Free and Bound (A Club Volare New Orleans Novel)

by Chloe Cox

  “Are you in touch with Soren?” she asked.

  Brian froze, fry in the mid-dip. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Oh my God, you are. I can tell, Bri. You’d make a really shitty poker player.”

  Brian’s mouth flattened into a grim line. He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

  “Don’t you fucking tell him, Molly,” he hissed. “I’m serious. I have a hard time figuring out what to do in this situation, and I’ve known them both for ten fucking years. Soren doesn’t tell me anything, anyway. It’s not like I know where he is.”

  Brian trying to be tough looked a lot like Brian being scared.

  Molly took his hand. “This is tearing you up a little bit, huh?”

  “Jesus, yes,” he said. He gave Molly a good squeeze, then took his hand back and ran it through his oily, shaggy hair and cracked a thin smile. “It almost feels good to tell someone. Too bad it’s you.”

  “What does he say?” she asked. “Soren, I mean.”

  Brian fumbled for his cigarettes, glared at the No Smoking signs plastered everywhere, and stuck a cig between his lips, just for the feel. He looked at Molly and sighed.

  “Mostly he asks if Declan’s ok.”

  Molly caught her breath.

  It was just then that Declan came striding into the restaurant. He would have turned heads even without the little bell that rang whenever anyone opened the door. In torn up jeans and a t-shirt, the man was just as tall, tanned, and muscular as ever. Molly was just as stricken as every other female in the building.

  But she was the only wondering if the dominating rock star and general force of nature was really, underneath it all, ok.

  Seventeen

  Declan smiled when he saw Adra calling on his personal line. How did she know already?

  “What’s up?” he answered.

  “I haven’t heard from you is what’s up!” Adra cried. “Either of you! What the hell is happening?”

  “That is pure torture for you, isn’t it? I should tell Ford.”

  Volare L.A.’s Dom lawyer, Ford, and Adra, a sub and agent/whirlwind/all around press guru, were forever finding reasons to work together while denying that anything was going on between them. Ford had helped Declan negotiate the legal fallout from kicking Soren out, and Adra had taken charge of the image stuff, and the whole time they generated a level of sexual tension that could have powered half of California.

  “Ford has nothing to do with it,” Adra said after a moment. “And you know it’s torture. Now, will you please—”

  “Adra,” he said, silencing her. “Did you do this on purpose? Try to set me and Molly up?”

  “No! Why, did it work?”

  Declan chuckled. Adra the meddler, always trying to help everyone else, going so far as to mess with a Dom’s love life.

  Sex life, he corrected himself.

  “Are you mad?” Adra asked. “Did something happen? Look, that wasn’t the only reason, obviously. I mean, she’s an incredible writer, it was just…I mean, this was a bonus, right? Right? Oh my God, tell me.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell Ford,” Declan mused. “He’d probably have opinions on your meddling. And I know he’s got opinions about that new spanking bench.”

  Silence.

  Well, that was interesting. Maybe those two were finally…

  “It’s none of Ford’s business,” Adra said curtly. “Maybe you could talk to his new sub. Now are you going to stop torturing me already?”

  Damn. It really wasn’t any of Ford’s business if the man was that dumb. Declan would never cease to be amazed at the way some men couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

  “Yeah, Molly and I have worked out an arrangement,” Declan allowed. He smiled when Adra squealed. “Or, actually, we’re in the middle of working out an arrangement. Nothing written yet. Aren’t you worried about how this is going to affect the book?”

  “No. Are you worried that now you’re going to have to start telling the truth?”

  Declan frowned. He could see Molly through the restaurant window, poking at a salad, and the idea of lying to her made him sick. And it was true: one of the tenets of a D/s relationship was honesty. He wouldn’t mess around with that. But there were some things that weren’t his to share, not properly. He shouldn’t even have told Adra.

  “I won’t lie to her,” he said. “She already knows rehab was bullshit. But you know I can’t tell her what happened with Bethany and Soren. If she finds out, I can’t do anything about that, but it’s not mine to tell, Adra.”

  Adra just sighed. “I think you’re more involved than you think, but what do I know. Listen, I’m actually calling about the baby shower in New York. Lola wants you to come.”

  “The what?” Declan blanked. Baby shower? That was a chick thing, right? He knew Lola was pregnant and all, and he had lots of plans for Molly that involved Volare New York, but he’d never really put ‘baby’ and ‘Volare’ together in his head.

  “Yeah, I don’t think it’ll be, um, typical. Probably more adult themed than is usual, anyway. I think Lola just wants an excuse to throw a party. But the point is, she wants you there. You’re part of the Volare family now, so not optional, unless you want Lola on your ass. And I want to see Molly.”

  Declan winced. Molly at a baby shower? He didn’t pretend to know what that might be like for her, but it couldn’t be all wine and roses with all the memories it would bring up. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the idea of that, especially not if she was already in an emotionally vulnerable state from exploring her submissive side. On the other hand, it could be exactly what she needed. She couldn’t go through the rest of her life only associating children and pregnancy with her own pain or it would drive her insane.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, without further explanation. “I’ll talk to her and call you back.”

  “Soon.”

  “Yup,” he said, and hung up.

  He looked at Molly again.

  Damn it, she was a light, even through the dirty glass of a highway restaurant. He hated to see anything darken that, but that was part of the point, wasn’t it? She had some stuff to deal with. She had some things she needed to do, a new way to be. He was helping her.

  So what was the big deal?

  Maybe he was just caught up in his own bullshit. This place they were playing at next, it was one of the first places he’d played with Soren way back in the day, before Savage Heart even had a name. It was just the two of them, lying about their ages, plus whoever they could get to help out. The first night Declan’s car wouldn’t start, and they’d lugged all their gear on first the Long Island Railroad and then the freaking PATH train all the way to Hoboken just to play this little club. And it had been awesome.

  Declan had his own memories to contend with, that was for damn sure. He’d been brooding about it on and off since they’d booked this show. The whole place was wrapped up in memories of him and Soren, building the band. It had been his whole life. Before his Uncle Jim, Soren had been the only person who had made him feel at home, sneaking him into the Andersson family’s basement when Declan’s mom was really bad, learning to play, to write together, Soren fucking picking him up off the ground after he’d found his mom…

  Declan stopped, breathed, flexed his fists.

  Adra was right, to some extent. He was involved in what had happened that night, with what Bethany had done, what Soren had let happen. It wasn’t like it hadn’t affected him; it had fucked him up royally for a while. Declan had to accept the possibility that maybe he wasn’t talking to Molly about it for more than just noble reasons. The woman had a tendency to see right through bullshit, after all. Maybe he was worried she’d see through his.

  Maybe he was worried he’d been wrong to kick Soren out this whole time.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered.

  Declan got that sick feeling, that bullshit that had nearly ruined the tour. He always knew the Hoboken show would be the hardest for him, b
ut damn, he did not expect for it to hit him like this. Especially not after he’d had Molly. Not after she’d said she’d be his sub. He’d felt invincible since that moment, untouchable, invulnerable. It had only gotten better when he’d seen he was right, that submission had helped her, had actually gotten through all those defenses she had up all the time. That she’d been happy.

  Nothing could compare to that. No memory, no matter how shitty, could top that.

  And now he watched her through the restaurant glass and saw that look again, that sad, worried, empathetic look, the kind of thing that made him want to move worlds to put a different expression on her face. Whatever she was thinking about, whatever she was talking about, it wasn’t a happy thing.

  He frowned. Not on his watch. And she was ready for him as a Dom. For what he needed, right now.

  Declan walked into the restaurant and ignored everyone else. He was used to being recognized. Didn’t matter. There was just Molly now, sitting in that booth, looking right back at him with the same need he felt.

  And something else, too. Something that looked like…concern.

  “Hey man, we were just finishing up,” a man said. It came from the other side of the booth. Brian.

  Declan hadn’t even noticed him.

  “Good.” Declan looked at Molly. “On the bus. Now.”

  He saw her try to suppress a smile, put on her serious face. She couldn’t quite manage to hide the way his order turned her on.

  “This is an interview, Declan,” she said.

  “It’s over, though,” Brian said hastily, getting up. “You know it is. It shoulda been over before it even began. Remember our deal, though, Molly.”

  “It’s not an interview anymore,” Declan said, not even caring about whatever deal Brian had made with Molly, or what he’d told her. Which was a good thing. If they’d just been having lunch, his possessive instincts might have kicked in, and Lord knew he was already fired up.

  “On the bus. Now.”

  Molly waited until Brian was well out of earshot, looking up at him with those eyes the whole time, giving him all sorts of ideas. Then she said, “Yes, sir.”

  He was sure she put some extra swish in her hips on the way to the bus.

  He was sure she knew what he wanted.

  Could she possibly know why?

  Fuck me, total honesty.

  Declan nodded at the driver, who was smoking a cigarette out in front of the bus, and closed the door behind him. The driver would know not to come knocking. Hell, everybody would know. Declan didn’t care if they were late getting back on the road. Some things were more important. Like having another hit of Molly Ward.

  She walked right up and jumped on the table they all used, giving him an innocent look. “What was it you wanted?” she asked.

  He growled.

  “You know what it is I want,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “But first, tell me why you looked worried when you saw me,” he demanded.

  Molly opened her mouth, stopped. Frowned.

  “Molly,” he said. “Tell me. The rule is honesty. Don’t test discipline before we even have a contract.”

  That got her talking.

  “Are you ok?” she asked, point blank.

  Declan just had to stare at her for a second. She was asking him if he was ok? What the fuck, was she psychic? It was only about thirty seconds ago that he’d been wondering the same thing himself, whether or not he’d screwed everything up with Soren and the band, whether he’d been wrong, and here she was, vibing on it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m finding out.”

  “Like me.”

  “Like you.”

  Molly stared back at him. Declan didn’t think he was alone in finding this strange, whatever went on between them, however you might explain it. Her chest was rising in quick, shallow little movements, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She wanted him.

  He needed her.

  Declan moved forward, put a hand on each knee and spread her legs slightly, tracing a line up her the inside of her thigh until he hit the fringed edge of her cutoffs.

  “You’re going to wear a skirt at the next show,” he said, his voice tight, controlled. “If you don’t have one, a roadie will go get you one. But I need to see you up front in Hoboken, and I need to know I can have you at any moment. I need to know I can stop the show, haul you off, and be inside you in less than ten seconds if I need to.”

  “If you need to?” she asked. Her voice was tiny, wondering.

  “If I need to,” he said, slipping his thumb inside her shorts. Fuck. She was wet. “Or if I want to. Now strip.”

  The command took a moment to register. He was pleased to see that when it did, she didn’t hesitate to jump off the table and pull her shirt over her head and shimmy out of her shorts. Molly only looked once at the door, nervous, before she shrugged off her bra.

  Declan couldn’t help himself. He reached out and held her breasts, loving the weight in his hands, the way her nipples peaked so readily at his touch.

  “Panties,” he said gruffly.

  Molly was red-faced already, bending only slightly to get them over her hips. She gave one last anxious look at the door and then gasped when he pinched her nipple.

  “Put this on me,” he said, fishing a condom out of his back pocket. He was never going to be without them now, not until—if ever—she got comfortable going without. He wanted nothing more than to feel her all over him, skin to skin, but that was something that was going to have to wait.

  She wasn’t as nervous as she’d been before. For someone who’d gone from zero sex to sex on demand, she was handling it pretty well.

  And the look she gave him as she pulled down his fly…

  “Fuck,” he grunted, and grabbed hold of her hair. “Quicker.”

  Now she was nervous. He saw her swallow slightly when she saw the size of him up close, and he thought about what he could do with those lips. What he would do with those lips.

  Just in time she got the condom rolled down, and he pulled her up and threw her on the table, loving that shocked little giggle she gave as he grabbed each of her ankles.

  “Ask nicely,” he said.

  She groaned. She hated having to talk. That’s why he made her, even if it drove him absolutely freaking crazy, just having to look at her, spread in front of him like that…

  “Please,” she said. “Please fuck me, Declan.”

  He pushed into her so hard she moved backwards on the table, a little gasp escaping her lips. He growled and grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto him as he surged forward, and Molly arched her back with a scream as he filled her completely. Ruthlessly. It still wasn’t enough. It was never enough for him, not with her.

  Declan pounded into her while she struggled to regain her breath, her pussy clenching around him, her hands searching for something to hold. Molly finally put them above her head, pressing into the side of the bus just below the window overlooking the table and booth, and threw her head back with a cry.

  He reached for her breasts, bouncing beautifully right in front of him with every stroke, and greedily kneaded the flesh in his hands. Molly tensed, nearly pushing herself up, moaning, and Declan responded with a hard thrust and a vicious pinch to both nipples.

  Molly came even more viciously. It shocked her eyes wide open, her pussy clasping down on him like a vise, so much so that he had to pause and hold back. She rose from the table, her abs straining, her mouth open in a silent scream, looking at him in wonder.

  Holy fuck, he thought.

  He pushed her back on the table and fucked her with wild abandon, taking what he wanted from her, until she was slick with sweat, her eyes wide and unseeing, sobbing his name as she came around him, again and again and again.

  When he finally collapsed on top of her, Declan was already thinking of all the things he was going to do to her with that information. All the things he could do when they finally got to Volare. A
ll the things he could with the proper equipment.

  “I am going to make you hurt so good,” he said into her chest.

  He heard her pleasurable sigh, felt her hands in his hair. If he could stay buried in her forever, it would be fine by him. He knew he’d have to deal with his responsibilities too soon—the show, the band, and, most importantly, Molly herself. He’d have to talk to her about the baby shower. He’d have to find out more about her, figure out what made her tick, help her discover what she liked.

  But for right now?

  Fucking heaven.

  Eighteen

  Molly couldn’t stop smiling. She felt like an idiot. No, she probably was an idiot for agreeing to this ridiculous situation. How was she supposed to be a hard-nosed investigative…biographer, or whatever was her official job title, if she was also submitting sexually to Declan Donovan? It wasn’t a theoretical question; how was she supposed to do her job—any job—if she was constantly having sex?

  Constantly getting fucked. And fucked well. With always the possibility that he’d demand sex at any given time.

  Yeah, no wonder she couldn’t stop smiling.

  And now she was wearing this tiny, itty little bitty skirt, the kind of thing she was sure showed her ass every time she moved, and she was wearing it with the knowledge that she was wearing it for him. It made everything she did erotic. Like foreplay. Every time she moved, every time she felt the fabric lift in the breeze…

  She was in her own little X-rated fantasy world. Too bad she was also standing on a sidewalk in Hoboken, getting in the way.

  It was chaos once again. A local radio station was supposed to announce the show only an hour before Savage Heart went on, but the news had leaked. Either the club itself, or the opening act, or the police—clearly someone had gotten the proper permits this time; the police had closed down an entire block behind the club for their bus and the vans and trailers of the smaller bands. Anyway, someone had opened their mouth. And Hoboken found out.

  It was a mob scene. Almost as bad as Springfield. Only this time, the cops were prepared; the mob was on the other side of heavily reinforced barricades. They’d broken out now in a drunken chorus of “October Moon” and it didn’t seem like they’d stop anytime soon.