Chains and Canes Read Online Free

waiting there for the last three hours, probably playing World of Warcraft the whole time. He fired up the town car as soon as he caught sight of Daniel and Naya.
    Thirty seconds after shutting the door behind him, Daniel made his move. Naya gave a little squeak as he pulled her underneath him along the wide leather rear seat. The privacy screen between them and Mr. Parker was, as always, raised.
    “He did something to you,” Daniel breathed against her neck. “More than biting you and smacking your ass on stage. He did more, didn’t he?”
    “Yes.”
    No secrets. They fed off the energy of desires spoken aloud. She shoved her hands beneath his coat and stripped him from the waist up, just as he yanked off her T-shirt and pulled her leggings past her knees. They were a tangle of kisses and groans and frustrating clothes.
    “Tell me.”
    With the faithfulness of a stenographer, she related every move Remy had made backstage. Every emotion she’d felt. Every hot rush of need.
    Daniel positioned the head of his cock right where she needed to be filled. With one fast, hard surge, he claimed her. They groaned into each other’s mouths as they kissed.
    He was thick, so big, so…turned on. “You wanted him to slap your face?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’d have seen his handprint on your cheek.”
    “Yes.”
    “Did he hold back, or you?”
    “Me.”
    “My angel. So good. Oh, fuck. So good.”
    “I thought you’d be upset,” she rasped as she kneaded her fingers deep into the muscles of his bare back. “But you invited him to our house! What were you thinking?”
    Their rhythm sped. Naya arched beneath him, offering her breasts even as she reached low and dug deep into his flanks. She felt every thrust beneath her hands just before he drove inside. His mouth was taut, his eyebrows drawn low, but with an utterly triumphant gleam in his pale eyes—the way he always looked when he was making her come.
    Because she exploded when he growled, “I want to watch him make you cry.”

Chapter Three
    Remy had been to nice apartments before. The dance world was strange like that, with some of the stars raking in cash due to a happy confluence of circumstances. He’d also seen absolute geniuses living in fifth-floor walk-ups next to the trash shaft. On occasion, with nowhere else to go, he’d been a crash-on-the-couch guest of those geniuses.
    Naya would never worry about that.
    Remy provided his name to a uniformed bellman and was gratified when the man ushered him into the keyed elevator without casting curious sideways looks. Remy had barely managed to shower while still at Club Devant. His jeans and tank top would have to do. Dressing up was more hassle than it was worth. He had nothing to prove to anyone.
    Only when the elevator opened to a penthouse that was finer than frogs’ legs did he start having second thoughts. This place was different.
    The apartment had no foyer. The elevator opened directly into a casually elegant living area with an amazing view of the city on the far side. The dark expanse glimmered with tiny, shining lights. Naya Ortiz and Daniel Baker rose from a low, white leather couch.
    Naya held a half-empty glass of champagne in one hand and stretched her empty fingers toward Remy. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
    “And pass up the chance to see a real live penthouse?” Remy made a show of looking around. “Momma didn’t raise no fool boys.”
    When the amazing view no longer dominated his senses, he could appreciate the rest of the space. Elegant was the word, but not in any gilt-covered way. Dark wood was paired with pure white curtains and fabrics. All sorts of art covered the walls and filled niches. Even with six-foot abstract statues, the place was definitely lived in. It was…French in a way that Remy recognized from four or five generations ago, from before his ancestors had dumped themselves in the swamps and stopped trying for beautiful things.
    Daniel offered Remy a glass of