by Lilia Moon
He winces. “That must have sucked.”
Nobody back then understood just how much. “It did.” My hand grips my water glass too tightly. “We’re old enough that the Internet didn’t exist yet. We wrote letters for a while, but she asked for them to stop, because she’s always been the brave one. They hurt too much. I felt like a hole ripped open inside me every time I got one.”
I huff out a breath and try to lighten things up a little. “We were kids. It was deep and intense, and then it was over.”
Quint’s wearing a look that says he’s a softy, way down deep—and he doesn’t believe me at all. “She was your first?”
The photos I held this morning put me right back inside that gangly teenager. “She was my first everything.”
His lips curl up into a faint smile. “Then your life just got really interesting.”
That’s one way to put it. “We’re not the people we were twenty-six years ago.”
He nods quietly. “You got kinky. And she runs a lingerie store for vanilla people.”
I don’t say anything. Sometimes it’s the pauses in the music that have the most power.
Quint wipes all the way down to the end of his bar and back. “She might be able to go there.”
I don’t need to ask him where. “Maybe. Her brain would be willing to try, I think. But I kissed her last night, and it didn’t feel like kissing a sub.”
Quint grunts. “A Domme, maybe? She’s got the self-assurance.”
I make a face. “That would suck for me.”
He laughs. “You ever been the submissive?”
I shake my head. “No, you?”
He laughs again. “Hell, no. Do you know what kinds of evil torture devices they have for cocks?”
I do know. Enough to be very sure it’s not my space. “If Chloe’s a Domme, Ari will drag it out of her.” Especially if the two of them are going to be hot and heavy on the lingerie project together. Ari’s not good at leaving kinky stones unturned.
“You’ll know first,” says Quint quietly.
I reach for my cello. In the light of day, minus the stars and the romance and the hot allure of Chloe in my arms, I’m afraid I already know. But I promised us time last night, even if she didn’t hear me say it, and I’m going to make sure we get it. Which means I need out of the fingers-on-chalkboard happening in my head. And since I apparently don’t get to hermit with my cello, I need a distraction. “Want to work on your ballad?”
He shoots me a suspicious look.
I unwrap the red velvet that keeps my instrument warm at night. “I was thinking it could use a cello line under the guitar. Or maybe just the cello and you singing.” If I’m right, it will be a really interesting addition to my solo album.
And a reminder that sometimes unlikely love actually works.
Chapter Twelve
Chloe
I grin at Sam and Ari, who are sitting on the low rock wall that rings Fettered’s yard and waving at me. Sam’s dressed in something that only three people in Seattle would be brave enough to wear outside in daylight. I scan it with a professional eye as I approach. He might be a scantily clad harem boy, but whoever made his outfit does quality work.
I kiss his cheek, because it only took ten seconds last night to know he’s one of my people. “Nice costume. Who made it?”
Ari laughs. “Hold that thought and let’s go around back. Harlan and Emily are waiting, and they’ll be mad if we don’t share you.”
She leads the way to a small side garden, set up with a beautiful wrought-iron table that looks like Emily’s had her way with it. I smile at the wedding planner who has sent more referrals my way than I can count. She’s currently sitting at the table sipping tea in a bright sundress, looking like the last person I’d expect to find at a sex club.
One of last night’s happiest surprises. I smile and take the vacant chair beside Harlan. Emily pours me a cup of tea.
The big Dom scowls and picks up a cookie. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek too. “Because you’re my best customer and I want to keep it that way.”
He turns bright red, to the delight of everyone else at the table.
Sam snickers and winks at me. “I knew I liked you.” He breaks a cookie and hands me half. “So what do you need to know to make us pretty, sexy things, sugar?”
I’ve done a lot of thinking about that. Insomnia is good for business planning. “I’d like to work on a list of basic design principles—elements that you think are essential to everything, and options you’d like to have. In particular, I’d like to know where vanilla lingerie is letting you down.”
Harlan scowls. “It doesn’t come off.”
Emily pats his arm. “It does if you take it off before you tie your sub up, sweetie.”
He growls at a tea cup that doesn’t look at all scared of him. “I like her tied up.”
A clear and obvious need, and one he’s never said a word about in all his trips to my store. I relax. This is just like theater costumes. They know what they need—I just have to ask the right questions. I pull several simple pairs of lacy underwear out of my bag and lay them out on the table. “Let’s say we’re trying to modify something simple like this. Ties on the side? Hooks?”
Harlan’s scowl vanishes, replaced with interest instead. “Ties can be dangerous. Dangly bits don’t play nicely with impact toys.”
Emily leans forward, fingering the lace. “Ties could be uncomfortable, too. What about a bra fastener, but on the sides?” She grins at Harlan. “Doms are good at undoing those one-handed.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree.
I jot down ideas on my tablet and pull out a lace-up corset and lay that on the table. “Sticking with the theme of a restrained sub for a minute, what would you want to be able to undo on this?” I put my wrists together. “I saw a couple of restraint positions last night, so I’m already thinking about how to make the straps detachable.”
Sam picks up the corset, holds it up in front of his chest, and tosses it to Ari. “Not my size. Why don’t you put it on and we can show her some of the positions we end up in?”
Ari promptly peels off her top and bra, talking as she goes. “It would be great if the straps could detach front or back. There are lots of restraint options where one or the other isn’t easy to reach.”
I’m managing to wrap my head around a serious business conversation with half-dressed people. Almost. Even theater people aren’t quite this casual about their naked bits. “Can you show me a couple of tangible examples?”
Harlan reaches out, grabs Ari’s wrists, and pulls her over his lap. Which, even corset half on, nicely demonstrates the strap-access issues they were just talking about.
Ari laughs and wiggles her ass in the air.
Emily’s cheeks turn pink as she smiles at me. “That would be the one I’m usually in.”
I’ve known Emily for over ten years, mostly in a casual professional sense. In one sentence, she’s just invited me to join something deeper and a lot more fun. “Do you want me to make your underwear easier or harder to take off?”
She laughs. “I’m the sub. I don’t get a vote.”
I may not know her that well, but she has an impeccable reputation, and you don’t get one of those in wedding circles in this town if you let anyone push you around. Which means she’s choosing this.
“Mmm.” Sam’s hum is low and fascinated, and it’s me he’s looking at. “There’s a question running around in that head of yours, sugar. Out with it.”
There is, and the very self-confident people at this table would be the right ones to ask. “I’m not sure it’s relevant to designing lingerie.”
He just snorts and takes a sip of his neon-pink drink.
Ari grins. “It’s pretty hard for a newbie to cross lines in this place just by asking questions.” She runs her hands down the corset she’s wearing. “And we want you to get really comfortable and stay, bec
ause this is the nicest thing I’ve ever worn and I want more of them.”
I smile at her, because she’s irresistible. “You can keep that one. I’ll want all of you to test-drive samples for me, so if I could leave here with some measurements, that will keep my designers from beating on me.”
Sam laughs and winks. “Maybe you should let them—you might like it.”
I roll my eyes at him and try not to let my cheeks turn as pink as Emily’s.
Harlan is watching me with eyes that have zero sexual intent but are peering into my soul anyhow. “You want to know why Emily’s a sub. Why she’s okay with not getting a vote.”
I can feel my eyes popping.
Sam pats my arm. “The best Doms like us to think they’re psychic, but really, Harlan’s just good at watching and listening. And we were all there last night when you made Eli fumble his notes. You have history with a man who’s a Dom now. Of course you’re curious.”
Harlan growls. “You’re supposed to ask before you strip somebody naked, Sam.”
I give the big Dom a stern look, the one I keep on reserve for mothers who step too far out of line. “I’m more than capable of handling a friend saying what we all know is true.”
His eyebrows fly up.
Ari snickers. “I do like you, Chloe.”
Sam cuddles into my side. “Are you going to save me from the big, bad Dom, sweetie?”
I can feel my abrupt stillness. I’m suddenly in a play with lines I don’t know, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Emily shakes her head. “Stop messing with her, you guys.” She looks at me, her eyes full of empathy. “It’s hard to be new here. They’re doing a terrible job of communicating, but they’re doing what they do with all new people and giving you some easy, tangible ways to see if various aspects of kink appeal to you.”
Someone is finally making sense. I flash her a grateful smile.
She smiles back. “You don’t have an obvious submissive vibe, but some people don’t.”
I raise an eyebrow at Sam and Ari. They’re the least obviously submissive people I can imagine.
Emily laughs. “Exactly.”
I nod. “So I don’t look like a submissive, but Harlan growled at me to see what would happen?”
“Growled at you and chastised Sam.” Ari leans forward. “And you calmly told him to quit interfering. Which is what a Domme would do—a female top. Or a switch like me when we’re choosing to play that role.”
I’m a little annoyed at being a rat in a maze without them asking first, but I’m also fascinated. “What would a submissive have done?”
Harlan growls again and Ari’s entire body language shifts. She orients to face him, eyes down, every line of her body expressing concern and compliance.
I can feel my body reacting. No. Just no.
Harlan growls again, this time at Emily. I can see her surprise. She doesn’t change her posture like Ari did, but her entire attention focuses on the big man with the tats.
He smiles and touches her cheek. “Sorry, Em. Sometimes I forget how new you are.”
Then he growls at Sam, and this time I can feel it, low and heavy, all the way down my spine.
Sam grins, scoots over, and plunks down in his lap, curling up like a sexy kitten. “I’m sorry, Sir. I think I need to be punished.”
Harlan rolls his eyes. “Off my lap, Sam.”
Sam cuddles in tighter. “But it’s my warm, happy place, Sir.”
“Off, or I’ll tell Leo to lock up all your costumes for a decade.”
I put the pieces together as Sam nonchalantly hops off and takes a seat back on his chair. I know theater when I see it. Other than Emily, who got surprised into being mostly herself, I just watched a very nice performance put on for my benefit. “You’re telling me that submission doesn’t look the same for everybody.”
Ari beams at me. “Exactly.”
“Eli already tried this with you.” Harlan doesn’t frame it as a question.
I nod. “I asked him to, but I don’t think we got any answers.”
He looks unconcerned. “Sometimes it takes a while to know. You might be a sub, or a Domme, or a switch like Ari here, or none of the above.”
Not all of those possibilities fit with who Eli has become.
Emily leans forward, her eyes full of sympathy. “Give it time. You’re doing a really good thing by being curious. You don’t need to rush it.”
I wish I agreed with her, but I can hear the low, haunting notes of a cello flowing out the open window behind her. It’s calling to me—and the music is already building its crescendo.
Chapter Thirteen
Eli
I look up from my fingerboard as I draw the bow through the last notes, somehow not surprised to see Chloe standing there. It feels like there are threads running through the ether, pulling us together.
Giving us a chance—or at least the haunting facsimile of one.
Quint’s voice dies off along with the echoes of what I’ve tried to do to his ballad. He leans on his stool and looks Chloe up and down. Measuring. Doing his intake thing. Trying to figure out if the woman who’s fallen back into my life might fit in my lifestyle.
Which I find surprisingly annoying.
Apparently, so does Chloe. She raises a wry eyebrow. “Your people outside already tried that. Nobody has any answers.”
Quint shrugs and pushes off his stool. “You’re not scared of me. That’s one answer.”
Chloe’s other eyebrow goes up. “Is that a requirement? That submissives are scared?”
“No.” My tone is shorter than I mean it to be.
Quint snorts and gives me the same scan he just gave Chloe. “I like what you did to my song. I’m not doing it on your album. And now I’ll be taking my not-scary ass to the office to deal with paperwork.”
I make a face as he walks off. I was hoping he hadn’t figured out the album angle yet.
“He wrote what you were playing?” Chloe takes a seat on the stool he just vacated. “It was lovely. Gravelly and captivating.”
She’s dressed simply today, in a sapphire-blue tank top and gray capris that hug her curves and make my hands want to cop a feel. It’s probably a good thing they’re currently full of very expensive instrument. “Thank you. It suits the cello really well. Now I just need to convince him to sing it in the recording studio.”
She slides out of her sandals and somehow manages to pull her feet up and cross her legs. A very sexy, classy Buddha on a stool. “I was outside talking to some of the club members about the new lingerie line.”
I saw Sam and Ari conspiring earlier. No way any conversation with those two was boring. “Was it productive?”
She grins. “Very educational.”
I’m afraid to ask, but given the exchange with Quint, it feels like I need to. “They’re all trying to figure out if you’re kinky.”
She nods. “They’re your friends, and they’d like to see the puzzle pieces of your life fit together nicely.”
That’s probably a very kind way of describing what happened out there. “I don’t need you to be a puzzle piece, shorty.”
She chuckles, low and rich, and it warms places inside me that even music can’t reach. “I know that. I have no intentions of being reshaped in ways I’m not happy with, no matter how appealing the offer.”
I lean my cello against the wall in a casual move that would turn several faces in my orchestra white, and walk over to stand behind her stool. I run my fingers under her hair, lifting it from her neck, letting it waterfall over my hands. “There are more colors in your hair than there used to be.”
She laughs. “I have a very nice man at a salon downtown who puts them there.”
I steeple my fingers at the top of her head and draw them down her scalp, massaging slowly.
She moans quietly. “I remember the first time you did that.”
I do too. We’d been doing our math homework and her head hurt. “I sat behind you on y
our bed and did this until your headache went away.” It was the first time I’d truly touched her, other than the hesitant, semi-accidental contact of two teenagers not yet sure who they were for each other. “Then you curled up in my arms and slept until your mom called us for dinner.”
Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I ate three plates full, drunk on the feel of Chloe asleep in my arms.
She leans back, resting her head on my chest. “I have something I want to say to you.”
“Good.” I keep running my fingers through her hair. “I’m listening.”
“It feels like there could be something between us. In the now, not just the echoes of history.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Yes.”
“I know that kink is a big part of who you are, and I have no idea if it has any part in my life. That’s a pretty big, flammable unknown.”
Even melted against me with my fingers massaging her scalp, I can feel how utterly solid she is. How much strength there is in her for us to lean on.
At sixteen, I just leaned. The Eli of now intends to appreciate her strength a whole lot more—and to offer a solid place for her to lean too. “Kink isn’t everything.”
In one quick, fluid move, she spins around to face me on her stool. “Exactly. I want to explore this, but I don’t want that to be the fence I have to get over first. I’m willing to come to the club and to learn and to ask myself some questions and let other people ask them too. But while I do that, I want Chloe-and-Eli time.”
That’s what we called it. The quiet, tender ache in my belly remembers. Some of the sweetest hours of my life were Chloe-and-Eli time. “The grown-up version.”
She’s grinning at me. “Yes. With wine and nice clothes and interesting conversation.”
I cup her face in my hands. “Can these dates include some hot vanilla petting?”
She laughs, and it washes over me, setting those deep places to vibrating again. “Yes. They can have some kinky petting too, but I don’t want to feel like a lab rat.”