by Lilia Moon
PLAY (Fettered #6)
Chloe & Eli
Lilia Moon
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Lilia Moon
Borrowing my words to make money is a hard limit. Using them to fuel your own fantasies is totally encouraged!
xoxo Lilia
Contents
1. Chloe
2. Eli
3. Chloe
4. Eli
5. Chloe
6. Eli
7. Chloe
8. Eli
9. Chloe
10. Eli
11. Eli
12. Chloe
13. Eli
14. Chloe
15. Eli
16. Chloe
17. Eli
18. Chloe
19. Eli
20. Chloe
21. Eli
22. Chloe
23. Eli
24. Chloe
25. Eli
26. Chloe
27. Eli
28. Chloe
29. Eli
30. Chloe
31. Eli
32. Chloe
33. Eli
34. Chloe
35. Eli
36. Chloe
37. Eli
38. Chloe
39. Eli
40. Chloe
41. Eli
42. Chloe
43. Eli
44. Chloe
45. Eli
46. Chloe
47. Eli
48. Chloe
49. Eli
50. Chloe
51. Eli
52. Chloe
53. Eli
54. Chloe
55. Eli
56. Eli - Epilogue
57. Chloe - Epilogue
58. Chloe
59. Eli
Chapter One
Chloe
I want to flop down in the big chair in the corner of my store, the one I use to keep nervous men from knocking into all our displays. But I know from past experience that the second I do that, a customer will walk in the door, and they expect the owner of Pretty Things to match her wares. Classy, sexy, and offering escape into a moment where nothing practical matters.
Clearly they’ve never run a business. However, inventory’s finally done, my new orders are ready to head out the door, and I didn’t strangle Mandy even once, for which I deserve chocolate and a martini. I wave at my perky assistant, dressed in her signature pink, which is a little dusty from digging through boxes in the back room. “Go home.”
She looks moderately horrified. “It’s not closing time yet.”
She’s still not entirely convinced I can handle the store without her. The fact that I did so for nearly ten years somehow isn’t convincing. However, I didn’t hire her to understand me—I hired her to fill in for my holes, the ones that have no patience left for fluttery brides and their overexcited mothers. I would pay Mandy’s sizable salary, and gladly, for that alone, but she’s also detail focused and never forgets a customer or her preferences, and in these four walls, those are worth their weight in gold. I pull a curvaceous water bottle out of my bag and point Mandy gently at the door. “Go. Let Brandon rub your feet.”
That gets her moving. The man in her life is treasure and she knows it.
I take a seat on the stool behind the counter as she leaves and drink the water that will have to stand in for a martini until closing time. I hide a sigh as a tinkling chime announces a new arrival before I do much more than wet my lips. I manage a slightly frayed smiled at the young woman, blonde, gorgeous, and utterly self-confident, who has just entered. “Welcome to Pretty Things.”
She takes her time scanning the store and then strides over to my counter. “Hi. I’m Ari, and I’m hoping you’re Chloe.”
She’s younger than most of my clientele, and this is no bride wandering into an upscale lingerie boutique for the first time. “Yes, I’m Chloe.”
Her smile could melt far harder walls than mine. “Perfect. Harlan said you would be easy to find.”
My afternoon just got a lot more interesting. The big man with the tough-guy ink and soft eyes is one of my best customers—and the manager of the best kink club in town, so if I’m reading the light in the bright-blue eyes facing me right, an idea I’ve been noodling on and off over the past couple of months may have just come to me.
I grab a second stool and slide it around the counter. “You’re from Fettered?”
She grins, and I’m looking at a younger version of me. “I am. I have a business proposal I want to discuss with you.”
I know what the younger version of me would want to hear. “Good. If you hadn’t come to me, I was planning on coming to you. I think half your membership has wandered through my shop recently.”
I’ve said exactly the right thing. She’s delighted, and young enough to show it. “You make really beautiful things, and our members are smart enough to appreciate quality.”
That they are—and they show off their sexy underwear a lot more frequently than most of my clients. Which is why my brain’s been noodling. “Tell me what you have in mind.” I know my request is a bit of a test. I’m the last person to judge someone for being too young or too female to have good ideas, but I want to know who I’m dealing with. And I’m fascinated and pleased that Fettered has sent Ari in as their representative.
“We’d like to work with you to develop some styles more specifically suited for the kink lifestyle. With features like tie releases so that underwear can be removed from a restrained sub.”
She’s watching me carefully. The tests are going both ways. I give her what she needs. “Thank you for not assuming I’m too boring and vanilla to run with this. I got into this business out of my work designing theater costumes. You won’t find shock or judgment here.”
Her whole body warms. “I like you. Harlan said I would.”
That’s entirely mutual. “I appreciate him sending you to me.”
I leave space, and she steps into it gracefully. “We want someone who can handle frank discussions of our needs and then turn them into something beautiful that will last through the abuse our members might put it through.”
I laugh, because she’s a deep pool of awesome and she clearly knows it. “Most of my designers and seamstresses also work in theater. Trust me, there’s nothing you can do to lingerie that an actor can’t do to their costume.”
She grins at me. “Maybe don’t tell the Doms that straight off. They might take it as a dare.”
I laugh and look around my shop, because we’re likely to get interrupted any minute, and I want to know more about this deal we’re going to grow between us. “Were you hoping I could sell it here?”
Ari follows my eyes around the store and makes a wry face. “I don’t think that’s helpful for either of our brands.”
My weeks of noodling crystalize around her words. It’s time to find out just how deep into this a sex club is willing to go. “I could develop a line specifically for those with more kinky desires, but designing the pieces is only half the game here. We’d need the retail side too. An online presence, perhaps, but I’d strongly suggest a physical storefront as well. These items won’t be inexpensive, and quality sells best when people can touch and feel.”
She leans forward a little, and I catch a glimpse of very shrewd negotiator in her eager blue eyes. “We were thinking you could develop the line for Fettered. We’d sell it at the club. Nothing that needs to be staffed all the time, at least to start, but something like a portable shop that opens a couple of afternoons or evenings a month. In our lounge, maybe, where people can model for each other.” She winks. “That will sell a lot more mercha
ndise, trust me.”
She’s pitching with passion and interest and not a trace of nerves. I wonder if Fettered knows what they have in her. “Would you be representing the club’s interests as we work out the details?”
She grins. “Yes. It was my idea, and I know how to keep the Doms I work for in line.”
She gets bonus points for every part of that sentence, and so do they. Which is unfortunate, because it means she’s not poachable. “Good. It sounds like you have a solid idea of what you want, and potentially a lot of people who would like to have some input. I’d like to get them engaged early on so the designs can fully reflect what they need and want, but I’d also like to define a small group, on your side and mine, who will be making the decisions.”
It’s a speech I’ve given before—herding theater people isn’t for wimps.
She’s nodding before I’m halfway finished. “Perfect. You’ll have both. I’ll handle sign-off from our decision-makers. As far as input, I can gather a group to talk to you, or, if you’d rather, you can come hang out in the lounge one night and observe and ask questions.”
Test number two just landed. This bright-eyed woman doesn’t give an inch, even when she’s smiling, and I’ll be smart to remember that. “Both. I’d like to visit your club, and I’d like to bring a few of my designers to a smaller meeting with some of your members. I’m thinking there might be some interest in special orders as well.” Which will have my people drooling. They make the same thing more than once because I pay them very well to do it, but they adore creating things. They’ll be all over this. I don’t let the warm glow of that show—lovely as she is, Ari’s the toughest negotiator I’ve faced in years. She doesn’t need to know I’m a cupcake for my people.
Ari’s eyes flash amused. “If you’re willing to consider special orders, I hope you can handle a stampede.”
We’re going to get along very well. “We can. Is there anything else you want me to hear before someone walks in who wants the only shade of green panties I don’t carry?”
She stands up from her stool, laughing. “Just one. Scorpio was wearing a gorgeous black silk corset last night. Please tell me you have that in blue.”
I don’t—but I will by tonight. And I think I might just pay a certain club a visit to deliver it.
Chapter Two
Eli
I tinker with the bells and whistles on my electronic keyboard, happy to be back making music in a place where loud and energetic is more appreciated than fancy technique. I joined the Seattle Symphony partly because they play things by people who aren’t dead yet and partly for their less-demanding travel schedule, but they still swallow my life sometimes. Today, I’ve been spit back out, and spending the night as the keyboard guy and cello flunky for Doms on the Bottom is exactly my idea of a good time.
I nod at a couple of subs standing near the stage, clearly hoping for more than a polite smile, and go back to work. Scorpio wants to try Quint’s new ballad tonight, and that requires a little more subtlety from my keyboard than our usual loud and enthusiastic. Which is fine by me. My job is to be the condiments on the burger, adding flavor and spice and doing my best not to get in the way of the overall experience.
Which tonight is going to include the delightful pleasure of watching the toughest Dom in the club squirm. I don’t know how Scorpio found out that Quint writes music, or how she keeps digging it out of him, but she does. This one is soft and lush and obviously an ode to the woman in his life. I wink at Meghan, who’s handing out drinks behind the bar.
She scans my groupies and snickers.
I shrug. In one form or another, they’ve always been there. At least at the club, there are rules. I got tired of random sex with random strangers a long time ago, and the subs I tend to enjoy playing with generally aren’t the ones prepared to stand around and wait until I notice them.
I like spice on more than my burgers.
Jackson swings in behind his drums, setting down a bag that looks like it’s visited more continents than I have, and pulls out his sticks. “Welcome back. No cello tonight?”
I considered it, but I need to step out of that skin for a while. “After this last week, my bow feels welded to my hand. Time for a break.” The symphony is recording, and the new piece they commissioned is heavy on the low strings. Which is nothing to complain about, but it’s kept the eight of us who play cello hopping busy.
Jackson picks up a hand drum and starts a gentle, intricate beat. Not what he’ll be playing later tonight, but it’s a nice way to get the blood flowing.
I glance over at my two groupies and shake my head. They haven’t even noticed him. Jackson might be a baby Dom, but he’s got a really interesting sense of presence. One I suspect a lot of subs will regret underestimating some day. “Has Quint kicked your ass out onto the floor yet?” Most trainees pull hard against the leash that Fettered’s head trainer keeps them on, but Jackson seems content to play his drums and watch.
He gives me a shrug that manages to say nothing at all and amps up his beat. I take the hint and find a simple chord progression that matches wherever he’s headed. It feels like something that might have blown in from a village in Tibet. Which is totally not what they pay us for, but given our basic Dom predispositions, that never weighs on either of us overly much.
It also chases away my two fickle groupies. Apparently they’re not looking for condiments.
I pick out a subtle melody line that weaves into Jackson’s beat. It would sound better on the cello, but that’s not the instrument in my hands, so I work with what I’ve got. He smiles and shifts up his hands a little, adding an off-beat count that would tie an orchestra up in knots in five seconds flat. Fortunately for him, I can count to five. I grin and remind myself to have a word with Quint. Our drummer is feeling feisty tonight, and it’s maybe time he got a taste of what that can earn him with the right sub.
I spy our other two band members, both in a small group over near the front door talking to Ari. The crowd is thin yet, and we won’t truly get rolling for a while, but something’s going on over there. Scorpio looks pissed and a little embarrassed, Harlan is acting like he expects his sub to burst into flames any minute, and Quint’s looking thoroughly amused.
I fiddle a little more with my melody line, but my eyes keep getting pulled back to the front door. Jackson simplifies his beat, so clearly he’s noticed the drama in progress too. Sitting up on this stage is never boring, especially if part of your kink is liking to watch.
Ari blows a kiss at Scorpio and heads out into the foyer to greet someone. Jackson sounds a hand roll on his drum, which makes me laugh. I hope whoever’s about to walk in the door is expecting to make an entrance.
Heads turn in the lounge. Kinky people read energy better than anyone, and all the oxygen in this room just got sucked toward the front door. Ari comes back through the swinging divider that separates the foyer from the lounge and turns to hold it open for the new arrival.
I see the sexy red dress first. Classy, vivid, and glued to the curves wearing it. And then I see her face.
I make it to my feet, but it’s a close thing. I feel like a newborn colt trying to stand, and the wires and legs of my keyboard aren’t helping at all. Especially since I can’t take my eyes off the woman in red.
She’s grown up a lot, but I would know those eyes anywhere.
Of all the sex clubs in all the world—Chloe Virdani just walked into mine.
Chapter Three
Chloe
I expected many things tonight. He wasn’t one of them. I can feel the surprise moving up my skin, setting every nerve ending on fire.
Ari slides a hand under my elbow and guides me forward, out of the doorway and toward the stage that holds a man I haven’t seen in twenty-six years. I can feel my breath leaking out of me in stuttering, shaky spurts, and I try to pull myself together. It’s a losing battle. Twenty-six years hasn’t dimmed what he does to me at all.
“I take it you know each
other,” says Ari quietly.
That’s far too weak a word. “We did, once. It’s been a long time.”
She doesn’t say anything else. She just delivers me to the edge of the stage and melts backward into the crowd.
Eli hops down, a move that reminds me of the boy I once knew so well. He comes to a stop in front of me, his eyes the same soft, piercing gray they were at sixteen, and touches his fingers to my cheek. “Chloe?”
He asks it like it’s a question, but we both know it isn’t. My entire being sinks into his fingers. I reach up, taking his hand in mine. “Eli.” I glance at the stage behind him, at the keyboard he just left. “You did it. You’re still playing music.” I’m careful with my words. We were once two army brats, and he was the one with the parents who didn’t understand the calling inside him at all. Maybe this is just a gig he does once in a while. It doesn’t feel that way, though. He feels like a man who knows what it is to live his dream.
The dream that once fluttered wildly in the chest of a boy and that I blew on with every bit of strength in my sixteen-year-old soul. Even when it meant I had to say goodbye.
He swallows, like he can remember that boy just as well as I can. “Yes. This is a side thing I do for fun. I’m first cello in the Seattle Symphony when I’m not here.”
I can feel the tears rising. “You picked the cello?” He played four instruments well enough to be accepted to Juilliard, but the cello was my favorite, the one that spoke to the very depths of my teenage self.
He tips his forehead into mine. “Yes. I didn’t bring it tonight. I didn’t know you were coming.”
I feel my laughter, shaky and jittery and real. “I didn’t know until earlier today either.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I can feel the boy—and the man he’s become. The one who has all the boy’s passion and none of his doubts. The arms around me are strong and certain and inviting something far less tentative than the Eli I once knew.
I exhale and lean into the hug. I feel his hand slide up my back, into my hair. Holding me against his chest. His breath teases the top of my head. “I really missed you, shorty.”
I laugh. Even in spiky heels, he’s still got more height on me than he once did. “That nickname is never going away, huh?”