“Yes, you are.” Damon gathered Tasha into his arms.
Tasha could feel his erection against her hip. “Let me take care of you.” She tried to slide her hand between them to rub Damon’s cock.
“No. Tasha, stop. You’re not our submissive, our slave. That was just a game we were playing—a game we were really into.”
“It’s just us now,” Marco whispered, rubbing her legs. “There’s plenty of time to have sex. We have the rest of our lives. There’s no rush. I want you to be happy. I want you to feel safe.”
She closed her eyes and a tear escaped. “I’m just tired. I should be able to handle this.”
“You don’t need to. All you need right now is to let us take care of you.”
When the limo stopped, Marco helped her into her coat and Damon carried her all the way to the condo. He didn’t stop at the front door and took her right to the shower. Marco turned the water on in the master bathroom shower and cradled her as Damon shucked his clothing and climbed in. Tasha gasped as they urged her into the shower in her clothes.
Marco’s blue eyes were shadowed as he watched Damon stripping the now-wet coat off her. “I’ll go get us something to eat.”
“Why is he leaving?” she asked.
“He feels guilty. He should.”
“Why? I asked him to use the belt.”
“Not for that.
For not realizing that you were hurting and needed him to stop treating you like a sex toy.”
Tasha lifted her arms as Damon struggled with the corset. She was pretty sure he was ripping it trying to get it off, but she didn’t care.
“It can be hard to remember what’s a game and what’s real,” she soothed
“I want you to be real.” Damon was drenched, his blond hair plastered to his head. Water ran over his muscles in a way she found inexplicably fascinating. “I want the real Tasha, not someone playing a part.”
“I can’t promise that,” she whispered. “Sometimes it’s easier to play a game.”
“I know, baby. Just be honest with me.” He hooked his fingers in the already ruined fishnet shirt and ripped it open. The tattered pieces slid off her arms and landed with a plop on the shower floor.
Finally, he eased the panties off her.
Honest.
Tasha looked down at his wet head. “Damon?”
“Yes?” He rose to his feet and dumped some soap into his hand. Starting with her arms, he washed her, the touch matter of fact, not arousing…but her body thrummed with desire.
“I…I want you to…” She swallowed, feeling like an idiot. She shouldn’t say anything—just wait for them to go to sleep and then take care of herself.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to touch me. But I don’t.” Tasha shook her head. “I’m too tired to make sense.”
Damon’s hands stilled for a moment and then continued stroking her. “I understand.”
She ducked under the stream to wash her face and then stepped out into the towel he held for her. Damon wrapped her up and then carried her from the bathroom to the master bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and then lay beside her.
He dipped his hand under the edge of the towel.
“Damon?”
“Let me take care of you.”
His fingers found her pussy. Tasha sighed in pleasure and relief as he touched her clit. She was still wrapped up in the towel, her body warm and secure. Damon kissed her nose, her lips, her forehead. It was a gentle, almost nurturing touch as he circled her clit in a steady rhythm. Within minutes, she was breathing deep, and when the pressure within her reached its peak and the orgasm washed over her, Damon didn’t push her. He pressed his palm against her pussy and held her throbbing sex as she came.
“Wow,” Tasha whispered. “I didn’t know it could be like that.” She closed her eyes.
“Get some sleep, baby.”
There were things she needed to do, but for now sleep seemed like a good thing.
*****
Marco stood in the door to his bedroom and watched Damon kiss and
touch their wife. Her gentle cry as she came was a beautiful sound. She trustingly curled into Damon as she closed her eyes. He waited for a minute before he slid off the bed.
Their gazes met, but Marco looked away. Back in the kitchen, he started assembling sandwiches.
“Marco.”
He didn’t acknowledge Damon.
“Marco.” Damon grabbed him and forced him to turn. “What the hell?”
“What?” Marco tried to hide his anger.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re jealous.”
Marco jerked open the fridge door and stared into the white depths. He didn’t know what he was looking for.
“Marco, you can’t be jealous of Tasha and I being together—that will kill our relationship before it starts. We all have to accept there will be times when the other two will have sex. We can’t be together all the time.”
“That’s not why I’m jealous,” he ground out.
“Why then?”
“She trusts you. She doesn’t trust me.”
Marco was tired and a little drunk. In the sober light of day he wouldn’t have admitted to such unflattering feelings, but right now he was angry and upset and couldn’t hold that in. Slamming the fridge closed, he looked at his friend.
“I’m the one who protected her first, not you. I never wanted her hurt, and you were okay with it. I’m the one she should want comforting her.”
Damon’s shock was clear on his face before it morphed to anger. “I see. So who was I going to be in our trinity? The asshole she couldn’t stand? Do you expect us to both love you and only you?”
Marco swallowed. Is that what he’d expected?
“Fuck you, Marco.” Damon left the kitchen and the guest bedroom door slammed a moment later.
Marco took a
tumbler from the counter and flung it across the room. The shattering of crystal didn’t make him feel better.
*****
Damon jerked awake, sitting bolt upright. It felt like he’d only been asleep for a few hours, and he wasn’t sure why he was awake now.
“Damon, you need to go.”
Tasha appeared from the shadows. She was dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, her hair back in a ponytail.
“What happened?” he asked, struggling to process what was going on. It wasn’t yet seven and he had been asleep for less than three hours.
“Nothing. I should have told you last night, you need to go home.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You need to go back to L.A. Today. Go out to dinner tonight. You need to be seen.”
“Tasha…I just got to sleep.”
“I packed your bag and booked you a flight. The cab will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Why?” he groaned.
“Because if you’re in L.A. then you can’t be here murdering someone tonight.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the room.
*****
An hour later, Damon was at O’Hare Airport, yawning as he went through security. He collapsed into a chair in the first-class lounge. He hadn’t gotten to ask Tasha who she thought was getting murdered and hadn’t had a chance to tell her about what Marco had said last night.
He was still pissed at his friend, though he knew better than to hold something said after a long, emotional day against Marco.
When he was on board, he tossed a blanket over himself, begged the flight attendant to let him sleep, and finally got some rest. He dreamed of them—Tasha
and Marco. It started off sexy but quickly morphed into a nightmare that ended with him standing over Tasha’s dead body.
*****
At one, Tasha finished her Pilates routine and rose to her feet. She was still a bit sore and the belt marks had darkened to purple. She’d have to make sure Marco didn’t see them.
He’d been sleeping on the couch when she woke Damon up and hustled him to the airport.
She went in search of water, but as soon as she left the guest bedroom she heard it—the first strains of music. Captivated, she went to the living room and curled up on the couch to listen.
He was beautiful when he played. As she watched his face, she realized that they had more in common than she’d thought—he had no choice but to live the music, to embody the sadness and joy in the notes. When he finished, he bowed his head, looking weary. That she understood. She knew exactly how hard it could be to take on extra emotions.
She applauded softly and he looked up.
“Tasha.” He nodded stiffly.
“That was beautiful.”
“I have rehearsal with the CSO—Chicago Symphony Orchestra—this week. I’m going in to practice the solo piece tonight.”
Tasha frowned. “Is this a new part of your schedule?”
“No.”
She filed that away—whoever had his phone would be able to see the rehearsals on his calendar, meaning that it could be used against him. “I’m sorry I took your bed last night.”
Marco laid the bow to the strings and drew forth a low, ominous note. “I saw you together last night.
You and Damon.”
Tasha studied his profile. “Are you angry because he touched me? I know you love him.”
“No. I’m angry because you wanted him and not me.”
Tasha was shocked. He was jealous because she’d been with Damon, not because Damon had been with her? “But you love him,” she said.
“I do. And I want you. I thought you and I…I thought there was something between us, and I hate myself for destroying it last night.”
“You didn’t destroy anything.”
“How could I not have? You were hurt and exhausted. We kept you strapped to a damned cross for hours and yet the minute we were alone all I could think about was touching you, having you touch me.”
“And why is that wrong?”
“Because I don’t want to be like other men to you. I’m your husband.” Marco put aside the cello, came to her and dropped to his knees. He took her hands in his. “I wanted to be the first one you loved. I know that’s terrible, but that’s what I wanted.”
“You want me to love you?” Tasha’s heart swelled and tears pricked her eyes
“Yes. Desperately.”
“I’m so scared of falling in love with both of you. I don’t know how to do this.” Her voice wavered and she had to stop and bite her lip to fight back the tears. “Last night I was tired, and instead of telling you that, I turned my heart and mind off. I became what I’d only pretended to be up until that point—the perfect little slave girl.”
“And I pushed you to that.” Marco laid his head on her lap. “Forgive me.”
Tasha let out a little sob. “Marco.”
He rose, sat on the couch and cradled her against him. “I can be a selfish, conceited ass.”
“And I can be a lot of things.”
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He kissed her softly. “It’s a good thing we have Damon.”
“Yes, it is. I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize, and not just to you. I was an ass to Damon.”
“He’ll forgive you.”
“And will you?”
“Only if you forgive me.”
“Of course, beautiful.” He kissed her softly.
Desire unfolded in her belly. Tasha pulled back. She wished there was time, but there wasn’t. “I have to go.”
“Where?” he asked, gaze hooded.
“I need to figure out what’s going on. I think I can end this today. What time does your rehearsal finish?”
“Nine.”
“Stay there. Keep other people with you if you can.”
His gaze searched her face. “Alibi?”
“Yes.” She slid reluctantly out of his arms.
“Tasha?”
“Yes?”
“Keep yourself safe. Whatever happens we’ll deal with it. I’d rather do some jail time than see you get hurt.”
“That’s very sweet.” She smiled. “It’s also very stupid. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
Marco roared with laughter as she left the living room to get dressed. Tasha was smiling as she pulled on a black body-armor suit.
~~~~
Chapter Thirteen
Tasha started on the roof of the club and then canvassed the area, moving in a spiral pattern. She’d put on jeans and a jacket and easily blended in with the late afternoon crowd on the streets. When she was done, she went back to the beginning and started again, each time identifying potential crime scenes.
If she was right, the failure of the blackmail scheme had caused the person behind it to up the ante. There was security footage of Marco and Damon in the alley last night meeting with a woman with dark hair. If a woman matching that was found dead, they would be suspects. The blackmail attempt and the video would come out in the investigation and Marco’s travel to Las Vegas to look for her would seem sinister.
The email asking them to return to this area was an effort to get eyewitnesses who could place them around the body. Tasha was assuming that the murder would take place sometime today, and the video footage from the alley last night would have the date stamp changed. She suspected the plan had been to get Marco and Damon to chase the girl. When they caught up with her they’d find themselves standing over a still-warm dead body. The fact that Marco and Damon hadn’t chased after the decoy, and then were heavily alibied in the club, meant the plan must have changed.