Caught By Two Doms (Club El Diablo (Angel's Doms Book 2)) (5 page)

Chapter Ten

Angel

From the moment Stephens announced the stranger waiting to speak with them, she knew. When Master had left, she dreaded each minute he’d be away. Until these past few years, her entire life had been filled with the deep wrenching sorrow of losing the people she loved.

Now, she felt so very cold and it centered from deep within. She barely noticed Sir’s arms wrapped around her. Occasionally, he murmured words she could make no sense of.

She let her mind float… the garden needed tending. Willow’s baby was due any day and she needed to order a gift. She’d been struggling to play t
he eighth Sonata by Prokofiev. Master would be proud if she achieved the difficult piece.

Her mind jumped away from the thought.

Marguerite promised to teach her how to make zucchini bread. Stephens said he’d show her how to change the oil in the cars. Not because she’d ever need to change oil, but because she wanted to know how to do simple things that others took for granted.

“Zachary, sir… I’ve made lunch. You both need to eat.” Marguerite’s voice sounded far away.

Angel felt Sir shift beside her.

“Call Stephens and have him join us. We’re all eating together.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t argue with me, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Angel felt his fingers gliding over her dry cheeks then her jaw. His lips followed the same path and then he gently took her mouth. Responding was beyond her.

His lips left hers. “We’re going downstairs to eat. Marguerite and Stephens will be there. We will mourn together as a family.”

She didn’t move, but felt the bed dip when he released her and then stood.

“Angel, get up now.” The stern words echoed throughout the room.

She tried to focus, but couldn’t.

She felt the top half of her body lifted from the bed.

“Open your eyes.”

Nothing cooperated, though she tried to mentally reach out to Sir’s voice. Her body moved, but she wasn’t sure how or why. She had no control.

The loud smack penetrated her brain, though the sting barely registered.

Again.

And again.

The strikes to the back of her upper thigh intensified until finally she wiggled, seeking relief from the hot, steady pain. Her eyelids managed to open and she saw Zachary… Sir.

“We’re going downstairs to eat.”

He lifted her from the bed and pulled her into his side.

“Walk.”

Each slow step brought reality into focus. Master was not coming home.

Marguerite and Stephens waited. Angel had never seen Marguerite cry and the woman’s red, swollen eyes caused Angel to look away. Then she glanced at Stephens. He’d aged ten years, and his eyes frantically searched hers. It was too much, and she would have left the room if Sir wasn’t holding her.

“Everyone sit.”

The voice startled her from the fog that had closed in again. She sat where he put her and knew it was one of the chairs because, through the thin layer of her cotton dress, she felt the cool wood against her bottom. She couldn’t look at anyone and just glanced down at the white plate in front of her.

“Monroe left each of you a personal letter.”

She focused on Sir’s words and managed to look at him.

“You need to read them privately after we eat. The news of his death will not be made public right away. Up until it is, our grief will remain completely private.”

His eyes left hers and she watched as he glanced around the table.

“Monroe considered you his family, and while we grieve there will be no hint of servant-master protocol. Somehow, we will get through this together.” Sir looked at the two people who were so much more than servants. “I expect you both at dinner each night, though I’ll leave breakfast and lunch to you. If you wish to join us, please do. Both Angel and I want you here, sitting beside us. There will be many trials over the coming weeks and we shall survive this as a family.”

Marguerite’s quiet sobs barely penetrated Angel’s consciousness. She wasn’t sure how the woman’s hand got into hers, but she looked down and noticed the wrinkled skin slightly darker than her own. Angel squeezed and a steady returned pressure brought her further from the haze. Her breath shuddered within her chest and she automatically took the plate of cold cuts handed to her. She released Marguerite’s hand, took a serving, and then passed the platter to Sir.

Another breath and she finally looked at Marguerite and then Stephens. Long before she entered their lives, they were Monroe’s family. She needed to be strong and make this easier on them. She took a bite of food.

Glancing up at Sir, she noticed his facial muscles relax.

They ate. Angel tasted nothing. Marguerite left the table and came back with a bowl of fruit. Angel nibbled, but left most of it on her plate. When Marguerite stood to clear the table, Sir stood and grabbed Stephens’ plate, then hers.

“No,
Señor.”

Marguerite’s voice sounded frantic, but Sir ignored her. The men began gathering dishes. Angel followed their example while feeling nothing. They cleaned the kitchen together in silence.

The letters were handed to each of them. She watched Marguerite walk slowly from the room clutching hers close, and then Stephens left. The single envelope in her shaking hands seemed unreal.

Her name. So simply written, so final.

Sir looked on and it gave her the strength to walk to the music room.

The piano bench that had so often given her comfort offered none. The ivory and ebony keys didn’t pull her into their world even after lightly running her fingers across them. The joy of music—only one of many gifts given by Master. He drew her out of a world of horror she couldn’t face. He set her free, shared his love and family, giving her a reason to live. Then his greatest gift… Sir.

Her breath caught, her tears held back by pure willpower. If she began crying, Master’s words would fade into the tears. Shakily, her finger followed the imprint of her name, and then very slowly she pulled the folded page from the envelope.

Angel my love,

While writing this, I imagine your silky skin beneath my fingers, your hair falling over my arms surrounding me in its shelter and your lips pliant beneath mine. I see you swaying with the rope, lost in its midst and the trust of your submission fulfilling my life.

My finest work of art holds no comparison to your beauty. But, what you carry inside is the greatest gift you have given me. There are no words to describe the joy you brought into my life, so I will stop trying.

You are strong. Stronger than you know.

I fear for Zachary. His feelings run deep and he will not verbalize them as you eventually will. Hold him when he needs your arms and take his pain as only you can.

Grieve, but then pick yourself up and live.

Marry Zachary. This is the single most important request I make. Do not let him run away from his feelings. Carry his burdens and bless his life like you have done to mine.

There are needs you have that Zachary cannot fulfill. Eventually, he will see this and seek help, but his stubbornness will cost you both much. Do not fear speaking to him, and be as patient as you can. If this does not work, break one of the statues he hates over his head. Marguerite will patch him up and if the injury is too severe, Stephens is good with a needle.

Marguerite and Stephens think of you as their daughter. Embrace their love and know it is not easily earned. Cherish their guidance and bow to their grace. I could not conceive of more loving, capable hands to leave you in than theirs and Zachary’s.

Death does not end my love for you,

Master

 
She wiped her tears away and then she reread the letter. When finished, her tears completely obscured her vision and mist shadowed the room. Sliding from the bench, she curled into a tight ball on the floor and cried.

Master was wrong. She wasn’t strong and she couldn’t live with the pain of his loss. The quiet click of the door barely registered. Sir’s strong, warm arms surrounded her and then he carried her up the stairs.

He took her into the bathroom, removed her clothes, handed her a tissue for her face then her toothbrush, and patiently waited for her to finish. He ran warm water and picked up a washcloth, dipping it in cream and smoothing it on her face. She remained frozen, lost in an ache so deep she felt like she was drowning.

He carried her to the bed, pulled back the blanket, and helped her slide between the cool sheets. She watched him through a mist of silent tears. When naked, he slipped in next to her, pulling her closely to his side. Sir’s lips gently pressed against hers. She breathed in deeply, absorbing his scent, and as their body heat warmed the bed, a gentle waft of Master’s scent came from the pillow beneath her head.

The dam broke and a torrent of tears and sobs bubbled up, no longer within her control. Sir didn’t offer words of comfort, just held her tightly and let her cry.

Chapter Eleven

Zachary

The first few weeks were unbearable.

A few days after Monroe’s death, Marguerite came and spoke to him about their shared meals and everyone helping her with her work.

“Do not take this from me, S
eñor. It is what I do. I take care of you and Angel. It gives me great joy. Stephens’ responsibilities keep his mind off the bad. Por favor, let us care for you and the
S
eñorita.”

Zach realized he had been doing them a disservice. Parts of Monroe’s life left a bad taste in his mouth. Servants, the slave aspect of Monroe’s relationship with Angel, and Monroe’s total lack of understanding any time Zach tried to speak to him about it made Zach’s teeth grind on many occasions.

“It is what they do,” was Monroe’s less-than-pleasing reply. It infuriated Zach how the man closed himself off with no concept of a normal world. Zach knew Monroe cared, but the man’s feelings — whether angry, frustrated, happy, or sad — rarely, if ever, showed.

He wanted to punch Monroe when he gave a slightly different variation of an answer: “It is what she needs.” Zach had eventually stopped trying to fight or change Monroe’s relationship with Angel.

Marguerite’s plea to return to servant status unfurled and shined a light on the unsatisfying answers Monroe gave. With greater insight, Zach felt the first inkling of understanding.

With no funeral or official closure as of yet, they all struggled to accept that Monroe was truly gone.

You didn’t plan this entire fucking mess very well did you?

Zach found himself speaking to Monroe’s imaginary ghost more and more. The one-sided conversations were usually prompted by the growing anger he felt.

With all of Zach’s increasing insecurities—fucking up Marguerite’s and Stephens’ ability to heal, and Angel becoming more despondent every day—he was at a complete loss. And then… he felt someone watching them. A dark, unseen presence that held evil intent. It brought back his law enforcement days when he’d learned early on to listen to these feelings.

Stephens didn’t bat an eye when Zach explained. They went over safety procedures regularly and changed a few things up so it was harder to figure out their schedule.

And now he faced another problem. His fingers
ran through his hair as a sigh of frustration escaped. He’d waited to explain the marriage certificate to Angel. She became angry, and after a violent burst of temper, he’d secured her in the playroom where he now stood wondering what his ultimate goal was.

Twice in the middle of the night since Monroe died, she’d rolled on top of him, begging for sex. She didn’t want him to make love to her, just a quick mindless fuck. After her orgasm, she fell back to sleep. Several times, she experienced night terrors and, the one on the previous night had taken things to an entirely new level. When he restricted her breathing, it took twice as long for her to come out of it. He worried he’d kill her with too
much carbon dioxide from his lungs. When she finally came to, she cried until th
e light of dawn shown through the windows.

Now, he gazed at her, bound to the spanking bench, taking in huge lungs full of air. Her current burst of anger wasn’t going away. Zach wasn’t helping her grief. He couldn’t face his own feelings, much less hers.

He had no idea why she was so angry over the marriage certificate. Monroe gave Angel legal rights to everything he owned, making sure she was forever cared for. Zach explained Monroe’s reasoning, handed her the document, and then watched as it floated to the floor and she walked from the room.

The next thing he knew, the sound of breaking glass came from the direction she’d headed. Several priceless statues, collected by Monroe during his travels, lay in pieces. She lifted a particularly hideous one and before Zach could stop her, she threw it down to join the others.

“Stop.” He grabbed her arm and wrestled her in close to his body.

“It’s mine now. I can destroy anything I want.” She struggled to get away.

“No, Angel.”

“What do you care? You hated this stuff anyway,” she shrieked.

He kept his voice low and steady. “Thinking it’s repulsive is one thing, but at the very least donate this shit to a museum. For some reason Monroe loved it.”

Instead of calming her, the words caused a greater explosion. She kicked, tried to bite him, and screamed profanities he’d never heard her use.

Now, she was naked… bound hand and foot with a ball gag in her mouth. Getting her clothes off and securing her was no easy feat, because she fought the entire time he wrestled her into the fastenings.

And… Zach had no idea what the hell to do.

He was frustrated, angry, and at a complete loss. Taking a page from Monroe, he picked up a coil of rope and walked to the farthest corner of the room by a bondage bed. Angel’s furious gaze followed as he sat down on the floor, closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing. Sliding his fingers over the soft filament, he let the rope seep into his consciousness while attempting to clear his mind.

Letting go of his anger was the hardest part.

You fucking left us and I’m not good for the people you loved. They need you.

Finally, he gained a semblance of control and blindly worked knots into the rope before slowly unwinding them. Some were intricate, some simple, but each required his absolute focus.

Fifteen minutes later, he rose, replaced the rope, and walked to where Angel waited. Picking up a long scarf, he covered her eyes. She no longer resisted. By soothing himself, he’d calmed her. He unclipped her wrists and ankles, then guided her to a bar hung from the ceiling and secured her wrists over her head. Using a spreader bar, her ankles were next. He didn’t offer platitudes as comfort. He’d been giving her those over the past weeks and no words could possibly take away the hole Monroe left in their hearts.

They both needed this release and he’d been an idiot for not forcing the issue. In the beginning, it had taken him months to understand Angel’s internal need for total submission. After losing Monroe, he didn’t expect her to even want to play. He’d forgotten a key principle with Angel… she carried a load of guilt on her shoulders, and impact play and Shibari gave her peace.

The flogger he chose was medium weight, not as soft as several others he possessed, but neither of them needed soft. He kissed her lips and then ran the fall slowly across her delicate skin. He hadn’t pressed his teeth into her flesh since the news of Monroe. She had no bruising from rope, whip, or paddle. He planned to change that.

The leather flowed over each subtle inch of her flesh. He watched as she inhaled deeply and then released more than pent up air. He swung the flogger against her shoulders, ass, thighs, and legs with sure, skillful strokes. He circled around and worked her breasts, belly, front of her thighs, and more sensitive inner thighs.

Her breaths quickened, though he knew she wasn’t feeling pain at this point. But for the first time, a small part of her fought submission and Zach had to work for it. Eventually, her head dropped forward, though her legs continued their support. She leaned heavily on her wrist bindings, but Zach had no intention of leaving her there long.

As he intensified the strikes, sweat broke out on his chest and arms, so he removed his shirt. He continued with the same steady pace, watching her face. Even with her eyes covered, her complete lack of facial expression told him all he needed to know.

He added more force to the blows, watching in satisfaction as she flinched and finally tried to shift away. He continued, knowing from the many times they’d played with impact toys that she would never safeword. This didn’t worry him, because he knew her pain tolerance implicitly.

The first sobs were soft, but as he increased the force of his strikes the sobs grew. Her legs eventually gave way. He stopped and held her up while he released the snap hooks from her cuffs. He carried her, still attached to the spreader bar, to the spanking bench, and lay her face down. She continued to hold a part of herself back.

Now, with the bench beneath her, he changed to a heavier flogger and his strikes began in earnest. Angry red marks marred her flesh until finally she screamed and her quiet sobs became a torrent of grief. He didn’t stop until his arm was too weak to continue.

With shaking limbs, he lay the flogger aside, and then released her restraints, taking the wrist and ankle cuffs completely off. Her crying continued as he carried her to their chair, straddled her over his thighs, and brought her chest to his. He removed the blindfold and used it to wipe her nose.

Then he held her, rubbing his hands over her reddened back and shoulders, whispering words of comfort while holding his own emotions in check. He wanted nothing more than to take away Angel’s pain, even if it intensified his own.