Theirs to Take

by Laura Kaye

  Unable to hold his head up, he went limp in the circle of Jonathan’s strong arm. He had just enough presence of mind left to ease his fingers free of Hartley and clasp both of her hands in both of his.

  Cruz was a sweaty, messy, sticky, sore mess.

  And it was the best he’d felt in his whole damn life.

  With the two people who accepted him most in the world. With the two people who totally, completely, and irrevocably owned his loyalty and his heart.

  ***

  Jonathan stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He felt drunk with satisfaction, especially when Cruz and Hartley stepped out after him, laughing and debating whether to order Chinese or pizza. Hartley’s apartment was nearly a shoebox, but it did have two things going for it—that incredible view off the balcony, and a big shower stall they all could share.

  But a big part of him wanted to relocate them to his apartment, if only because he had a king-size bed—a bed he really badly wanted to see the two people he loved lying and sleeping and fucking on. Though he certainly wouldn’t have minded the music of Hartley’s laughter filling his space or living with her habit of excitedly sharing quotes from things she’d read that moved or inspired her, nor would he have minded having Cruz’s amazing black-and-white travel photos covering his walls or having his freezer filled with the evidence of the man’s ice cream addiction. And no way would Jonathan say no to coming home to both of them at the end of the day.

  There was, for him, no denying that love was exactly what he felt.

  Not after Hartley’s big heart had found the perfect way to take care of Cruz in the aftermath of his terrible revelation. Not after her selfless gesture and open-mindedness had brought them all closer than ever before. And not after Cruz had finally surrendered to this thing that had been building between the three of them—and in the process gave Jonathan one of the most intimate experience of his life.

  In a way, they reminded him of the old, abandoned church he and his partners had renovated for the club that became Blasphemy. That great vaulted ceiling only stayed up because the buttresses worked together to distribute the weight and support the structure. And every buttress was needed to keep the whole thing standing. It seemed to Jonathan that he, Cruz, and Hartley were the same way. Each of them requiring the other two to get everything they needed. Each of them helping hold the other two up.

  “How about it, buddy?” Cruz was asking. “Pizza or Chinese?”

  Jonathan smirked. “Is there a reason we have to choose?”

  Cruz rolled his eyes. But affection was plain on the man’s face. And Jonathan intended to keep it there if it was the last thing he did. “Fine. I’ll order.”

  Brushing her wet hair in front of the mirror, a towel tucked around her chest, Hartley called out. “Get breadsticks, too.”

  “Got it,” Cruz said from the other room.

  Jonathan wrapped his arms around Hartley from behind. “Thank you for the way you took care of him.”

  She shook her head, a small, sweet smile on her face. “That’s what we do.”

  “Yes, it is,” Jonathan said. The sentiment hitting him with its rightness, hitting him down deep. “You are the center of us, Hartley. I hope you know that.”

  She turned in his arms and laced hers around his neck. “We’re all at the center at one time or another. You were the one who brought Cruz and I together at the start, remember?”

  “How were we so lucky to find you?” he asked, leaning down for a slow, soft kiss.

  A few minutes later, they were all dressed again. And while Hartley threw the sheets in the washing machine, Cruz grabbed a gift out of his car and placed it on the breakfast bar.

  She returned to the room and froze, a grin settling onto her face. “What’s that?”

  “Baby,” Cruz said, giving her a look. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “You guys are going to spoil me with all these presents,” she said, eagerly ripping off the floral paper.

  “That’s the plan,” Jonathan said, chuckling at her enthusiasm. He and Cruz stepped closer. They’d spent a lot of time over the weekend picking this out.

  She tore open the box and gasped. “This is beautiful.” She lifted out a traditional full-face mask—a black-and-blue carnival number with a fan of feathers to hide the edges of the face, too. “But wait, there are two,” she said, picking up a second one made of a stick-on lace that would cover the top half of her face and looked almost like a tattoo when applied.

  “We wanted you to be able to choose how much of your face was covered,” Cruz said.

  “Wow. These are both so cool,” Hartley said, setting them aside to pull out the black gown beneath. “Oh, my God.” She held the floor-length and very sheer lace-and-chiffon number in front of her. It had a severely plunging V-neckline, a bodice made of lace cutouts that appeared to float over the skin, and a hip-high slit up one leg that Jonathan was dying to see on her. “This is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever owned. Thank you so much.” She hugged it to her.

  “Told you we’d take care of you,” Cruz said.

  She went right to him and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s amazing. You two are amazing.” She hugged Jonathan next.

  He grinned, thrilled that she liked what they’d chosen for her. “The masquerade party’s going to be a great night. We have an old friend coming into town we’re looking forward to introducing you to.” Leo Sinclair was a buddy from the navy, a man who moved around a lot and therefore they hadn’t seen him in a long while. He’d called a few days before to say he was passing through on his way out to Vegas, and they’d harangued him to come to the party despite his insistence that it wasn’t his kind of thing. That might’ve been true to a point—but they knew well enough that he was a Dominant, too. So they’d twisted his arm, because none of them were sure when they’d get another chance to visit.

  “I can’t wait to meet more of your friends,” she said, spinning with the dress to see how the chiffon skirt flowed. Her delight made him want to give her a present every day. Hartley Farren was one of those people who found joy in small things, and he really appreciated that about her. “I just hope I don’t embarrass you guys.”

  “You never could,” Cruz said, pulling her into his arms. “We’ll teach you the basics, and the rest will come in time.”

  “Absolutely,” Jonathan said. “We can talk over dinner and tell you everything you need to know. Show you a few things, too.” He winked, loving the color that rose on her cheeks.

  “Okay, you know I’m all in,” she said. “And I’m dying to see exactly what Blasphemy is all about.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dressed in a gown that made her feel like a princess—even if a somewhat risqué princess, what with all the skin that showed through the lace cut-outs and see-through chiffon skirt—Hartley stepped onto the main floor at Blasphemy and was immediately in awe.

  The space was huge. Music echoed against the soaring ceiling, the colorful frescoes on the walls, and the massive stained-glass windows that hung along the whole length of the room. Thick marble columns lined the open area and a huge round bar dominated the center of the space.

  “Welcome to Blasphemy,” Jonathan said, a proud smile on his face—at least, on the part of his face she could see. Because he wore a cool black leather wolf mask, tooled and engraved with a painted design, and he’d left the past two days’ worth of scruff on his jaw to complete the look. Shirtless, he wore only black boots and a pair of jeans that made his ass look freaking hot.

  “This is amazing! You guys helped do all this?” Hartley asked, still trying to take it all in as they moved further into the room, through a crowd of people wearing masks and costumes as colorful and varied as the stained glass above them.

  “Yeah,” Cruz said from beneath a carved white Phantom mask. He wore a bowtie around his throat and black dress pants and shoes. Together with those striking tribal tattoos on his arms, his costume was sexy as h
ell. “All of us played a part in saving and renovating the building. And now it’s our second home.” He winked and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

  And that had her gaze focusing on two things she’d never seen until tonight. The first was a black leather cuff Cruz wore knotted around his wrist. Jonathan, too. It bore a Gothic letter M that stood for Master, and it was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen in her life. It took her attraction for them to a whole other level, especially as she witnessed people showing them both such deference and respect—the deference and respect due to the club’s twelve Master Dominants. It was a heady thing to see. And the second new sight was the red leather cuff she wore around her own wrist—red for attached submissive.

  Once, she hadn’t been sure what she thought of that label. Now Hartley knew it meant she was theirs. And they were hers. And that she wanted to please them every way she could. She couldn’t find one thing wrong with any of that, especially after what they’d shared at her apartment two nights before. Her chest still ballooned with a warm pressure every time she thought about all the ways they’d come together.

  “You like the way these look, don’t you?” Cruz asked, eyeing her through his mask.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said a little shyly, because the Sir still felt new and different spilling from her tongue. But she couldn’t deny that saying it turned her on, especially when their expressions reacted to hearing it. Reacted with lust. It was just one of the things they’d taught her during their conversation over a buffet of Chinese and pizza. A training lesson that had led them right back to her bed…

  When they reached the bar, they ran almost immediately into two people Hartley recognized despite their masks—Scarlett, whose long hair gave her away, and Cassia, whose lace mask was so sheer that it was mostly decorative. The lace one Hartley wore was nowhere near as sheer, but its design, almost like a tattoo of black jewels dripping down her face from forehead to cheeks, made her feel so sexy that she’d chosen it over the one that offered more coverage.

  “Hey!” Scarlett was the first to notice her. “Oh, my God, you’re really here!” And then she schooled her expression. “Hello, Master Jonathan, Master Cruz.”

  Her guys smiled and greeted the women. Then Jonathan—or Master Jonathan, Hartley needed to get used to that, too—turned to her. “Hartley, would you mind if I talk to Scarlett for a second?”

  “Of course not. Sir,” she rushed to add, curious but quickly swept into conversation with Cass. “Where’s Kenna tonight? Is she here?”

  “She and Master Griffin are doing a bondage demonstration. Up on the stage.” Cassia pointed to the far end of the room, and Hartley was immediately intrigued. She wasn’t sure if bondage could be her thing, but then again, she hadn’t been sure that two men could be her thing either. So her default, from now on, was to try everything. So far, that hadn’t steered her wrong where her men—her Masters—were concerned, had it?

  “I hope I can catch some of that.” She leaned in closer. “Now, tell me, where’s your Dom?”

  Cassia’s grin was immediate—and blindingly happy. “Master Quinton. The crazy, hot, funny one behind the bar.”

  Smiling at the description, Hartley turned and pressed onto tiptoes. Through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of the man in question—he wore a white cowboy hat and a black Lone Ranger mask, and had an expressive face and a swagger about the way he moved. “Very nice, Cassia. Hi-ho, Silver.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “Oh, not you, too,” she said, exasperated. “Master Quinton has been saying that all night.” She gestured to her dress. Her silver dress. “Why do you think he put me in this?”

  Hartley laughed, liking Master Quinton already and she hadn’t even talked to him yet. “Someone’s Dom obviously has a good sense of humor. Still, you look gorgeous in it.”

  Cass smiled. “Well, thank you.”

  Her men returned with Scarlett, who had an about-to-burst grin on her face.

  “Baby,” Master Cruz said, leaning in to Hartley’s side. “Please wait for us. We’re going to find our friend, Leo. He’s here somewhere. We’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, sure,” Hartley said.

  Master Jonathan kissed her cheek. “Thanks, darlin’. Sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Absolutely, Master Jonathan.” She grinned when his eyes narrowed at hearing her say the title. Hartley had already agreed to play privately with them in one of the themed rooms, but if she hadn’t, that look might’ve been enough to convince her. When they disappeared into the crowd, she turned back to her friend. “What was that about?”

  Scarlett’s expression looked like she was about to burst. “They asked if they could introduce me to someone. And now I’m freaking out.” She laughed, and her happiness—nervous though it was—made Hartley happy, too. And feel even more affection for the men making her friend feel this way. Though she was going to have a talk with them—because next time she wanted to be in on the matchmaking.

  “Don’t freak out,” Cass said. “Masters Jonathan and Cruz wouldn’t hook you up with anyone they weren’t absolutely sure about. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I know,” Scarlett said, blowing out a breath. “I know. I got this.”

  “You totally do,” Hartley said, excited for her. “Hey, do you think it would okay to move around the bar a little so we could get a peek at the stage? A bondage demonstration might make a really good distraction.”

  They hadn’t moved ten feet when Hartley’s Masters emerged through the crowd, a dark-haired man in a plain black mask at their side.

  She turned to Scarlett. “Oh, that must be their friend.”

  Under her sparkling black-and-red cut-out mask, Scarlett’s eyes went wide. And she wasn’t the only one who liked what she saw judging by the stunned expression on the man’s face. And it made Hartley want to squee to see someone react to her friend the way she deserved—with awe, with desire, with respect.

  Master Jonathan was smiling as he made introductions. “Leo, this is Hartley Farren, and her friend Scarlett Rose. Ladies, you may address Leo as Sir since he is not a Blasphemy Master.”

  Nervous at the possibility of making a mistake, Hartley gave him a smile and a nod that Leo returned. But he really only had eyes for Scarlett, who stood stock in her skimpy red satin slip still waiting to follow the man’s lead. Watching them—and feeling the instant chemistry radiating off of them—made Hartley bite her lip to hold back the grin that threatened at the apparently very good match her men had made. Cruz winked at her, and heat filled her cheeks.

  Finally, it was Scarlett who broke the tension between them. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

  Leo’s eyes flashed through his mask. “The pleasure’s mine. I hear we’re both new to Blasphemy.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Scarlett said, her eyes still on him.

  “Scarlett helped convince me to give it a try,” Hartley said. “Now I’m just hoping I don’t mess anything up.”

  Master Jonathan took her hand. “You’re not doubting that we’ll guide you every step of the way, are you?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, no, Sir,” she said.

  “Maybe we need to show her exactly what that means,” Master Cruz said, his voice full of dark, sensual promise—a promise that shot heat through her blood.

  Master Jonathan nodded and tugged Hartley between them. “Mmm, maybe we do.”

  Even as Leo continued to study Scarlett, Hartley couldn’t help but be aware that they were watching her interaction with her Doms, too. And it was intriguing having others observe them, wonder about them, know that they were together. A threesome.

  “Come with us, little one,” Master Cruz commanded. “It’s time for your first lesson.”

  “Lesson?” Hartley asked, her belly going on a loop-the-loop.

  Master Jonathan flanked her other side, guiding them away. Hartley wanted to tell Scarlett to have a good time, or good luck, or even just go for it! But then
Jonathan said, “No speaking unless asked a direct question. Leo, Scarlett, I’ll check in with you later. Have fun.”

  Nervous energy rattled through Hartley as her men took her by the hands and led her deeper into the club. What did they have planned for her?

  She both wanted to know and wanted to be surprised, and that was another thing she was learning about their world of domination and submission—there was so much pleasure to be had in not knowing, in not being in control, in not having to decide. Everything leading up to this moment had been one long session of foreplay, and Hartley was suddenly ready to find out exactly what they wanted her to learn about the world of BDSM, about the world of Blasphemy.

  As they cleared the bar, the stage came into view. It dominated the whole end of the room, located where the church’s altar must’ve once been. But even more attention-grabbing were the two people currently on that stage—a big, muscular black-haired man with tattoos all over his body, and a gorgeous yellow-haired woman currently suspended from the ceiling in a complicated and beautiful arrangement of ropes. Kenna. It was Kenna bound that way. Kenna being treated to a fast series of smacks from the flogger Master Griffin wielded. Kenna who was moaning when those smacks fell against her ass and breasts, and between her legs.

  Hartley gasped, then pressed her fingers over her mouth.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Cruz said, pulling her in against his chest. “We can watch for a minute. I think you see something you like.”

  And she did. Because they were beautiful together. Beyond the artistry of the ropework, there was an obvious chemistry between them—and an intensity that made it feel like they were the only two people in the room. Arousal stirred in Hartley’s blood as she wondered if she, Jonathan, and Cruz looked that way when they were together.

  She shifted her thighs together, the sensual display getting her hotter by the minute.

  “Master Cruz,” Jonathan said. “I think our girl needs us.”

  Cruz nipped at her ear, and his voice was nearly a growl there. “Mmm, I think you’re right. Let’s go.”