Three-Part Harmony (8 page)

“
Trés bien, mon ami.
Shall we begin now?”

He looked again to the tremulous face of the most special, incredible pet he’d ever known…or had. And watched the golden depths of her eyes go wide as Laurelle stepped between them with a long, gleaming shaving razor in her hand. And once more, forced his cock not to burst from need for the sweet grotto at his fingertips.

Dasha had been on the brink of protesting how they treated her like a pinned butterfly. That was before she actually felt like one.

She’d barely been able to believe what she’d done already, but David had been at her side the whole time, his presence so different in his domination, yet so
him
at the same time. That perception got obliterated now, thanks to Laurelle and her long steel blade. Oh yeah, the straps made complete sense now. Every cell in her body screamed at her to take flight.

All right, damn it. Not every cell.

The exception to her terror was, horrifyingly, confined to one set of nerves, the ones now spread beneath the stares of the people who could move.

“She has a lovely little pussy.” Laurelle said it with a surprising note of reverence. “So sweet and petite.”

“Agreed.” David’s tone was tight. So was his face. No, she revised, not tight. Restrained. The look on his face was mesmerizing…because he was mesmerized with her. In giving him complete power, it was like he turned around and gave it right back to her. His eyes glittered with silver intensity now. He took a breath, long and labored, as he knifed his gaze up her body, deliberately lingering over every inch.

Suddenly, she felt like the most beautiful butterfly on earth. If she was even on earth anymore. For now, the restraints on her body felt like hoists to heaven.
Look at me like that forever, please.

“All right,” Laurelle instructed, shoving at him. “Back with you now. Go sit and enjoy the show,
Monsieur Dominante
.”

“David.” The protest spilled before she could stop it. She lurched against the straps for the first time—and truly discovered how little she could move. Her pulse calmed a little when he rose over her, sliding a hand to her cheek. She pressed her face into his touch, not caring how awkward she looked. “You’re not going far?”

He stroked her cheek with a thumb. But his reply came with low control. “I’m going to let you answer that.” When she winced, he shifted his hold to her nape. “D, answer me.
Do you really think I’d let you come to any harm?”

She answered without hesitation. “No.”

“All right, then. Do you wish to please me?”

That slammed her eyes shut. She had to, in her battle to fight the encroaching sting behind them.
Don’t do it. Not now. Don’t turn into a sprinkler ad.
“Yes,” she got out.
More than anything.

“Then are you going to speak or act out again, unless Laurelle or I ask you a question or gives you permission?”

Just like that, he morphed the sting. It dissolved and turned into mental mist instead, that strange, soft haze he could bring just by threading the perfect strand of command to his voice. Her pussy completed the circuit, trembling and trickling in its need for him. Damn it, how was this possible? How could she be the picture of turned-on, when to any fly on the wall, she was the epitome of bare and helpless? And now, apparently, she’d earned the trophy for Completely-Smitten-with-Sir too.

“No,” she finally replied. “I won’t.”

David pressed closer now. He drew breath as if to kiss her, but instead, she felt a moist stroke at the corner of her eye; it was his tongue, licking her tears away. “Good girl. You honor me so much.”

Then he was gone.

Dasha willed her eyes to stay closed, her mouth to stay silent, and her heart not to pull an
Alien
. Laurelle didn’t speak again, though the woman sang a soft tune in French as she shifted to where David had just stood: between Dasha’s legs. There was a gentle clinking sound from the same vicinity, like something being mixed in a bowl, and Dasha detected the smells of eucalyptus and mint. After that, a soft swishing…then a cool, wet brush touched the top of her pussy.

Her nerves flared to life. Even the deepest parts of her womb reacted, clenching, suspended with tension. Thick, creamy suds were spread along her skin and into her tight curls.

Instinctively, Dasha flinched.

“Relax,
chere.
” Laurelle stroked her gloved fingertips along the insides of Dasha’s thighs. “Open to me.”

Right.
Relax. Because the possibility of becoming a Clue game answer was so soothing. “She was gutted with the razor in the spa, by the kinky French nurse.”

Her sarcasm fled the moment Laurelle began her grooming.

The experience…was exquisite.

Laurelle started shaving with brief, light strokes that were an impeccable combination of purpose and stimulation. The eucalyptus in the cream made Dasha’s skin tingle; then, right after the hair was gone, the woman’s velvety, slender fingers soothed and stroked Dasha’s intimate lips, transforming the terror into a cloud of pure arousal. Her thoughts tunneled and focused on every moment. It was like a spa massage, only better. Oh, so much better. She silently begged the woman not to stop…not ever to stop…

She came seriously close to yelling that out as the strokes on her clit got warmer, longer, more incessant. Dasha writhed, squirming against her bonds as the gloved fingers explored her, opening her pussy like she’d never been exposed before.

“Fuck.” The exclamation belonged to David, though she barely recognized him through the guttural burst.

“
Oui,
” came Laurelle’s concurrence. “She is beautiful, monsieur
.
And such a lusty little thing. Look how pink and soft and wet she is… Shall I spread her more for you? I have brought my pussy clamps…”

Tension gripped anew. Clamps? On her—down there? But David’s harsh moan stripped the protest from her. To make him feel that way, to elicit such a sound from him again, she’d agree to damn near anything.

She wouldn’t have to cross that bridge tonight, though. “No,” David returned, his voice an unwavering growl. “My turn. I want to taste it.”

“Ah.
Magnifique.
Have a go while I prepare for the next step.”

Dasha’s mind reeled again. The next step. The second procedure he’d mentioned and she’d forgotten about, thanks to the crazy, incredible turn of the last twenty minutes. Fear bit again but gained no purchase. Her body wouldn’t let her brain take that dive. All her muscles, nerves, and skin quivered together as Laurelle stepped aside, and she felt David’s presence between her legs again.

His touch descended upon her bare flesh. His fingers, long and sure, claimed her more boldly than Laurelle’s soft strokes. David took her as if to possess her. He pinched one side of her clit, then the other, tugging the folds until she shuddered. Dasha hissed, fighting her outcries, until he ordered, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Scream for me.”

She did, wailing as he squeezed her core, kneading her without compunction. He focused the pressure low, drawing her clit out, exposing the hard, needy ridge to his stare and his gritted, “Fuck,
yes.
”

She screamed again, the sound born of both pain and pleasure, as he sank his mouth to her flesh like a starving man. His tongue gave her no mercy, no tenderness, no cessation. She couldn’t fight, had no choice but to let him ravage her. She’d never felt more desirable or needed in her life, and though he ate at her like a savage, he draped her soul in swaths of silken joy. She was bound to him. Connected with him. She sighed in surrender as his mouth broke open the chrysalis of her awakened senses.

But suddenly, he tore away. No, she realized, was whacked away.

“Naughty man,” Laurelle scoffed. “
Cesser,
Greedy. You are going to cause our darling to come. You know we cannot have that yet.”

Why the hell not?
For all the magic the woman worked on her body, this micromanagement was exasperating.

Which made David’s follow-up more than a stunner. “Right,” he stated. “You’re right. Let’s get on with it.”

Dasha opened her eyes. She kept her commitment not to speak but hurled a questioning stare at him. The bastard actually grinned, thumbing her juice off his lip, then licking that finger again, as if sucking her pussy was better than digging into a chocolate bar.

“G-get on with…what?” She’d meant it to be more Lara Croft and less Snow White, but his attitude was her undoing. The look he delivered, continuing the heat from his sexy-as-freak thumb-suck, warmed every inch of her all over again. He ran his hands up her skin in its wake, even savoring the buckles that bound her, before cupping both sides of her face.

“How are you doing?”

She got down a dry swallow. She had no idea how he’d turned four simple words into sexual crack. Or how she absorbed every one of them like a desperate junkie.

“Not…bad.” It wasn’t a lie.

“You’re the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen.”

She knew he meant every word too. Her skin flared hotter. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’ve been so amazing.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “And now, I want you to be a little more so.” He did the same to the other corner. “And I think you can do it too.”

She should’ve felt it coming, even without the new edge to his voice. All she’d had to do was breathe. A distinct smell entered the air, coming from the counter where Laurelle now prepared the second procedure. It was alcohol. Not a nice Pinot either.

Shit, shit, shit. What was up the man’s beautifully filled sleeve? She knew it involved her breasts in some way. He’d prepared her. But somehow, that didn’t stop her very heartbeat from making its way into both her jutting mounds.

But he’s kept his word. You’re still safe. More than safe. Floating on a cloud of endorphins and lust, as a matter of fact.

But still cuffed in. Still being asked to give up her trust again.

She finally got a reply out. “What kind…of ‘a little more so’?”

He cocked his head, teething his bottom lip. All he missed were a pair of horns to look like some monster about to tie down a princess and have his way with her. The look deepened as his gaze dropped to her breasts. No surprise there. He’d given her notice.

“I always ask my submissives to wear a little piece of bling with my initials, to remember me by when we’re apart.”

Dasha almost laughed in relief. Until she got a whiff of the alcohol again. “Oh kaaay…”

“But you’re no ordinary submissive,” he qualified. “In many ways.” An arch of his black brows amped the whole rogue thing, especially as he rubbed a thumb over her right nipple. “If you suddenly appear in public with
DP
on a necklace or a bracelet, the media will swoop like vultures. So I got a little creative.” He scraped his nail over that erect nub now, making her quiver whether she wanted it or not. “Damn. I was right. These lovely things
do
like being played with.” He paused, openly admiring her flesh between his fingers. “Yes. They’re the perfect choice.”

The arousal cloud officially evaporated. Dasha ground her wrists into the cuffs. “The perfect choice? Okay…David…what—”

“Hold her still.” Laurelle turned and braced against the table in a commanding stance. She’d ditched the razor, though, for something that iced Dasha’s blood: a long piercing needle. “The less you fight,
chere,
the better this will go.”

She shot the woman a glare. Her heart hammered. “The
better
this will go? I don’t see anything better about—”

“Pinch it a little harder, monsieur
.
I do enjoy decorating a nice hard nipple.”

Dasha glared back to David. His expression arrested her for a second. She’d never seen him so magnificent, the demon in him melding with the beautiful man, eyes molten silver, tongue against his lips, openly desiring her. “David, I—”

“Yes?” His voice coiled through her with its rough, possessive arousal. Crap. To elicit such a sound in him… Couldn’t she do this? How bad could it be?

“I’m not a damn cake!” she cried. “I’m not going to be decorated like—”

She would’ve screamed in shock if the sharp seizure on her breast didn’t hurt so much. She looked at the odd silver clamp David now attached to her throbbing nipple.

“They were invented by the Japanese,” he explained just before his lips quirked in a sideways chuckle. “Who apparently know how to turn subbies into gorgeous cakes.” He dipped his head and took a playful nip at the side of her breast, right below the clamp. “Oh, yeah. Delicious.”

“I hope it gives you diabetes!”

The words were satisfying, but she should’ve known they’d have repercussions. David exchanged a nod with Laurelle just before he tugged a string that dangled from the contraption at Dasha’s breast. The pressure instantly doubled. Dasha keened.

“Very delicious,” he repeated, then let the string go slack. She gasped in relief but refused to show anything else she felt. Certainly not how his tug-of-war with her breast added a little tingle to the pain…and absolutely not how that tingle danced its way down her body, courting even her toes. Would he even believe her? How could pain make one’s bloodstream feel so magical?

“All right,” he stated. “Now that I have your attention again, I’m going to ask, once more, would I ever do anything to jeopardize your physical safety?”

She responded with nothing but a glower, refusing to give him an instant victory. The pause cost her another pull on the string. “Fuck!” she cried—while half her mind thought of the tingles. They would come soon; she had to remember that…

“Answer my question, D.” He brushed the skin around the grip of the Japanese torture device.

She fought through the fog of torment. “No,” she got out. “No, Sir.”

“No, what?” he directed.

“No…you would never do anything to jeopardize my physical safety.”

“Good.” His raised his touch to her cheek. “So good, darling.”

His words, church-soft now, unleashed the final dam on her tears—especially as he pulled off the clamp completely, sending the tingles everywhere. The flood cleansed her to emotional depths she’d thought long-buried. Depths she’d thought sealed forever after the loss that had ripped apart her world. But her heart wasn’t ripped any more. It was filled. Engorged with feeling and color and intensity. For the first time in a long time, she was lost to the wonder of a single moment. She didn’t think back or ahead; for now, all that existed was the fullness of now. Of David. His gaze on her, his touch on her, his focus on her. Dasha bent her head toward his palm, silently begging him for more of that amazing spiritual sustenance.