“You need to go.” Tasha led them out though the door she’d used and into an alley. “Leave your masks here. And Damon, leave the vest, wear Marco’s jacket.”
“No disguises?” he asked.
“No.” Tasha was frowning, and for the first time she looked worried. “I don’t want you on video looking like you’re sneaking around.”
“Video?”
Damon looked at Marco. “Tasha, what’s going on?”
“Hurry.”
She wrapped their masks up in Damon’s vest. “Go around the front of the building, past the entrance. The meeting place is in the alley on the other side. You’ll see it—there’s a door for a shipping company. That’s the address she gave.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“I’ll have eyes on you.” Tasha climbed onto a dumpster, leapt and grabbed a second-floor window ledge and pulled herself up. In less than thirty seconds, she was on the roof.
“Ninja,” Marco agreed.
“Come on.” Damon shrugged on Marco’s jacket, which was too tight and felt strange without a shirt. Following her directions, they passed the entrance to the club. The bouncer didn’t even look at them, nor did the people waiting in the velvet rope line.
Damon’s shoulders were tense and his heart was pounding as they stepped off the sidewalk into the wide, clean alleyway.
There was no one there.
Marco checked his watch. “Ten minutes.”
At five past twelve Damon was getting irritated. He hated waiting, hated not knowing. “Where the hell is she?”
Marco was leaning against the wall. He yawned and then shrugged. Movement at the mouth of the alley caught Damon’s eye. He looked over to see a thin woman with long dark hair stumbling toward them.
“Marco,” he said.
Marco straightened and then came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
The woman was humming to herself. When she looked up, Damon scanned her face. She wasn’t the redhead they’d fucked in the video. The girl was clearly at least part Asian with dark slanted eyes. Hair color could change, but not the shape of the face.
Disappointment rolled through Damon.
“Hey, boys,” she said, stopping in front of them. “Do you want to party?”
“Do you have his phone?” Damon asked her uncertainly.
“Phone?”
“Why are you here?” he asked. “Where’s Sandra?”
“I can be Sandra, muscles.” She leaned into him.
Damon jerked back and pushed her away. She grabbed his hair and yanked it—hard.
“What the hell?” Marco pushed her back, getting between Damon and the woman. She snatched Marco’s tie and pulled it off his neck.
“What’s this for, huh?
Wanna tie me up?”
“You need to leave,” Marco said, backing up.
“Fine.” She held up her hands. Her voice went cold. “Then you’ll never know who’s setting you up.” The facade of drunk party girl was gone. The brunette turned on her heel and sprinted out of the alley.
Damon started to run after her when Tasha’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“It’s a trap.”
He looked up at the roof but couldn’t see her.
“Stay there and don’t move,” she said. He could just barely hear her. “Actually, lean against that wall and start making out.”
Damon ran his hands through his hair—his whole body was thrumming with the need to chase that woman and find out what the hell was going on.
“Don’t.” Marco wrapped an arm around him. “Trust Tasha.”
“I want this over.”
“I know, me too.” Marco started backing Damon towards the wall beside the door of the shipping company. “Don’t think about it.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“I’ll help you.” Marco’s hips settled against Damon’s and he unbuttoned the too-tight coat, spreading it open so he could stroke Damon’s chest.
Leaning his head back against the bricks, Damon let Marco’s touch cool the anger and frustration that filled him, replacing it with a different kind of heat. He ground his hips against Marco’s, the tight pants cutting into his erection.
Marco’s lips closed over his. Damon cupped his head, deepening the kiss. Marco tasted like whiskey.
When they parted to take a breath, Marco cupped Damon’s neck. “Next time I’m fucking you.”
“We’ll see.” Damon grinned. “I liked seeing you eat out Tasha.”
“And I liked seeing you hold her down while I did it.”
They came together, lips fused, hands roaming, grabbing. The touches increasingly more erotic and demanding.
Marco pulled back, rubbing his shoulder.
“You okay?” Damon asked.
“Something just hit me.”
Damon looked at the roof. He could just barely see Tasha standing there, beckoning them.
“Time to go.”
He looped his arm around Marco. They circled the building and returned to the door in the dark alley. Tasha was there and handed back their masks and Damon’s vest.
“What’s going on?” Damon asked as he switched Marco’s summer-weight wool coat for the heavy leather vest.
Tasha only shook her head. She looked worried, which set alarm bells off in Damon’s mind.
“We need to make sure we’re remembered.” She fiddled with the door and then opened it. “After we deal with the three we’ve got in there, we need to go back into the main room and stay until closing.”
Damon stopped her once they were all inside. “Tasha, what’s going on? You need to tell us.”
He could barely see her in the lightless hall. Marco crowded against him to hear her reply.
“You’re being set up,” she said. “For what, I’m not sure. I suspect…” She shook her head. “There’s no point in speculating. What we need are alibis. Damon, you’re the one who’s concerned about keeping things legal—well, now is the time to think about creating reasonable doubt. That’s what we’re doing.”
Damon was cold and felt vaguely sick. “Fuck,” he whispered.
Tasha touched his cheek and then Marco’s. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe. All I need you to do right now is forget what I just said and go back to playing the mysterious, sexy Masters.”
“Maybe we should go to the DA,” Damon said.
Tasha pressed herself against him. “Why don’t we stay here?” she whispered softly. “Why don’t we stay here and have fun. You were enjoying it. I know you were.”
Damon’s cock swelled. “Tasha, stop, you’re making it hard to think logically.”
“Good.” She drew Marco over so that Damon was between them—Tasha at his front, Marco at his back. There were breasts against his chest and a cock against his ass.
“Marco? Will you stay and play? You haven’t gotten a turn to be my Master. Do you want that?”
Damon felt Marco’s cock jump at her words.
“I know she’s playing us,” Marco said. “But I don’t care.”
Damon huffed out a laugh. Giving in, he grabbed the ring in Tasha’s collar and jerked her onto her toes. “You are very dangerous,” he whispered against her lips.
“Yes, yes, I am.”
*****
An hour and a half later, Tasha moaned loudly as Marco freed her from the St. Andrew’s cross. She was only half-acting as she clung to him. Her legs were stiff from being stuck in one position for so long, and her hands throbbed as she dropped them to her sides.
She eased herself to her knees. Marco’s hand on her head made it seem like he was forcing her down. The crowd was being dispersed by the bouncers, and the house lights were coming on. It was two a.m. and the club was closed.
Master
Blackwolf, Black Diamond and Bane were preening as they stood from their seats of honor close to the stage. They’d spent the last hour telling anyone who came close to them that they’d helped punish her. They were still tripping on acid, but she doubted they’d question Marco’s statement to them—that good whiskey and kinky sex had given them that high.
As they’d emerged from the first flush of acid, she’d positioned herself over their laps or on her knees in front of them and cried and begged for them to stop. That was all it had taken for their imaginations to fill in the blanks. She’d heard them telling a variety of stories about what they’d done to her—each more graphic and horrifying than the last. Black Diamond’s story included an elaborate setup where she was whipping Tasha while Marco fucked her.
Marco’s groans indicated he’d heard the girl’s fantasy story.
Tasha had gone back onto the St. Andrew’s cross as soon as they’d left the private room. Damon had helped her rip the fishnet shirt and she’d taken her hair down, making sure she looked like a well-used sex toy.
For the past hour, Damon and Marco had taken turns being onstage with her. They’d grabbed some of the faux toys the club performers used, but when the soft velvet strands of the flogger landed on her back she’d scream as if it were heavy leather.
Damon had turned her around after a stray blow with the fake flogger had landed on the all too real bruises left by the belt. That scream had been real, and from the look in his eyes, she knew he could tell the differen
ce.
They’d whipped her breasts and belly, which were both protected by the corset. Someone had passed up a ball gag and blindfold, and after cleaning them, Marco had been all too happy to use them on her. Tasha was glad for the gag—moaning was a relief on her vocal cords after all the screaming.
Drool coated her chin, which she found disgusting but knew men found strangely attractive. Marco released the strap of the ball gag, and Tasha winced as she had to open her aching jaw wider for him to pull it out. She’d had it in for over a half hour—ten minutes longer than was recommended in consensual play. But she was a big girl, and some aspirin would ease her general aches.
She was sure she’d hurt a lot more if she weren’t so ridiculously aroused. The play flogging had been pleasurable torture—no pain, just a hint of danger. Damon had even brought the flogger up between her legs a few times, the contact with her pussy enough that she hadn’t had to fake her reaction. She’d loudly begged him to let her come, but he’d denied her, his eyes promising that as soon as they were out of here he’d finish what they’d started.
Marco passed her collar to Damon, who jerked on it. Tasha wasn’t prepared and she tumbled off the stage into his arms.
“Sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to be that rough.”
“I’m just tired,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
“I just checked my email. There was another one from Sandra. She asked us to meet her tomorrow night—meaning tonight, at ten.”
“I expected something like that.” She tried to drop to her knees, but he wouldn’t let her.
“No more,” Damon said. “We’re done. We’re going home.”
Home.
Tasha let Damon and Marco guide her out of the club. The limo was waiting at the curb. They piled in. Tasha took a seat but immediately regretted it and instead knelt on the floor. Weariness settled over her. She ached, she wanted to shower and she was worried.
Marco took a seat, caging her between his knees. “Come here,” he demanded, pulling her leash. Tasha obediently kissed him.
She was tired, more tired than she should have been. She wasn’t used to the emotional turmoil she’d been through this week, and it had eaten away at her stamina. She let her training take over, distancing herself emotionally and mentally—taking a break even as her hands dropped to Marco’s fly, unzipping it and pulling his cock out.
“What the hell are you doing?” Damon demanded.
“Come here,” Marco said, voice rough with desire. “I’m going to kiss you while she sucks my cock.”
Tasha traced his dick from the tip to where it disappeared into his pants. She rubbed the vein on the underside and then toyed with the foreskin, listening to Marco’s reaction and identifying his preferences. He liked having the underside of his cock stimulated.
“Marco, you ass.
Look at her.”
Tasha bent, mouth open, prepared to pleasure him.
Hands on her shoulders stopped her.
“Please, Master, let your slave pleasure you. If I do a bad job you can punish me. I’d deserve it.” She didn’t even think about what she was saying. The words were there, lines in a play she knew by heart.
“Oh God.” Marco slid away from her. “I didn’t…I’m sorry. Beautiful, I’m so sorry.”
Tasha blinked in confusion. That wasn’t what came next.
“Tasha, baby, look at me.” Hands cupped her face. Damon’s gold-green eyes searched her face. “Tasha, it’s us. Come back from wherever you just went.”
She shook her head.
“I…Damon?”
With a snap, she popped back into herself. Weariness slammed down on her. She whimpered as each ache and pain made
itself known.
“Get this shit off her.” Damon unlocked the collar and flung it away. Marco undid the cuffs.
Embarrassment flooded her as she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry. I’m just tired. I needed to disengage for a second.”
“Don’t apologize,” Marco said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have seen that you were hurting. Fuck, I’m an ass.”