Tate's Task

by Lilith Darville

  An involuntary shiver of anticipation rolls through me. Oh boy, I’m going to hear about that lapse later. Something to look forward to. I turn my head and look up into Francis’s appraising gaze. Be careful what you wish for, mo chridhe. Oh boy.

  “She needs something to eat.” Caleb’s concerned gaze rakes over me.

  “Agreed,” Nameless says. “Are you in pain?” His dark gaze also pokes at me.

  In fact, I’m in the opposite of pain. The heat from all four guys poking and prodding me with their minds and bodies makes me wet. I let out a shuddery breath, almost a moan, and not one of them misses that cue to the state of my mind and body.

  “Looks like she’ll live.” Bob smirks and swings his long legs off the bed and stretches. “You have the right idea, Caleb. Time for lunch.” He looks at me speculatively. “Feeling up to lunch in the kitchen, sprite?”

  I practically whimper, flashing on another fantasy that involves multiple orifices being plugged by said guys’ cocks.

  Francis raises an eyebrow, but then gently strokes my hair. “It wouldn’t be right. The effect of the succubus’s ether is still waning. We would be taking advantage of you in a . . . state.”

  I groan. “Okay. Just give me time for a cold shower. And let’s eat in the study while we figure out . . . everything we need to figure out.” Right now, it feels like too much. But it’s a whole shower away. I will deal with it then.

  “I’ll notify Clare and Elli.” Nameless and his guitar depart. Caleb follows him out of the room.

  “That was intense,” I say. Francis settles beside me, his peculiar cold heat making my skin prickle enticingly. I stretch like a cat, and he eyes me speculatively and shifts a foot farther away.

  Bob looks at us on the bed, and I brace for his green monster to pounce. I return his assessing gaze but can’t tear my mind from the thought of his hands running up one side of my body . . . and Francis’s hands on the other. Bob gives Francis a penetrating look. “We agreed, right?”

  “Correct.” Francis springs off the bed and follows Bob to the door. While I decide whether to shower immediately or pout for a few minutes and then take my needs into my own hands, Bob turns, door in hand. “Don’t dawdle, sprite. We have important matters to discuss.”

  Fucker. But he’s right. My need to solve our problems takes precedence over my need for more orgasms. I scoot off the bed and wiggle my ass to the shower, ignoring Bob’s smirk. These guys did entirely too much smirking around me.

  Nameless and Caleb’s attention return full force as soon as I enter the study, and before I know it, I’m seated with a plate heaped with enough food to feed a giant. Nameless places my notepad and pen on the side table before taking his seat and starting in on his rabbit food. I smile my thanks and appreciation.

  Soon, all four of my guys are seated, plates in hand and gazes trained on me.

  “Well, that was intense. Where does one get started after something like that?” I take a small nibble from my sandwich while I gather my thoughts. “Where is the Sexy Sins Prison?”

  “It’s near the Tartarus portal. That way those who don’t rehabilitate can easily be dispensed to the Underworld where Hades rules. Tartarus is where the wicked are punished.”

  Once again, I can hear that single-minded determination of his to wipe anyone from the face of the earth—or Bardo—who hurts me. I let myself be just a little bit happy that I have my own personal hero. I look around the room. Or four.

  I’m still foggy. I force my mind from its preening perch back to business.

  “Something’s enhancing our powers.” Nameless makes this pronouncement and then looks at me. “How come you have powers? You’re mortal. You shouldn’t develop any until your corporeal being has died. Something weird is going on.”

  Okay, so now I knew that the black ether from the incubus that impersonated Bob and the black ether from the succubus that infected Reed were responsible for my Lamborghini sex-drive and nasty thoughts. I’d meant to talk to Bob about it because he wouldn’t judge me, even if he scoffed in disbelief. He’d take me just the way I am. But now I didn’t have to.

  We’ll all take you just the way you are, mo chridhe. We’re a clan. Francis’s voice is stern in my head. I can’t help but smile.

  “Yes, Nameless, it seems I’ve got some kind of power.” I’m trying really hard not to be prideful, but I’m secretly ecstatic that I have superpowers. Like I’m suddenly one of the X-men in the safe environment of their academy. “Sometimes when I think of a physical action . . . especially a defensive one or a punishing one . . . a platinum light extends from my brand, and my thoughts are manifested. I’d love to test it, but I don’t want to hurt one of you guys.”

  “I doubt that you could hurt us or that your power would even work on us. We seem to be immune to hurting each other with our powers,” Francis says.

  I look at each of the guys, making sure I have their consent before I experiment. Bob gives me his go-for-it look. Nameless’s smirk says, try it. Caleb’s eyes are downcast.

  “What’s wrong, Caleb?” I’m not sure whether to bring up the subject of his animal as it seems to be a sensitive topic.

  “I know you’re mad at me.” Caleb’s certainty confuses me. My brow winkles.

  “Why would I be angry with you?”

  “Because my animal came out, and it hates you.” Caleb’s voice is low and absolutely miserable.

  “Sweetie, I don’t hate your animal.” It’s true I’m petrified of large dogs, and his wolfman appearance is a close cousin. If I had a reaction, it was instinctual, and I was unaware. “But I would like to know more about how your animal works if you’re willing to tell me.”

  Caleb looks as if I’ve given him the best blow job of his life. “Really? Because me and my animal really want this to work this time.”

  “Make what work?” I try really hard to keep my voice neutral, to suspend judgment about what I’m sure comes next.

  “Our mating.”

  Yup, I knew it. I place my plate on the coffee table with studied care. All four guys give me the oh-no-he-didn’t stare. Or maybe it’s more like the she’s-about-to-explode stare. Being willing to go along with the fantasy ride of having two guys was one thing, and it was beyond exciting. I’m even willing to entertain the idea of sex with Nameless. And Caleb is an incredible hunk in his human form. But a wolf . . . werewolf creature thing. He hopes I’ll mate with . . . it?

  Trying to stay completely composed, I shudder inwardly. I wonder how big his cock will be? I hope that was Francis in my head because I could never think something so crass.

  Francis literally throws his head back and laughs, most unusual for mister ice. I give him my best royal stink eye.

  “No judgments, mo chridhe. My kink may not be your kink, as the saying goes,” Francis says when he can draw breath again. Which is another peculiar thing. When I’d first arrived, he’d been all rock hard, pun intended, cool reserve vampire, devoid of most human characteristics, which, in its ice-cold way was smoking hot. Now, all of a sudden, he’s eating, and drinking, and breathing. I watch in fascination, noting the slight pinkish tone to his skin that wasn’t there before. And speaking of pinkish parts, they want to heat up with this talk of kink, but my kink does not involve wolves.

  “But any kink is okay,” Nameless carries on. “As long as it’s consensual.” All four guys join the chorus.

  “All of this leads me to believe you all think I’m going to have sex with—” I pause here as the picture of Caleb’s rock-hard hairy buttocks pumping as he thrusts into me doggy style—“that . . . His . . . um . . . thing.” I choke the last word out.

  Caleb’s hopeful face falls. His chair crashes to the floor as he tears from the room.

  Shit.

  “Caleb.” I start to follow him, but Bob pulls me back down. “Let him go. He needs some time.”

  “Someone should go after him. Godsdammit.” I pound my fist on the table.

  “You hurt his feelings,�
� Nameless says. Except that he looks delighted by this, and I’m no doubt about to find out why. He picks his guitar up from the floor and starts to strum but keeps his eyes on me. “You’ll get your ass warmed for that one.”

  By you and what army? I hold the bitchy thought back from leaving the tip of my tongue but don’t snatch back the thought fast enough.

  “Oh, we don’t need an army. The clan can hold its own where your ass is concerned.” Francis, the bastard. He shudders with laughter, consumed by some private joke at my expense, no doubt.

  One-by-one, the men discard their plates and coalesce in the corner of the room, mumbling just below my level of hearing.

  I sublimate all that black-ether-fueled sexual frustration into righteous anger. “Gentlemen, consult.”

  Francis throws a gaze my way an instant later. Bob and Nameless do the same, but the three of them continue to mutter between themselves, no doubt plotting and planning how to further torture my conscience and still sensitive ass. Although, it isn’t at all a bad sensation. It serves as a reminder of just what a wanton woman I’m turning into, and loving every minute of it, although extreme water torture couldn’t drag that admission out of me.

  I strain my ears to hear what the guys are cooking up and give them a headmistressly glare, but they remain deliberately obtuse. I know for sure it’s about me because they keep throwing speculative glances my way.

  A few minutes later, Bob comes over and pulls me into a long, deep kiss. “See you tonight, sprite.” He looks deep into my eyes, humor and desire swirling around his in equal measure. He cups my cheeks, takes my breath away with another kiss, and waltzes out of the kitchen. Bob’s gone before I can open my mouth to protest.

  I turn to look at Francis, whose face has dropped into Dom mode, and more wet pools in my knickers. I’m going to need a change if this keeps up.

  “You’ll be with Nameless this afternoon. Further instructions will be forthcoming.” He drops a brief kiss on my lips before he vanishes.

  I slowly pivot and face Nameless. “So, you drew the short straw, did you?”

  That smirk of his just widens. “That, you’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, I own your ass this afternoon.” He pivots and glides out of the room. I follow like some kind of lemming.

  21

  — Nameless —

  We drop by Tate’s office for an hour or so. She quickly reviews and approves the schedule Dorbhe compiled from the instructors’ input, and then she gets right down to reading the case files of all those who have been abducted during the infestation.

  I want to tell her she won’t find anything useful. I want to tell her that the gods are mischievous and constantly at war with one another and that this infestation has everything to do with Hades flexing his muscles. We might get better at identifying them and banishing them, but stopping them altogether? Then again, Tate is different. Maybe Hera really did know what she was doing bringing her here.

  I try a little more work on Tate’s song, the one she thinks I’m writing for Winsha, but I can’t concentrate on anything but warming Tate’s red ass. I don’t know how I lucked out or why I’m so fucking happy, but since this spanking deal comes with the orders for no sex, I have no reason to feel guilty. And we have been tasked with doing Tate’s kink assessment, so Winsha will understand this is all part of the job. I absolutely refuse to examine my motives further.

  For as long as I can remember, in this realm and the last, I’ve been pissed off at the world. Being thrown over by some stupid little tease for Bob of all people still grates on my nerves. She’d made me believe she loved me. She’d wrapped me around her finger and then walked away for a tight-ass. I’d have done anything for her. Explored anything with her. And she’d chosen him. Mr. Not Right Now Maybe Later.

  And now, I’m walking down the hall leading to Bacchus House, our own personal dungeon, holding the hand of the very woman the rest of the clan is convinced threw me over. I’d spanked her ass, and she’d liked it. I’d make her come, and she’d loved it. And if this is the same Tate, that’s something I was unable to do during our earth life. At the time, neither was that fucker Bob, so that wasn’t the reason. Has she blossomed here, or is she a different woman? Is Tate that stupid little tease I taught my heart to hate? My dark thoughts threaten to swirl again, but I’m with a woman who pleases me here at this moment; I’m not about to give that up for anything.

  I lead the way through one of the panel doors and down a hallway. Like the other halls, the walls are stone and stark, like the fucking castles Francis remembers. I stop in front of a mahogany door and extract a large metal key from my pocket. Opening the door, I make a sweeping gesture for Tate to step inside. Francis isn’t the only one who can play this courtier game. She steps into the large room, stops abruptly, and rotates her beautiful head from side to side.

  The room looks something like a medieval torture chamber with a large bed at one end. I stride to a large display case full of whips and paddles that stands close to a large X-shape structure called a St. Andrew’s cross.

  “Why don’t we start here?”

  I wait for Tate to join me, suppressing the laugh that threatens to erupt at the stunned expression on her face. This room is equipped with BDSM apparatus unlike what she may have seen before. From what I can gather, she and Bob attended some BDSM for couples conference where they talked a lot about kink but saw very little of it. She bounces over and starts running her hands over the items on display.

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see this stuff. It looks like a person could get seriously hurt here.” She’s intrigued, not threatened. Nor does she step away when I step into her personal space. She inhales deeply. “You always smell so good.” I ignore the twitch of my cock and focus on the job at hand.

  “You can’t get seriously hurt in Bardo, but we’ve installed safe buttons. Consensual sex is all we practice. In truth, Tate, it’s not about being hurt. It’s about exploring and enjoying our specialized tastes. Have a look at this whipping post. It won’t bite.”

  Tate skirts around a spanking bench and joins me in front of the post.

  “This is called a St. Andrew’s cross.” I run my fingers over the wood and around the restraining bolts, loving the feel of the polished wood, imagining her lithe body bound to it.

  “It’s made of specially treated ebony so that it doesn’t splinter. This is one of my favorite pieces of equipment because it can be used for flogging, bondage, or sexual teasing. The spread-eagle position gives lots of options.”

  “How would you use this for sexual teasing? Isn’t that just foreplay?”

  “In the D/s world, sexual teasing is the term we use for orgasm denial or orgasm control. This is one of the requirements for Saturday’s scene.”

  “Along with flogging, right?” Tate watches me earnestly, but her breathing quickens just a bit.

  “How did you feel about my spanking?” Did you love it as much as I did? “Or would you prefer orgasm denial or control as a way for me to discipline you?”

  A gleam of interest lights her multicolored eyes. “And where’s the safe button you told me about?” She stands, her back to me, running her palm over the cross.

  “It’s right here.” I step forward, almost caging her body with mine, and point to a spot on the back of the top cross bar. “The sub is restrained in such a way that he or she can reach around and press the button if needed.”

  “So why not just put it on the front?”

  “Because, in the throes of pleasure, the sub often thrashes around, and if it’s on the front, it can be hit by mistake.” The energy between us crackles, and I’m seconds from running my lips down the side of her neck.

  “Huh.” Tate sidesteps out of my arms and points to the spanking bench. “So, which of these do you prefer?”

  “Little Ren, as you’re about to find out, this spanking bench is my choice. I custom designed the benches used here and the one in our quarters.” And I had this one built to your body spec
s.

  I’m watching Tate carefully, so I catch the blush of heat that rushes through her. She turns to the display case and runs her fingers over some of the whips and crops.

  “Aren’t you afraid of people going too far when they first start using these?”

  I smirk. “That’s the point.”

  Tate claps back with, “Don’t be an asshat,” and I laugh.

  “Sorry, just playing with you a bit. If done properly, flogging is not particularly painful although it definitely stings. Our Doms must learn how to wield the whip so it lands on its chosen location with just the right degree of force.”

  Tate strolls around the room for a few more minutes, pausing to examine a chair with padded and curved armrests.

  “What’s this for?”

  “That chair is designed for rope play. The armrests are designed so the sub can comfortably rest their legs when tied in the spread-eagle position. And on that note, I’m going to bring this tour to an end. I’ve got a little surprise for your viewing pleasure right now.”

  “Surprise?” She bats her eyelashes playfully. “Does it sparkle?”

  I swat her butt equally playfully. “Don’t be bougie.”

  She sticks out her tongue. “Am I going to like this surprise?”

  “I certainly hope so. Come this way, Ren.” I can’t lie. I love that our animosity-fueled banter is morphing into flirty banter.

  I open a carved door and lead Tate into the adjoining room. A large sofa sits in front of a wall of glass, one-way glass. Time for Tate to discover her inner voyeur. I sit and pull her into my arms.

  “Make yourself comfortable, and enjoy the show. Edina and Faer will be here shortly.”

  She perches on my lap rather stiffly, eyes trained on the window as if she’s unsure just how to behave. But the flush creeping up her neck tells me she can’t subdue the curiosity and desire bubbling underneath the surface. And she’s horny as hell. And you can’t think about that. Thankfully, that line of thinking is cut short.