by Farrell, Nia
Leda sliced her panicked gaze at Lukas. “Achilles!” she choked out. “Please!”
“Safeword!” Lukas yelled. “Let her go!” When Antonio didn’t react fast enough, Lukas pulled his hand away from her face and shoved him aside. As soon as she was free, Leda spun on her heel and ran.
“You son of a bitch,” Lukas growled. “You couldn’t wait five or ten more minutes. She was perfect, and now she’s gone. I don’t know her last name or where to find her. God damn it all to hell.”
Antonio snarled in derision and exchanged a knowing look with Marco before returning to The Steamroom. Djiman slapped Lukas’s back in sympathy and followed after his lover.
Marco, the son of a bitch, was smiling.
“What?” Lukas snapped.
“You. Her. Together. Jesus, that was hot as hell. I’d love to shoot you. Have a fragrance designed and launch it with an ad campaign that will set Wall Street on its ears.”
“Yeah, well good luck with that one. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Fucking Antonio. What the hell has he got against me, Marco? The bastard never gives an inch. Never cuts me any slack. He makes me work harder than anyone else, and it’s never enough for him. If he’s looking to drive me away, he can keep it up. After tonight, I’ve about had it with him.”
“Hey.” Marco looped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze. “Hang in there. I can’t explain about Antonio, but just give it time. Things will work out. You’ll see. As for your goddess, we’ll find her again. Trust me.”
“Fat lot of good that does me for tonight. She was out of here like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. I’ll bet anything that when we go back to the party, she won’t be there.”
“Probably,” Marco agreed. “But maybe she left a slipper behind that will lead you to her door. Let her hear you ask the question this time. She didn’t tell Antonio no. Just not tonight.”
Lukas was skeptical, but he didn’t argue. Replay had hundreds of patrons. To reconnect with one of them on a given weekend…it could be months before she returned. Unless she came to the villa, he might never see her again.
Son of a bitch.
Tucking himself in, he buttoned his fly and straightened his clothes as he walked, remembering everything that had happened. Leda’s submission. Their fevered mating. Antonio’s interference. Marco’s words of hope. We’ll find her again. Trust me. Maybe she left a slipper that will lead you to her door….
Mistress Jewell.
Jewell knew her. Knew her well enough to ask Leda to welcome him to the resort. Knew enough about him to trust him with her.
Staff psychiatrist Sir Josef knew most of the people, but he shared vetting duties with the owner’s psychologist wife, Eleanor. There were only three people at the resort who literally knew everyone: the owner, Sir Piers; the head of security, Marcus Vos; and the wardrobe mistress, Jewell Fraser. Anyone who played at the resort had been outfitted or inspected by her. No one participated in scenes without her approval.
Maybe she would trust him with the truth of who Leda was and how he could find her. If nothing else, she might agree to pass a message.
He wanted his Greek goddess again.
Even if it meant sharing her.
The New Year’s party wound down about two AM. Lukas and Marco consoled themselves with a pretty little sub who had never been the center of a ménage. When they shared, Marco preferred a warm mouth or wet pussy. Maybe it was the appeal of forbidden fruit, but Lukas loved anal. Claiming that most intimate of places suited him just fine.
At the end of the night, he hadn’t drunk enough to be hung over. Back at the villa, unable to sleep, he made his way down to the workout room and got a jump-start on the day. After getting his morning cardio done on the treadmill, he finished with laps in the pool. This afternoon, he would work on his chest and shoulders. In the time between, he planned to post on social media and catch up on his reading. No one but Marco knew that he enjoyed dark romance so much, he had started writing it, too.
Choosing a pen name had proven to be harder than starting the actual book. It seemed that every name he liked was already taken or too close to ones already in use. Eventually, he had settled on Erik Haas, a version of his legal name.
He uploaded a selfie on Instagram and wished his fans a Happy New Year on all of his social media platforms. Heading over to his web page, he blogged about the party and the Greek goddess he had met. He was careful to not mention anything too specific.
No one needed to know about Replay.
No one needed to know about her…
Except the four of them.
One phone call, and he’d learn if Jewell Fraser could—and would—help him. But New Year’s Monday was a holiday. Chances were that the wardrobe mistress was enjoying a rare day off from her demanding job at the resort. He hoped like hell that she’d be back to work tomorrow.
Lukas called Replay first thing Tuesday morning. Kitten, Sir Piers’s secretary, answered the phone and transferred him to wardrobe.
“Mistress Jewell.”
The disembodied voice of the Amazon Domme sounded in his ear.
“Sir Lucius here,” Lukas told her. “From the villa. I was wondering if I might speak to you about Leda.”
There was a long moment of silence. Lukas felt his pulse quicken with every second that ticked by.
“Tomorrow,” she said succinctly. “I can work you in at two pm.”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Three
Leda Giannopoulis watched Jewell Fraser mute the phone before turning to her.
Jewell looked over the top of her reading glasses and focused on Leda’s face. Rather than growing pale, Leda’s cheeks warmed with a blush that spoke volumes. Mistress Fraser had known her number one assistant long enough to read it easily. Leda was one of three employees who’d come with her to Replay.
Mistress Fraser nodded thoughtfully. “That must have been quite a welcome. Sir Lucius wants to talk about you. What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling way out of her league. “Being with him was incredible, but to add three more…? People think because I’m twenty-six and work at a BDSM theme resort, I have all this experience, but I’ve never done a ménage, let alone a foursome or moresome. Five of us…I mean, how does that work? There are so many body parts. Legs. Arms. Mouths. Hands. Cocks.”
Jewell’s mouth tilted in an understanding smile. “Two of them are bi, which will help at times. They can see to each other’s needs instead of depending solely on you to serve them. But, yes, it’s a challenge. I would suggest some internet research tonight. Look at pictures of moresomes. See how they engage. You can expect double penetration and likely dual penetration, with two men in one orifice. If they add DP, you’ll have one up your ass as well. That still leaves your mouth and hands free for number four. You’ll be surprised at what you can handle when the pheromones and endorphins kick in. It all comes down to what you’re willing to try. And if it proves to be too much, use your safeword. The four of them—Sir Antony, Sir Djiman, Sir Lucius, and Sir Marcus—will honor that. Sir Piers wouldn’t have brought them on board otherwise.”
Leda pressed a hand to her stomach as if touch alone would quiet her nerves. “Okay,” she managed to push the word past a throat tight with emotion. “Wednesday maybe?”
Mistress Jewell unmuted the phone. “Tomorrow,” she said succinctly. “I can work you in at 2 pm.”
Ending the call, Jewell looked at Leda. “He’ll be here. I don’t know that I can answer all of your questions, but knowledge is empowerment. Given the situation, I would want to know everything I could about them before I agreed to scene with them. As head of wardrobe, I’ve dealt with all four of the Doms at some point. Sir Antony, the Spaniard, is clearly the Alpha male of the group. He’ll be the one directing the action.”
The swordmaster and the Italian who did scenes with the Viking hoard had been at the resort longer, but Leda had had
very little interaction with them. With so many patrons and staff to assist, the odds were against helping a particular person. She was fortunate that Mistress Jewell matched personality types where she could.
Armand always waited on Sir Antonio—Sir Antony, now that he was living in the Roman villa. While Sir Antony appreciated her gay coworker’s enthusiasm for men in leather and loincloths, Sir Marcus loved women. The one time that Leda helped him, he had described how he would photograph her. He could certainly turn on the charm, but he had never gone further than flirting.
He had never put his hands on her and asked her to submit to him and three other Doms.
Leda shivered at the memory of Sir Antony, grasping her face and fisting her hair, clearly aroused. Sir Antony was a force of nature. A Master Teacher. Doms learning swordplay bowed to him like trees in gale-force winds. But she had never seen him do a scene. She had no idea what he was like as a Dominant, let alone a lover.
She didn’t know what any of them were like except for Sir Lucius, and he was magnificent.
Sir Antony was two inches shorter than Sir Lucius and sported a neat beard that was longer than most of his hair. You’d never guess from the buzz cut that crowned the top and sides of his head that he wore a long, dirty-blond braid in the back.
Sir Antony’s chest hair was lighter and thinner than Sir Marcus’s. Sir Djiman shaved his chest, and Sir Lucius shaved his whole body.
Sir Djiman had a short beard and wore his black hair in dreadlocks that hung just past the base of his coffee-colored neck. A tribal tattoo stretched from his left shoulder down to his breast.
Sir Lucius had golden brown hair, the color of brown sugar. His eyes were an unusual shade of gray-green, almost like jade. When he had taken her in the conservatory, he had smelled…manly. Rugged. Like teakwood, cloves, and musk.
Sir Marcus was the biggest of the four men, standing six-feet, five-inches. He had a shaved head, a wide chest, and a waist to match. While his abs weren’t as well defined, he was a wall of muscle, built like a bull.
In talking to Mistress Fraser, she learned that Sir Lucius and Sir Marcus were straight. Sir Antony and Sir Djiman—the Doms with the long hair—were bisexual.
“I’m sorry, but I would never have guessed that about Sir Antony, the way that he was looking at me. Touching me. What I don’t understand is, why now? He’s been here for months and never shown any interest. Now, all of a sudden, he wants me. He not only wants me, he wants to share me with the others.”
Mistress Fraser pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “Who knows? The party. The wine. The promise of a fresh start. A new year. The competitive spirit. You don’t know who noticed you first, let alone why Lucius was sent to approach you. Maybe all four of them liked your looks, and Sir Lucius drew the lucky straw.”
“Still, to be shared like spoils of war….” The thought of being the center of four men’s attention sent shivers down her spine and made her wetter than she cared to admit.
Leda sighed softly. “At least they look different enough, I can keep them all straight.”
Hearing herself, she nearly swallowed her tongue. Slapping her fingers over her lips, she met Mistress Jewell’s bemused gaze.
“It sounds to me like you’re giving it serious consideration.”
“I’m imagining, is all,” she insisted. “Trying to think what it will be like. I have no experience, no basis for comparison. What if I can’t handle them? What if I’m not enough?”
Jewell offered an encouraging smile. “You won’t know until you’ve tried. Think about it tonight. Research. Detach that mind of yours and listen to your body. Notice what affects you. What makes your breasts tingle, your pussy lips swell, and your panties get wet? If it’s pictures, videos, or thoughts of multiple partners, give yourself permission to experience it. Even if it’s only for the night, chances are, you’ll learn more about yourself than anything else.”
And she would have the memories. Above all, she would have the memories. Something to inspire sweeter dreams than the night terrors that had plagued her since she was nineteen. Thankfully, the memories in the forefront of her mind were of Sir Lucius, throwing her down and taking her like a man possessed. She had wanted it, of course. He hadn’t gotten so rough that she had needed to use either of her safewords. But he was one man. One of four.
She needed to buy more coconut oil. Just in case.
Somehow Leda made it through the rest of the workday. Replay required hours of hand-sewing for period garment construction and for alterations. They had six full-time tailors and seamstresses on staff and another two dozen people in the area who were versed in period sewing and were used as contract labor. Weekends were a requirement. Everyone worked. Patrons and staff members had to be properly outfitted for BDSM cosplay. They needed undressed at the end of the night. Worn clothing had to be sorted, either sent for repair or prepped for cleaning.
Some days were ungodly long hours, but the overtime pay made it more than worth their while. Very few people in her line of work could afford the apartment that she rented. One of these years, she would upgrade her car, too.
For now, the only thing special about it was her plates. SWAN 4 was inspired by the ancient myth, when Zeus took the form of a swan, seduced her namesake, and impregnated her. Of the four children that Queen Leda bore, one set of twins belonged to her husband. The other twins were fathered by Zeus.
Queen Leda had handled the king of the gods. Surely she could handle four gods of the arena.
On the way home, Leda stopped at the small farmer’s market near her apartment. Run by a local co-op, it featured organic fruits, vegetables, and meats, including locally raised free-range turkey and grass-fed beef. Their deli served a unique mix of traditional and upscale foods. If she was too tired to cook, she could always count on finding something tasty to take home.
Tonight was one of those nights. Not because she was tired, but she wanted to research moresomes and she didn’t know how quickly she would find what she needed. Come two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, she wanted to be well-prepared, not woefully ignorant.
Leda paid cash for her coconut oil and a deli sandwich made with Asian pears, turkey, and the local dairy co-op’s cheese. Declining a sack, she tucked the two items into her oversized purse, fished out her keys, and headed for the exit door.
Spying her well-loved and well-used Buick LeSabre, she angled over to where she had parked, in a well-lit area of the lot. The sun was long gone, and the overhead lights were spread far enough apart, much of the parking lot was cast in shadows. She was almost to her car when her cell phone rang in her purse. She had a heck of a time finding it in the clutter.
“Hello?”
“Leda, it’s Mistress Jewell. I just wanted to give you a head’s up. Whatever happens, don’t struggle and don’t panic. They don’t want to hurt you.”
“Wha—”
A hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her question. At the same time, a second arm banded her chest and lifted her off her feet. A blindfold went over her eyes. Someone with free hands pulled it snug and tied it tight. The hand that covered her from chin to nose lifted unexpectedly, but before she could scream, duct tape went over her mouth, sealing anything inside. The spongy plugs that went in both ears gradually shut down her hearing as they expanded, rendering her mute, blind, and deaf. The only things left to her were scents and sensations. She couldn’t tell much about her captor, except that he was very tall, very strong, and smelled faintly of patchouli.
She didn’t fight. She couldn’t fight, even if she’d wanted to. The nightmare from her past surfaced with a vengeance, leaving her frozen with a very real fear. Her phone, purse, and keys were stripped away. Duct tape bound her wrists.
Her car was just a few steps away. Someone used her keys to unlock it and opened the door. The man who held her carefully guided her into the back seat and climbed in after her. The other one got behind the wheel, started the engine, and put the car in gear, driving them to
some unknown destination.
Heaven knew what would happen after that.
She had never been so frightened in her life…until she caught the faint scent of teakwood and cloves and remembered Jewell’s call. Jewell’s words. Whatever happens, don’t struggle and don’t panic. They don’t want to hurt you.
Leda prayed that Jewell was right. That Sir Lucius was driving. That her body was responding to the kidnapping scenario of her fantasies and not something that would end up on tomorrow’s evening news.
God, let her be right.
Chapter Four
The man in the backseat—the one who had captured her—was big. Very big. She had seen the four Doms together at the New Year’s party. She would bet anything that he was Sir Marcus, and Sir Lucius was up front.
If all four men had followed her to the farmer’s market, Sir Antony and Sir Djiman were driving and riding in the vehicle that they’d used. They were likely headed back to Replay’s Roman villa, where she would use her safeword or submit.
They don’t want to hurt you.
She clung to those words as they drove. Clung to them harder when they stopped. The back door opened. Pulled from her car, she was thrown over Sir Marcus’s beefy shoulder and carried inside.
He dumped her in the center of a mattress, covered by thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets that were luxuriously smooth against her skin. The men were talking, but with plugs in her ears, their words were indistinguishable.
One of them sat on the bed beside her. Inhaling sharply, she smelled the teakwood and cloves that identified him as Sir Lucius. Carefully, he worked the end of the duct tape free from her cheek. She barely had time to brace herself before he ripped it off her mouth.
