ready to be filled.

Suddenly, he flung the belt to the bed. He joined that hand to the other on her head and used it to jam himself deep down into her throat. “Swallow,” he directed in the moment before he spasmed and filled the air with his bellow, then her throat with his climax. His cum seared her, completed her, made her feel as powerful as standing on a stage before thousands. She was so wet now, shaking from the need for her own release. David knew that too. He slipped one hand from her scalp and ran it down her back, making several long swipes across the marks on her ass before sliding those fingers to her sex from behind.

Dasha groaned from sheer pleasure. So did he. The invasion of his fingers made her body tighten, including her mouth around his cock. “Yes. Oh yes, sweet girl. You’re so beautiful like this…”

That’s at least what she thought he said. Dasha couldn’t be sure. Her pussy throbbed so badly for his touch, it echoed through her whole being. Within seconds, the entire world seemed to pound…

Wait. The pounding was real. It came from beyond the bedroom, at the suite’s front door. Somebody was apparently trying to beat the door in. Strident shouts followed.

“David! David, dude, are you in there?”

David stiffened. “What the hell?” His mutter reflected Dasha’s own bafflement. It was Raife, the tour’s dance lead. But he was the clean-living, early-morning-run-on-the-beach type. Why was he pulling a commando act on David’s suite door two hours before his alarm clock was set to chime?

David sat back with a heavy sigh. Dasha did the same, flashing him a rueful stare. He leaned to her, on all fours himself now, and lifted gentle fingers to her chin. “Better stay here,” he instructed, pulling her forward for a lingering kiss. “But this isn’t over.”

Dasha smiled against his lips. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank
you,
pet.”

She dealt with the half-dozen stomach flips that gave her while he rose and grabbed a black robe from a chair. He threw it on and cinched it, then disappeared into the suite’s living room. A few seconds later, Raife did another drum solo on the door, though she heard David interrupt the performance by wrenching the thing open.

“Raife, what the f—”

“Is Dasha with you?” A stampede of footsteps ensued. Raife didn’t arrive alone, not by a long shot. The stress in his voice was multiplied by the minicavalcade into the suite. Jeez, it sounded like the whole dance crew was with him.

“Why would she be—”

“Just tell us she’s with you!” The interjection came from Raife’s second in command, Mary. The girl was a diminutive blonde with a face that belonged in a Louisa May Alcott novel and a conquer-the-world attitude to match. “She’s not in her room, and she’s not with any of us, and—”

“Shit,” said Raife. “This is so. Not. Good.”

“Crap!” Mary cried. “Dasha. Oh God!” An outbreak of panic followed.

“Whoa,” David yelled. “Everybody calm the hell down. What’s going on?”

A long silence followed. Past the thudding of her heart, Dasha sensed them handing something to David. He let out a heavy grunt, shifted, then repeated the sound with harder emphasis. The room dipped to such stillness, he barely had to raise his voice when he spoke again.

“Dasha, you’d better get out here.”

She popped to her feet, despite the two weights of emotion that slammed. Panic came first. His summons had outed their relationship to the tour’s whole crew. The fear came fast after that. Whatever had caused him to take the risk was serious. Very serious.