by Joey W. Hill
Despite the teasing, when Daegan met Gideon’s gaze, Anwyn could see what was going on, at least in Gideon’s head. He was in her corner on this one, and that lessened some of the frustration. To this day, Gideon didn’t fully understand the significance of it, how Daegan trusted his opinion, but Anwyn did, and was glad for the bond between them.
Because some days, dealing with these gremlins…it got so tiring.
Daegan’s attention came back to her, his eyes darkening. They’d drawn apart during the discussion, so now he put out a hand and she came to him once more, letting herself be held. He put his lips to her forehead. “The gods only test the mighty, cher. You handle them well, you and Gideon, but if I could go in your head and slay them, I would.”
“I know.” She pressed her head to his shoulder, her fingers curled in his biceps, and felt Gideon behind her, covering her back once more. Always.
Daegan spoke against her skin. “Very well. I know you wouldn’t be happy leaving the oversight to someone else. Plus, I’m certain you will have some design changes you want to implement, since they’ll have to rebuild the wall anyway. I have a condition, however.”
“Yes, I’ll be careful. Yes, I’ll keep Gideon close at all times.”
“Do not presume too much about my directives.” His dark eyes dwelled upon her, giving her a twinge of sensual trepidation. His mind reached out, covering the same terrain with a sensation that was a mental, intimate caress.
“My condition is that, when we do get to Kauai, I pick out the swimsuit you wear on the beach. Something with a great deal of string involved that barely holds your beautiful breasts. Gideon has to be blindfolded while you wear it, able to only imagine what you look like. Until I let him see you through my mind. Or use his hands and mouth to appreciate you while I take him from behind, with the beach breezes on our skin and the music of the ocean playing for us.”
Both of her men responded to the idea, just as she did. Simple, clean physical desire was a good feeling at the end of a night like tonight. She caressed Daegan’s jaw as Gideon’s hands closed on her waist and hips. She leaned back against him, enjoying the heat and hardness pressing in on her.
“That’s the kind of deal the Mistress of Atlantis can live with. Since it’s close to dawn, I wouldn’t mind if we continued the discussion in the place I most want to be with both of you right now. Our bed.”
After she exhausted herself in the pleasure of taking and being taken, it would be easier to dream without nightmares.
She’d bank herself in the peace, knowing what she truly valued most in the world was as close as her heartbeat.
Chapter Fifteen
Ella moved through a quiet club. Atlantis was empty. Earlier, Anwyn had sent everyone home, telling them she’d send out a communication, letting them know what the plan was, after she determined it herself. The only personnel she saw was the occasional familiar face from security, ghosting through to do a check.
Gideon had told Ella that Anwyn preferred her to stay tonight. “So she can make sure you’re a hundred percent,” he’d said. “We’ll make up the guestroom for you.”
“No need to do that. I’ll just bunk on one of the couches on the main floor. I’m comfortable up there.”
She’d done that before, when closing had run late and Anwyn hadn’t wanted her traveling home on her own at those hours. Gideon didn’t try too hard to talk her out of it, and Ella understood why. Anwyn would need support tonight in ways that didn’t really need a fourth wheel sharing their living quarters. Club Atlantis was Anwyn’s soul, and someone had wounded it deeply. Ella didn’t want to hamper Gideon or Scary Guy’s intentions to care for her however was needed.
After everything that had happened, and dealing with all the unanswered questions still in her head, Ella was actually glad to have a little breathing space herself, in the place she felt most at home. She stood in her favorite spot, the second level dance floor. The first level had the biggest dance floor, and the more party-like atmosphere. The music pumped out with sultry beats, maintaining the right level of excitement and anticipation, which carried over into the adjacent public play space, where she’d watched Wolf do the scene with Grenadine.
But the second level was where the dancing and the play spaces were more intimate, even more intense. The kind of Dom/sub interaction that happened in these smaller spaces might be as exciting as watching grass grow, but only if the viewers didn’t understand, didn’t know the complicated language happening in the slightest give and take between Dom and sub.
The bar on this level was a piece of art, with gleaming curves of wood and mirrors that reflected interesting pieces of the people moving before it. The bottles lined up along the back were lit from behind, a dark rainbow of hues. Unlike the bar downstairs, this one only served non-alcoholic drinks, an acknowledgement of the type of scenes that happened here, and the audience it attracted. People who needed to be fully in command of all their senses so everything was experienced the way it was meant to be.
She loved being able to see Atlantis after closing hours, but then, she’d live here if she could. She liked her little place, a converted garden shed cottage in Krista’s backyard, but this was where everything felt right, balanced. Krista ran the neighborhood grocery where Ella did bike deliveries, and had rented it out to Ella in exchange for Ella handling her yardwork and landscaping, as well as her house cleaning. Krista had health problems that made such physical work an almost insurmountable challenge. With her grocery store’s small profit margin, she didn’t have much left over to hire domestic help. So the arrangement was a good trade.
Ella went to the music system, made sure it was turned down to a reasonable, one-person level, and selected the playlist she wanted. Then she returned to the middle of the floor as “Feels Like Home” by Chantal Kreviazuk came on. Perfect, though the message was more about a person being home, rather than a place. As far as Ella was concerned, Atlantis was a person. Even if her uncooperative mind imagined an actual person as the lyrics filled the air.
Well, she’d kind of helped it in that direction, hadn’t she? As she wrapped her arms around herself, she glanced down at what she was wearing.
She kept a couple changes of clothes in her locker here, including pajamas for the occasional overnights. Tonight she’d slipped on a pair of soft pink shorts, but she hadn’t pulled out the tank top that went with it. Instead, she’d done something kind of bad.
The staff locker room was co-ed, though whoever preferred more gender privacy could go change in the spacious men or women’s bathroom facilities. She’d gone to Wolf’s locker and stood before it, debating, biting her lip. She wasn’t trying to pry. She’d seen him open it before, knew all he kept in it were clothes, and he didn’t lock it. Before she could doubt herself too much, she opened it.
If he’d only had one shirt in there, she wouldn’t have done it, because she didn’t know if he’d need the shirt tonight. She wasn’t really sure where he was. Gideon had said he was fine and had the care he needed. At the time, he’d been up to his eyeballs in everything else, so she didn’t push it, knowing her urgency was solely motivated by her need to be near her Master, assure herself of his wellbeing. The vision of his ruined back was too fresh in her mind.
He’d said he’d come find her. The message there was “Stay away until I call,” which hurt, a little, that unspoken command. It meant a Dom didn’t need her “right then,” which should have been fine. But she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be with someone who, even if they didn’t actively need her for something, wanted to be sure she was close by, connected to him.
There were two T-shirts, one black and one white, in his locker. Since the white one was thinner and she never saw him wear something so lightweight, she suspected it was meant to go beneath more formal clothing.
She’d seen him dressed up once before. Christian Grey night. She grinned at the memory. There was a mix of reaction to the popular book among those in the D/s lifesty
le, but they’d all had a lot of fun with it that night. Even those who had issues with the book had to admit that suggesting all the Doms show up in “Christian Grey costume” had been an extremely good idea.
The Dommes had been just as down with it. Chantal’s severely fitted white shirt, slim black tie and pencil black skirt with heels and a bolero jacket had been memorable. But mostly Ella remembered Wolf, his charcoal gray suit jacket defining his broad shoulders, the tapering of the slacks over his taut ass and hips. The soft fabric of his silver-gray dress shirt had molded his upper body, coaxing a woman’s fingertips. Particularly the couple times she’d seen him unbutton the jacket and slide a hand in his pocket, the movement folding the coat away from his upper body on that side. He hadn’t worn a tie, leaving the shirt open at the throat. His cuff links had been shaped like handcuffs, and he’d worn a stick pin with three small porcelain red roses.
At one point he’d shrugged out of the jacket to handle a flogging. He’d removed the cuff links, put them in the pockets before taking off the coat. Then he’d carefully folded back his shirt sleeves. His fingers had flexed over the task, the shirt creasing over his arms. The whole look made Ella fully understand the term suit porn. He couldn’t have riveted attention more if he’d stripped down to the skin.
Now she vividly remembered the faint outline of the undershirt beneath the dress shirt. It became more visible each time he threw the whip and the shirt fabric stretched over his powerful body.
She’d smelled a hint of Wolf’s unique scent when she’d opened the locker. Now, as she ran her fingers along the cloth of the white T-shirt and lifted the garment to her nose, her eyes closed. She inhaled Wolf’s aroma fully, and her decision was made.
She slipped the T-shirt off the hook and put it on. Most guys’ shirts stretched tight over her ample breasts, but his chest was so broad, she had room, her nipples rubbing the fabric in a pleasant way as she moved. The shirt fell to mid-thigh. Because of that, she changed her mind and left the pink shorts and her underwear behind, folding them up neatly on the bottom of his locker to retrieve them when she brought the shirt back. She told herself she wouldn’t wear the shirt all night, just a little while, to help her feel a little more…calm.
She’d kept it to the periphery of her mind, the unreal idea that someone had tried to blow her up. Her, Wolf, the club. She couldn’t get Perry’s face out of her mind, that last second of his life. He hadn’t cared if the bomb killed them, a person she thought she knew…and liked. He had a dry sense of humor, a gentle touch with the cats that wasn’t feigned. That was the part hardest to understand. His affection and friendliness had been genuine…until the moment it wasn’t.
Those two, irreconcilable truths gave one an unsettled, bottom-falling-out-of-one’s-world feeling. How could you trust anyone after something like that? A façade so good that it couldn’t be fake was far scarier than anything she’d ever experienced.
She was trembling, she realized. Her arms had tightened around herself, as if she was holding herself up, and her knees were wobbly. Despite everything else he’d had on his mind, Gideon had obviously been worried that this would happen. He’d given her a steady look before letting her go upstairs. Touched her face and said firmly, “If you need me, call. You know the extension. I’ll pick up. These things sometimes hit you worse later.”
Everyone else had gone home because they had someone. A spouse, a mother or father. A sibling. She had friends she could crash with, but no one who would understand tonight in a helpful way. Gideon obviously did, but she would be damned if she’d take him away from Anwyn for even a second.
She wrapped her Master’s scent around her, used it like she would Wolf’s voice, his presence, to collect herself. “Iris” by the GooGoo Dolls came on, so she closed her eyes, swayed to it. And moved on to another unsettling puzzle.
She thought of the moment when she’d asked Wolf if she was in his mind or he was in hers.
Both.
In the basement apartment, two rooms away from Wolf, she’d heard that word in her head as if he’d spoken aloud to her. Bits and pieces of the alley aftermath were coming back to her, and most of it revolved around him. How he’d licked her arm, and then his teeth had sunk into her flesh. Canines she’d always thought were extra sharp when he teased her with them seemed even sharper when he’d bitten her, so savage. He’d gripped her in that brutal way that had bothered him so much the night he’d accidentally hurt her wrist.
It had hurt, but differently from the impact of the explosion. This was desperate need, and she’d laid her own trembling hands over his forearm, fingertips curling and uncurling against his corded flesh, letting him know it was fine, she was here, she had what he needed.
She went further back, to the changes she’d noted in Anwyn after she’d been assaulted in the alley, and she put them side by side with Wolf. The almost unnatural steadiness of their eyes, their erotic appeal, heady as a drug when you were close to them. Had she missed it because Anwyn was already an incomparable Mistress and beautiful woman? And Wolf was one of the most mesmerizing males Ella had ever met.
Throughout her life, Ella had cherished every forward step when she learned things she hadn’t known before. No matter how bad things might seem, there was so much about how the world worked that she didn’t know. Bad things happened. That was a given. What would be worse than that would be discovering that there was no mystery, no hope or anticipation for anything different.
Master. Where are you?
She stood still, as if concentrating was the trick to it, but a long moment later, she knew it wasn’t. Whatever deliberation he’d been doing, about whether to answer her or not, once he made the decision, he appeared in her mind as easy as breathing. She could feel him. It sent a thrill through her, from her head to the tips of her toes.
I’m here.
She opened her eyes, and found that was true in more than one way. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, he was watching her. The GooGoo Dolls sang about a person being broken, and yet wanting to declare who they were. That was her interpretation of the lyric, at least in this significant moment.
He still wasn’t a hundred percent. He stood with one hand braced on the back of a barstool. The way he held himself told her he was still in some pain.
Yet she’d seen the damage to his back. Anwyn had said he’d needed Ella’s blood. Her blood had healed him. The fact he was standing, with no obvious blood or bandages wrapped around him, just confirmed what she was just now putting together.
He wore only a loose pair of cotton pants, Jamaican style, and it was a very good look for him. When his evening sessions were over and he lingered at the club to watch, this was often what he wore. Usually he put a loose, natural fiber shirt over the cotton pants, but he was shirtless now, and barefoot. The drawstring of the pants was loosely tied, keeping the garment low on his hips. She knew the intent wasn’t provocation. It was to avoid putting anything against his tender back, but he was a beautiful male, so having more for the eye to appreciate was a bad thing, never.
Then she reached his eyes and she forgot about that. Those lightning-colored eyes were all over her in his T-shirt. She pressed her lips together on the apology, simply stood watching him.
“Dance for me some more,” he said. “Like you’re dancing for yourself.”
She’d been swaying to the music. She closed her eyes again, because that was the way she preferred to dance for herself. She’d imagine whatever setting she wished. Tonight it was the here and now, the shadowy dance floor, bathed in the dim safety lights.
She could detect the lingering scents of the people who’d been here. Members were good about cleaning up after themselves, so it was rare the combination of scents was unpleasant. The cleaning staff came during the daytime to give it freshness, but she liked the aroma this time of night. Perfumes, sweat, arousal.
As she detected hints of candle wax, the crispness of liquid nitrogen, she realized the nuances of those scents were m
ore distinct to her than usual. The effect of a near-death experience, she expected. She had to be imagining it, but there’d been at least one blood play scene, and she thought she picked up that faint metallic odor.
She heard him move, the pad of his feet over the dance floor. He was moving around her, watching her. She’d evolved from swaying to turning, twisting upward, reaching for the sky, arching back, liking the feel of her hair brushing against his shirt on her back. It was so soft. So soft against so much hardness, when it was stretched over his muscles and resilient form. He’d saved her. Formed a wall between her and destruction. Destruction had torn through him, and yet he’d held fast.
Kept her safe.
She was breathing faster, her chest aching, and she gave herself fully to his order, dancing for him. She turned, let her hair flow out. Leaped, crouched, spun. She was alive. Alive, because of him. She threaded her fingers through her hair, ran them over the contours of her face, paused on her throat, her fingers becoming his in her mind, then down, molding her shoulders, her upper arms. Her forearms brushed across her breasts as she spun again, and then she let her arms extend like ribbons from a spinning wand, a magic wand, where energy rippled out and turned death and darkness to starlight and eternity.
I’d give up forever to touch you… The first lyric of “Iris” lingered in her mind, and she gave thanks for the songwriters who knew how to put feelings to just the right words, to add to a moment like this, make it even more powerful.
She’d left the club. She was a bird now, soaring, dipping, landing on water, feeling the spray, watching the moonlight turn to fragmented ripples. In a blink she was a girl again, standing in that water lapping on shore, lifting her hands to the moon.
She stilled, because he was in front of her. His hands slid over her lifted ones, thumbs following the creases of her palms as he curled his fingers around her knuckles. He moved down to her wrists, so slim he could hold both in one hand, but he kept going, a slow glide down both her bare arms, down, down, down. Her arms trembled as she kept them up, staying as still as he wished her to do.