“This isn’t a game for us.”
Hearing his words through the echo chamber of his chest, with his heartbeat steadying her, nearly brought her to tears. It occurred to her then that one of the things she’d needed and never received was just this—the basic human comfort of being held.
She’d crammed her head full of knowledge in the time since he’d left her here and gone out. She knew, going forward, she’d make mistakes. But for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, she needed desperately not to make any mistakes tonight.
“May I speak, Sirs?”
“Of course, Marcia. Neither Clint nor I are interested in living the lifestyle twenty-four-seven. If that’s what you need from us, we may have a problem.”
“I’m not sure what I need.” She licked her lips. “I know some of what I need. I need to be honest with you both. I need this—being held like this. And no, it’s not a game to me either. It’s a new beginning.”
“You and I are in the same place, Marcia. I’m new to this lifestyle, too. Clint isn’t.”
“That’s good to know.” Ramón’s confession surprised her. She would have thought he was as familiar with the ins and outs and rules of the D/s dynamic as Christopher Lyons was.
Marcia looked at Clint, who’d yet to speak. At least, not verbally. He’d started stroking her legs and massaging her feet as soon as she’d placed them on his lap. There really wasn’t anything sexual in his actions, and yet, they felt sexy as hell.
“That doesn’t mean that Ramón isn’t a genuine dominant,” Clint said. He flashed her a grin, and Marcia had to wonder just then if he had read her mind.
A look passed between the men, and she wondered if they were going to begin asking her about her soft and hard limits. That was something Daisy had explained to her and something she’d read about. She hadn’t consciously given the matter much thought, and yet, when she’d understood what the terms meant, one hard limit had come to mind immediately.
No humiliation.
She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
But they didn’t ask her about her hard and soft limits. In fact, they didn’t discuss the D/s relationship dynamic at all.
“Whatever you say to us here, querida, goes no further than between the three of us. This is our solemn promise to you. Before we can begin, before we can move forward, Clint and I need to know everything.”
Ramón’s gentle tone soothed even as his words confused. “I haven’t lied to you about anything, Ramón. I swear.”
“Oh, we know that, darlin’.” Clint held her gaze. His tone sounded as gentle as Ramón’s. “We know you’ve been completely honest with us about everything to do with this case, and all you experienced from the time you had that first meeting with Victor Swift back in Mississippi until Ramón managed to get you out of that warehouse of Torres’s.”
“Then…I don’t understand. What more do you need to know?”
Again, the men exchanged a look. Ramón kissed the top of her head. He spoke his response against her hair. “We need for you to tell us everything that happened to you, from that first time, when Baker raped you, until you left the home of your aunt when you were sixteen, until, in fact, you had that first meeting with Swift.”
The request damn near paralyzed her. She’d spoken to her mother of what Roger Baker had done to her, and because her mother had told her it was the right thing to do, she’d spoken to the police and, again, in the judge’s chamber, with just the lawyers and the judge present. But she’d never told a soul what had happened when she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle. Not a single soul.
Maybe it’s time. Maybe you need to tell someone. Who better to tell than the man who saved your life and the one who’s known from the first moment he laid eyes on you what you needed?
That inner voice almost sounded like her mother’s.
“Breathe, mi ángel.”
Marcia gasped, dragging necessary air into her lungs. Ramón moved his hand up and down her arm, his caress in perfect sync with the strokes of Clint’s hand on her leg. Marcia focused on breathing, on soaking in the tender attention they were lavishing on her.
Honesty. Daisy had told her enough so that she understood why she needed to be honest with these two men. If they were going to have any kind of a relationship, if she was going to woman up and begin to walk this path, she needed to be completely honest with them.
And they had to ask the tough questions so that they’d understand her completely.
“It wasn’t my aunt’s house and hadn’t been for some time. She’d left, just walked away and left me there with him.”
“How old were you when she deserted you?”
“Fourteen. Just two years after Baker attacked me, a little more than a year after he’d been granted bail and then murdered my mother. At first, Aunt Ellen used me as a maid. When I wasn’t at school, I was at home, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. But she had already been going to leave Uncle Howard when I came to live with them. When the novelty of having her own personal servant wore off, she left. And then my uncle…”
It’s nothing you haven’t done before, girlie.
Spread those legs, or we’ll tie you down.
You’ll put out for my friends. You’re already a whore. What’re a couple more fucks?
“He was wrong, darlin’. You weren’t a whore. You’ve never been a whore.”
“It’s not on you, querida. Not any of it.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken her uncle’s litany aloud. But now, for the first time, she understood how deeply those words had branded her, how deeply they’d shamed and wounded her.
Maybe Roman and Clint were right, and she wasn’t a whore. But would she ever stop feeling like one?
Chapter 5
Each word Marcia spoke ripped a hole in Ramón’s heart. His years working in law enforcement, talking to fellow officers in various branches, had given him more of an education in the depravity to be found in society than he’d ever believed he would get.
Marcia had been raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was only twelve years old. It didn’t escape him that was the same age his sister had been when she’d been kidnapped, raped, and murdered. Despite the threats that bastard had hurled at Marcia—that her mother would hate her and send her away if she knew what “Marcia had done with him”—she’d gone to her mother and told her of the abuse.
Mary Crane had been horrified and had done all the right things. She’d called the police and had Roger Baker charged. And then she’d enrolled herself and her daughter in counseling, clearly intending to do all she could to help her child recover.
Ramón knew there were women who’d reacted far differently to such a situation. Mary Crane had indeed done everything right. Marcia should have enjoyed a happy ending to that story.
Instead, Roger Baker had been granted bail and then stalked, and murdered, Mary Crane. As if all that wasn’t bad enough, Marcia had then ended up with her mother’s sister and her husband, Ellen and Howard Matheson. Two people who clearly never should have been entrusted with the welfare of a child.
Ellen had been a harsh taskmaster to a young and emotionally fragile Marcia. But her greatest sin was abandoning her to her husband.
Ramón believed that most women knew if their husband was a cheater and a letch—unless the woman in question was incredibly stupid, in denial, or on drugs.
Marcia detailed those hellish two years with her uncle when he pimped her to anyone who had the money to pay.
“My God, darlin’. I don’t know how you had the strength to keep going.” Clint’s tone sound controlled, but Ramón saw in the man’s eyes the toll their woman’s confession had on him.
He’s as raw and bleeding inside as I am.
“It didn’t occur to me then that I had any other choice but to keep going.”
Marcia’s voice had evened out during the telling of events that must have been very difficult for her to remember, let alone relate. Ramón s
uspected she’d gone into a different kind of subspace—not one of pleasure, but one of insulation, certainly.
But those dozen words chilled him as nothing else she’d said had. It took every bit of his will to keep his face free of the terror he felt stirring within. Gently, as if she were made of the most fragile crystal, he lifted her chin so that he could see her face, see her eyes when he asked the question he knew he had to ask.
“When, mi ángel? When did you realize you had that other option?” Oh yes, he saw her surprise, watched as the emotions chased across her face. She hadn’t meant to let that slip, but she had.
And he respected her all the more when he saw that spark of courage, that flicker of determination light her soul.
“When I awoke naked in a cage and understood I was being sold off to whoever had the money to buy me—again.”
“You are forbidden to harm yourself.” Clint’s words beat Ramón’s by bare seconds.
“You may not take that option, Marcia, not ever.” He flicked his gaze over to Clint and then looked down at their woman. The pink on her cheeks spoke of her embarrassment, but was she ashamed to have had the thought in the first place, or to have spoken it aloud? He rather suspected it was the latter that colored her face.
“If you find yourself near that point again, kill the one tormenting you instead.” Because he was a trained officer of the courts, he made himself ask one more question. “Do you need to speak to someone? Perhaps a female counselor? There is no shame in that. We want to give you what you need.”
“We do, darlin’. Not just what you need but all that you need.”
“I am talking to someone. Times two.” Marcia sighed. “I understand what you mean, and if I feel the blackness closing in on me again, I promise I’ll let you know. But just this much…how can I convince you that you’ve already pulled me back from that edge? You did that, Ramón, when you ‘bought’ me. Now, I just want…I want to know who I am, I want to explore this part of myself that seems to need a Dom.” Her fledgling smile warmed him. “Or two.” She laid her head back on his shoulder. “I want to lie here, with both of you cuddling me just like this, because it feels so good and I’ve been alone, and lonely, for so damn long.”
“It’s no hardship for us to hold you, querida.” Ramón knew he didn’t deserve Marcia’s trust or her devotion. Thoughts of his past failures were never far from his mind. But could he hold her, and cherish her, and help her to see herself the way he saw her, as a woman of deep inner strength, one deserving of every good thing in life? Yes, he could do that. He would do that. Perhaps Christopher was right, and together, he and Clint would be what she needed.
He didn’t know because the concept of a ménage relationship was so far outside of his own experiences. But he had eyes, and he had a mind, and he knew what he’d seen, both with the Lyonses and that one memorable evening they’d spent in Lusty at that engagement party for three.
He’d do what he could. And he wouldn’t be alone. His brother—for surely, he and Clint Parrish were as close as brothers in their goal—his brother would help him. He placed a kiss on the top of Marcia’s head even as he felt her letting go of consciousness and sliding into sleep.
Yes, he’d do what he could, but if he ever felt he was harming her, he’d release her to Clint and walk away, no matter how much doing so would tear him apart. Marcia would come first with him. His honor would permit no other course.
* * * *
Marcia didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment she was snuggled into Ramón’s embrace, while Clint caressed her legs, and the next she felt herself awakening. Still held, still being stroked. Safe. Warm. Happy.
“I fell asleep.”
“You did. It pleased us, Marcia, that you relaxed enough with us to do so.”
“How do you feel, darlin’?”
How did she feel? She repeated aloud the three things she’d just thought as she’d awakened. Then she added one more. “Maybe a little wobbly, too. Emotionally.”
“Not surprising.” Ramón combed his fingers through her hair, and she sighed. Every touch felt better than good. It was as if she was given water to drink after being parched for a lifetime.
“What time is it?” Marcia didn’t own a watch, relying instead on her cell phone to know the time. But it was over on the small table beside the armchair, and she didn’t really want to get up to go and get it.
“Nearly one in the morning.” Clint lifted his hand from her legs and turned slightly so that he faced her. “We’re going to head to bed shortly. We’re not going to have sex with you, not just yet. There’s one more very important piece of information we need from you. Marcia, have you ever had an orgasm?”
She licked her lips. Complete honesty was a good policy, theoretically speaking. Implementing it, however, wasn’t necessarily very comfortable. She felt her cheeks heat. “No. I’d never even ever been aroused until—well, until I met the two of you.”
“Are you wet now?” he asked.
“No, but I was earlier when you both came in and then again when Ramón told me to strip…” She didn’t think she needed to say any more.
“So, your nipples pebbled earlier because you were hot kneeling before us naked, not because you were cold?”
The conversation felt surreal, but the pun within the question tickled her sense of humor. “Yes, I was hot.”
“Will you do something for us?” It was Clint who was speaking, so it was Clint she focused on.
“Yes.” She really had no idea what was coming, but she knew whatever it was, she would be safe.
“Please get up, drop the robe, then come over here and climb onto my lap in the same way you’ve been lying on Ramón’s.”
A simple command to obey. A body was a body, and hers had been seen, naked, off and on since she’d been a child. Unlike other times, though, when she was naked in front of these two men, she didn’t feel vulnerable, and she certainly didn’t feel threatened. She just felt…she felt normal.
It took her just a moment to find her comfortable spot because Clint didn’t put his hands on her to help her settle in the way Ramón had.
“We know that you’ve asked Daisy a lot of questions and that she gave you some books to read and some web sites to research. But we don’t know how much you actually know at this point. Have you heard about safe words?”
A simple question. This felt like the discussion she’d expected when they first came in. “Yes, Sir, I have.”
“Good. We’re only playing a little, and we’ll get into protocol later. You don’t have to call either of us Sir, just use our first names. Also, for now, your safe word is red, like the stoplight. Your caution word—if you feel unsure about something and want to stop to take a breath or stop to talk about it—will be yellow. Again, like the traffic light. And if everything is all right with you, when we ask, you tell us you’re green.”
“All right, Clint. That sounds easy enough.”
“We want you to give us permission to touch you—anytime, anywhere we are, and on any part of your body we want to touch. Will you grant us that liberty now, Marcia?”
That was a hell of a question. She hadn’t known either man very long and didn’t know them all that well, really. If anyone else asked her such a question, her response would have been a very fast “hell, no.” She looked up over her shoulder and met Clint’s steady gaze. Then she looked at Ramón. “Yes. You both have my permission to touch me, wherever, whenever you want.”
Almost immediately, Ramón began stroking her legs, a gentle caress that felt good to her on many different levels.
“Thank you. Everything between us will be safe, sane, and consensual. That means we do nothing without you knowing what it is we’re going to do and agreeing to it. What is your safe word?”
“Red. And yellow if I want us to slow down and talk about it.”
“Good girl.” Clint’s two words stroked her emotions as surely as Ramón’s hands stroked her flesh.
Cl
int wrapped his arms around her, encasing her, snuggling her in close. The sense of security, of safety, was back, and she sighed in pleasure.
While Clint held her, Ramón continued to stroke her legs and massage her feet. “You’re a very tactile woman, little one,” he said. “Our touch calms you and relaxes you. Does it also arouse you?”
She felt Clint looking down her body, so she wasn’t startled when he used a single finger to circle her left nipple. “This tells us it does, that you like our hands on you. We’re going to spend the next little while discovering what you like, and what you don’t. Before we delve into what kind of relationship we’re going to have, we’ll discuss hard and soft limits.” His finger left her nipple and caressed her chin. When he lifted her head, she looked at him. “I will push your limits in time, but I will always stop when you ask me to.”
“I trust you.” And that, Marcia knew, was the bottom line. She looked at Ramón. “I trust you both, and maybe that makes me the world’s biggest fool. Just when I’d vowed to take my own life at the first opportunity, you stepped in and saved me. From that auction, most certainly, but from myself as well.”
“Between us, Clint and I will be here for you, mi ángel.” He’d already parted her legs slightly. Now, as he caressed her left leg, on the upstroke, he let his fingers brush against her slit. She’d known she was wet, and now they both knew that, too.
“I have some news for you. You asked to help with the investigation. I was reluctant to let you because I will not have you hurt any more than you have been, and I refuse to have you put in danger. I haven’t changed my mind on those two things. There’s a way for us both to get what we want. We already told you this isn’t a game to us, and we mean that. But we can use what is between us to help cement my cover. In that way, you will be helping me as no one else can.”
Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5
