Tate's Task

by Lilith Darville

  I give her my best smile, hoping to calm her down and get her to shut the fuck up. Whatever Francis’s mood, it’s not a happy one, and I don’t need her suggesting I have no reason to be here.

  “Everything’s just fine, Dorbhe, thank you. I just did an, um, inspection at Bacchus House, and I need to talk with Michele. How do I get hold of her?”

  “Message,” Dorbhe says.

  Instantly the cutest little pixie appears, fluttering around my head, as if the gods took the most perfect human male, shrunk him down to a foot or so, and gave him wings. He’s a miniature Brad Pitt playing Tristan, and I fall in love with him instantly. I mean, two guys who look like Brad Pitt in one place? This must be heaven.

  Really? And with that thought, Francis reminds me he hasn’t left the building.

  I throw a dramatic sigh his way. Not that way, silly man. You really do have a bee in your bonnet, don’t you? Yup, Tate, let’s just poke the sleeping dragon.

  “Madame Tate, meet Twiggy Briarcliff, your personal messenger.” Dorbhe flutters in front of me, pointing to miniature Tristan.

  I stick out my hand and grasp his tiny one.

  “Pleased to meet you, Madame Tate. Good to have some work to do.” Twiggy bows low. Of course he does. The perfect man, just way too small for me.

  “Thank you, Twiggy. So, all I need to do is say the word message if I want to summon you?” I ask.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s all there is to it. How may I be of service?” Twiggy’s teal-blue wings beat in rhythm with Dorbhe’s. They are both adorable, and I so caught the sideways looks he’s throwing her. I bet there’s a story there. “Thank you. Could you ask Michele if she’s available to see me for fifteen minutes?”

  “Absolutely.” And with that, Twiggy vanishes, leaving me with my mouth wide open.

  I look at Dorbhe, who says, “Don’t worry, Madame. He’ll be back before you know it.” The words are no sooner out of her mouth than he’s back.

  “She’ll be here momentarily.” Twiggy bows.

  Francis does a mental eye roll. I give him my best I’m-ignoring-you-completely-and-utterly look and turn back to Twiggy.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” Twiggy’s eyes are on me, but I’d swear he’s really watching Dorbhe. Oh yeah, I can smell love in the air.

  “Nothing at all. Thank you, Twiggy. I’ll call if I need you.” I turn to Dorbhe. “And you, Dorbhe dear, you’re to go home right now.”

  She opens her mouth to protest, but Twiggy beats her to the punch. “I’ll see you home if you don’t mind.” He gives her one of those delightful little bows. She blushes purple. *fist pump* I knew it! But how could you not want to fuck Brad Pitt?

  I walk through to my office with Francis on my heels. Once inside, I pivot and glare at him. “Do you mind telling me what’s on your mind, Francis?”

  “What makes you think I have anything on my mind?” And yup, he stands all close and personal but does not touch me.

  “Oh no you don’t.” I stab an index finger into the marble slab that makes up his pecs. “It’s bad enough that I have to deal with Bob’s obtuse and jealous nature. I don’t need two of you.”

  Right on cue, Bob steps into the office, all bouncing brown curls and laughing brown eyes. “You bad-mouthing me again, sprite?”

  “It’s not bad-mouthing when it’s true. Gods, you two are going to drive me to drink.” I cross over to the bar and pour myself a tall glass of wine.

  Bob looks over at Francis and raises that infernal eyebrow. “What’s up? You could cut the tension in here with a knife.” Bob walks over and plants a kiss on the top of my head.

  “Ask him.” I jerk my head toward Francis.

  “Nameless defied our orders and had sex with her, and then she defied my order to go to the quarters.”

  “I’m not one of your soldiers, Francis! Outside of a scene, you do not get to order me. You did not give me an order not to have sex with Nameless. My body!” I point at my chest. “Mine!” Yeah, I’m hot under the collar. Mister Bossypants needs to learn a thing or two about me. “Look, I don’t know what your Gianna was like four hundred years ago, but the Women’s Movement happened before I was even born, and the Me Too Movement was well underway when I died, so I don’t take orders from any man. And if sex with multiple partners is okay with you and Bob, and we’re supposed to be this intertwined, mated, clan thingy, then . . . Ugh! I do not take orders.”

  “Except in the bedroom, right sprite?” Bob offers helpfully. He grabs an apple and paring knife from a tray and starts slicing into the apple. He hands me a slice and winks. He’s enjoying himself, the fucker.

  “We are not talking about sex right now.” I enunciate the words in a way I know will trigger Bob’s temper, but he just keeps cutting that damned apple . . . and offering chunks to me. I refuse twice then take a slice. Gods, it’s good. And he smiles that smile, the horny boy one. But right now it just makes me want to scream.

  “I know, sprite. We’re talking about women’s rights. And you are correct. Francis is not the boss of you as you so quaintly put it unless you want him to be, and it’s patently obvious right now that you do not. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner? No one wants you to do anything against your will.” That’s my Bob, peacemaker when it suits his dick. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me he’s certain he’ll be buried in my pussy later tonight.

  “We would, but your Tate here has a very important unscheduled meeting with Michele she can’t miss.” One can’t miss the sarcasm in Francis’s tone.

  “Francis, darling, do I need to have a sit down with you and talk about girl power?” Michele says as she waltzes into the room. I take another huge gulp of my wine.

  Dorbhe and Twiggy stick their heads around the door. “We’ll be off, ma’am, if that’s all.”

  “Enjoy your evening.” I wave and smile. At least it looks as if someone might get lucky tonight. It certainly isn’t shaping up that way in my world.

  “Why don’t you fellas run along and get that dinner organized. Tate will meet you there in”—she looks over at me—“what do you say, an hour?”

  An hour? Another huge gulp of wine is in order. “Oh, I think an hour and a half or even two. I need to have a bath.”

  “An hour.” Francis vanishes.

  Bob sidles up to me, seemingly not deterred by Francis’s and my respective bitchy moods.

  “I’ll wait for you outside, sprite.” He tips my chin and gives me a long, slow kiss. One that’s very unlike him . . . and I like it.

  “Ahem,” Michele says. “Can you two love birds knock it off? Time for that later.”

  Bob detaches his lips, squeezes my ass, and saunters out of the room. Oh boy.

  23

  — Francis —

  I quickly cloak my physical presence and fade into the stone wall so I can eavesdrop on Tate’s conversation with Michele. I do so shamelessly and quite willing to suffer the consequences though they would be considerable. If Tate is anything like our Gianna, she goes radge when any of us lie to her, and she believes omission is simply one type of lie. Time to worry about that later. I don’t want to miss the opportunity to hear how this situation is affecting Tate. Maybe after four hundred years, she’s not like our Gianna at all. I wanted Nameless to hold off, yes, to give Tate the heightened arousal caused by orgasm denial, but just as much so that we don’t move too quickly in uniting her with all of her mates. I can’t risk spooking her straight back to Robert’s arms.

  Bob has settled in the reception area and seems quite caught up with himself. He’s not at all distressed by what’s happened between Nameless and Tate, and he’s the one I really expected to go radge.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Michele puts her arm around Tate’s shoulders and leads her to the sofa.

  Shite. She has begun to cry.

  Michele grabs the box of silk handkerchiefs from Tate’s desk, slides it onto the side table, and stuffs one of the small cloths into Tate’s hand
.

  Tate blows her nose and looks at Michele, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “I know, right? I never cry, and here I am, blubbering like a faucet.”

  “Hon, I doubt very much that faucets blubber, burble maybe, but we won’t split hairs. Now, who do I need to punch out?”

  Tate laughs through her tears. “Now you sound like Bob.”

  Michele sits back with a big smile on her face. “Then my job is done if I sound like tight-ass. What’s going on?”

  Tate sniffs and blows again, tears reduced to a trickle. “I don’t know, Mick. Maybe I’m just ninety shades of fucked up.”

  “Ninety now. Wow, something that huge can only be about sex.” Michele adjusts that massive chest of hers and leans forward in interest. “Do tell.”

  “It is about sex. I think I’m deranged or something and definitely probably headed for hell.”

  “Probably,” Michele says dryly. “You most certainly are if Hades has anything to say about it. I heard about the way he looked at you at the Tribunal’s kink event. They really need to give that event a name. Kink Caper?”

  Tate snorts out a giggle and has to wipe her nose again. “Um, no. The air of actual danger is too strong for it to be a caper. How about the you-might-get-dragged-to-Hades-or-lose-your-husband kink night?”

  “Shit.” Michele’s mouth sets in a firm line.

  “Yeah. Bob really pissed Aphrodite off when he went through the portal to verify that I was actually me. This week, they’ll decide whether Bob gets to stay with us.”

  “Hon, you’re mesmerizing. Even if Aphrodite wants to punish Bob, the rest of the gods are likely to side with you.”

  Tate’s shoulders relax. Michele may be correct, but the gods are unpredictable.

  “There is a bright side to this story. I think I have a superpower.”

  Michele frowns. “You’re not dead yet. That’s really unusual. But there’s a lot of unusual going on around here right now, and I’m not talking about the sex.”

  “Ha! You don’t think having four destined mates is unusual?”

  “Honey, embrace it. Who the fuck cares if you like fucking four guys? No one up here, that’s for sure.” She leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories about these gods. There’s only one sexual activity that’s a moral sin up here, non-consent. Everything else is fair game.”

  Tate’s eyes widen in surprise. “Everything?” She matches Michele’s whisper, but her horror comes through loud and clear. “Like golden showers and needle play and stuff? And Littles?” she pronounces the last word as if it’s bubonic plague.

  Michele laughs. “You are such an innocent. “You really weren’t impressed by the Littles in Seattle, were you?”

  “It’s not that I wasn’t impressed, it’s that I don’t get them, and I really don’t get their guys. I mean, what self-respecting guy wants to change diapers on an adult? As part of sex? And can you just imagine me dressing up in a crinoline and sitting in Bob’s lap, coloring?” Tate shudders. “But, I’m not judging.” Tate says this with such finality I almost lose my cloak and laugh out loud. Obviously, this is a huge blind spot for her. And something we can use for punishment.

  “They decided I’m a submissive, and all of a sudden, Mr. Bossypants in his impeccable suits thinks he can boss me around.”

  Merriment bubbles out of Michele again. “You must be talking about Francis. Yes, he is one fine Dom. What I wouldn’t give to go a round or two with him at Bacchus House.”

  Tate aims her famous stink eye at Mick, who throws up her hands in mock horror, but she’s grinning.

  “Whoa, girl. You’ve got it bad. I know tight-ass has you wrapped tight around his balls, but now Francis, too? Cool.” She studies Tate carefully. “That’s the problem. I’ve got it now. You haven’t fucked them yet.” She leans forward. “Talk to me, girlfriend.”

  “Um. Well. Oh, gods.” I watch Tate’s uncharacteristic confusion with interest.

  “You have! Both at the same time?” Michele looks delighted.

  “Gods, no!”

  “Tate, have you ever had anal sex?”

  “No.” Tate looks at Michele, tears once again brimming in her eyes. “And I don’t know if I’ll like it. I’m probably not even supposed to like it. My mother didn’t cover any of this stuff when she talked about the women’s movement.”

  Michele throws her blond head back and roars with laughter. “I don’t think anyone’s mother covers that. But, let’s get back to the point—your virgin O-ring. Are you telling me tight-ass never tried anal with you? And here I thought Tom and I were vanilla.”

  I can almost feel the heat as embarrassment flushes through her. She gets up and refills her wineglass. At this rate, she’ll be snockered by the time she gets to us. “See, this conversation alone is an example of how spun I feel. We would never have talked about this stuff on earth. We were embarrassed to first admit we liked the mildest of kinky stuff. But here, at this level of Bardo, it’s a sin not to be kinky, and I’m trying. But it’s hard to set aside those feelings from earth. And stop calling Bob tight-ass.”

  “Sit down and relax, hon.” Michele pats the sofa. “Really, it’s not that bad. Males are simple creatures, and they love virgins.”

  Michele is dead wrong about that sweeping generalization, but I’m fascinated at this glimpse into the mores of Tate’s recent life and eager to gain any insights that will help unite the clan.

  Tate leans her head back against the sofa, wineglass in hand. Michele matches her movements.

  Tate sighs. “I’m not a virgin, Mick. Just because I haven’t had anal doesn’t make me a virgin.”

  “It makes you an O-ring virgin. But I’m talking about your inexperience with kink in general.” Michele pokes her with her elbow. “That was your first spanking, right?”

  Warmth washes through Tate again. “Yes.” Her voice is low.

  “See, virgin. And you liked it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to do it again?”

  I’m wondering where this interrogation is leading.

  “I did do it again. And yes, I liked it. And yes, I’d do it again.” She pauses and takes another sip. “Especially if fucking’s involved.” Sip. “Nameless is very good at it.”

  “You fucked Nameless? Cool. That makes three, right? But not together, right?”

  “Of course, not together. That would be a gang bang.”

  “Girlfriend, you have got to lose these archaic earth ideas of yours. I know what your problem is.” She sits up and faces Tate.

  “What?”

  “You never went through the process. If you did, you’d be embracing your kink by now.”

  “What process?”

  “The examinations and apprenticeship. That’s what we do here at Sexy Sins. The examinations help us figure out what sexual issues we still need to work on before we complete this last level. But you’re not actually dead, so you’re not an apprentice—you were brought here to do a job.”

  “Do you mean to tell me my guys “examine” everyone who comes through here?” Tate’s mind locks on that instead of any of the other information. She’s jealous, and I love it. Because even if the gods have blocked her memories, they can’t stop her instinctual reactions and muscle memory, and every day, I see a little bit more as her gold and crimson ether comingle.

  “Nah. They only see the ones with untimely deaths. Mostly, they solve staff disputes.”

  “With sex?”

  “We wish. Nah. They just ask a lot of questions, mostly.” Michele refills her glass. “Hey, did they ever ask you questions?”

  “Some. They asked me a lot to find out if I was a submissive.”

  “Oh, you’re a submissive, all right.” Michele does the see-sniff-swirl thing before taking a sip of her wine.

  “How do you know?”

  “Honey, we were together in Seattle, remember. Everything about you screams submissive.”

  �
��It does not. People find me intimidating and dominating, you know that.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’d sign up for a nineteen-fifties power exchange relationship or a twenty-four-seven slave thing, but, you’re a submissive. Tell me how you’d answer Eros if he asks you if you would enjoy spanking, say, Nameless for pleasure?”

  Tate looks horrified. “I’ll have to answer something like that? And Nameless spanks—he isn’t the spankee.”

  Michele nods. “Actually, he does both. He’s a switch.”

  “Ah right. I forgot that.” Tate looks thoughtful.

  Michele nods. “Out loud, girlfriend. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

  Tate giggles. “I’ve just let the image of his tight ass—not tight-ass LOL—float into my mind. Do I want to spank him? Nope. Not even a twinge in my girly bits.”

  “Now you’re in the swing of things. What happens next?”

  “My ass replaces his, and my rather cheeky ass grows pink, and said girly bits sing with each stroke. And . . . now I’m wet.” Tate wiggles uncomfortably and glances around as she catches the short ring of laughter I lose before I clamp down again.

  Are you here, Francis? If you are, fuck off!

  But truth be told, her thoughts show me that she loves having Bob and me lurking in the corners of her head, always present with our love. Now, Nameless lurks there, too, but in the shadows.

  “Yup, you’re a submissive. No doubt about it.”

  “That’s what Caleb said.”

  “Ah, yes, wolfman. That one’s not going to work if you can’t get over your dog complex. Anyway, it’s not like he’s really a wolf. He’s still a guy who just gets some wolf characteristics sometimes. Look at my guardians, they’re not exactly what we know as regular guys, but man can they fuck.

  Tate looks horrified again. “Mick, they’re huge.” She takes a gulp of wine. “And they have tails and wings.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Not that I’m being judgmental, but really, Mick, tails.”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, honey. Once you’ve had tail, you won’t ever bail.” She laughs at her own bad joke. “Besides, I hear having sex with a shifter is really hot. I haven’t tried that yet.”