by Lilia Moon
Scorpio grins. “She says there are vegetables in these ones.”
I give her one of the looks I save for delivery guys who think they get to cop a feel as their tip. “I wasn’t born yesterday, sister.”
“It’s true.” Eli breaks off half my cookie and somehow manages to get it to his mouth before I can stop him. “Pumpkin.”
They are kind of orange. I eat the rest of the meager morsels he left me, because chocolate chips as big as your head trump vegetables any day of the week.
Scorpio breaks the last cookie in half and hands it to me. Sub solidarity. “She’s testing recipes to get veggies into Evie. She says if we’ll eat them, a picky two year old probably will too.”
Evie has more will than any three Dommes I know. Her gramma, however, is no slouch, no matter what end of the teeter totter she might ride in the bedroom. “We’re happy to sacrifice for science.”
“You might save a few long enough for all of us to get a chance to sacrifice.” Jackson’s voice from the door is dry and amused and paired with a pouty face that puts Evie’s to shame.
Scorpio walks over and brushes crumbs off his chin. “You take time to diddle your sub in the hallway, you lose.”
I keep my eyes on my Dom, and I know everyone else on the stage is too. He’s seen the teasing, but he’s never been its target before. Some people don’t hear the love at first, and if he’s one of them, we’ll need to walk it back.
Never mind the small issue of my ass currently in some other Dom’s lap. I stay there. Some limits need to be felt in your bones before you know what they are. I might as well give his bones a chance to vote.
Jackson looks at Eli and grins. “Your keyboarding goes to shit when you have a sub in your lap. You might want to do something about that.”
I grin and pop up. “I’ve never sat on a drummer before.”
He tries, for one impossible second, to keep a straight face. Then he loses it, along with the rest of the band.
Eli swats my ass, which is well deserved, but he’s far too amused to have good aim.
Quint just rolls his eyes. I stay out of arm’s reach—I know he wouldn’t miss.
Jackson picks up a drumstick and taps it on the inside of his forearm, a thoughtful look on his face. I back out of his reach too, because I’m not a sub who needs a lot of hints to know where my Dom’s thoughts are going. “I have paperwork to do. And gear closets to organize.”
Scorpio snorts. Quietly. She won’t throw me under the bus, and if I’m really lucky, she’ll keep the guy who wants to play rat-a-tat-tat on my ass busy enough that he doesn’t come up with any more bright ideas before I manage to escape.
Jackson just smiles serenely. “It’s good to know where I can find you.”
Yikes. I make a mental note to stay really far away from the gear closets. Or to organize the cock-torture cupboard—it’s excellent Dom repellent. “Leaving. Now.”
I hear the high-five behind me and Eli’s chuckle. “Nice Dom voice there, Jackson.”
Scorpio growls at them all. “Focus? Please?”
I keep walking. And I grin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jackson
Having a woman with no underwear available round the clock is amazing. It’s also work. Not because I mind touching Ari—that’s about the last thing on Earth I’m ever going to complain about. But doing it in a way that keeps her off balance is trickier than I thought when I waved her lacy boy shorts around in my living room and casually tossed us into a week of serious immersion.
Immersion for me, at least. I have no idea what’s going on in that head of hers when I’m not around, and so far there aren’t a whole lot of people willing to rat her out.
Which means I forgot Quint’s first rule and now I get to fry in the pan of not-simple.
I look down at the bag in my hand and walk into the yoga studio. I’m well aware this next thing I have planned will be pushing the limits we set, and it’s going to be mostly up to Ari to make sure we don’t scare any innocents. But I’m discovering one of the core truths of being a Dom. There’s nothing quite as tempting as an inventive idea.
Jasmin looks up at me from behind the reception desk. “Hey, Jackson. I didn’t know you were playing today.”
Not the drums. “Just dropping by to pick up a couple of things.”
Her attention is already dimming, shifting to the next cute guy walking in the door. “Sure thing.”
Secure, this place isn’t. I settle myself into a quiet corner to wait. Hopefully Ari won’t pick this morning to sleep in.
About ten minutes before class starts, the door opens and she dashes inside, chased by a stiff wind off the lake. “Hey, Jasmin. Did you try that cookie recipe?”
The receptionist feigns a dead faint off her stool. “I’m going to get so much sex for those, girlfriend. My guy was ready to go down on me for a week.”
This will teach me to hang out in shadowy corners. I step out far enough for Ari to see me and crook my finger before I learn anything else about what sexual favors Jasmin’s guy is willing to exchange for baked goods. Which is probably a really weird position to take given what I have in my bag right now, but I never promised to be an intellectually consistent Dom.
Ari’s eyebrows go up as she spies me, but that’s all the reaction I get as she scans her card for the class and strips off her wet outer layers, hanging them on a hook in the forest of raincoats in the studio’s foyer.
I let her take her time. All procrastinating will do is make her late for class, and it’s fun to let her tangle herself up in her own rope.
I make a mental note to text Matteo about getting some rope lessons.
Ari ambles my way, just fast enough to keep a scowl off my face. “Fancy meeting you here, Sir. Are you drumming for my class?”
I take her hand silently and lead her into the skinny hallway that runs down the side of the studio. We pass a small kitchen and bathroom and arrive at a curtained-off room the owner uses for massage treatments.
I put a hand on Ari’s back and push her gently into the dim, closing the curtain behind us. It has a polite message on the other side about treatment in progress, just in case anyone happens to wander back this way. It might even provide decent cover for a moan or two.
I give my eyes a moment to adjust to the shadows. I can make out the outlines of the massage table and the other trappings in the room, so I don’t light the candle I left here as backup. Not quite a blindfold, but I’m going for a similar effect.
My sub is watching me, still and calm and ready. I haven’t pushed her off-balance yet.
I step in close behind her and run my hands down her arms, collecting her wrists and bringing them behind her back. I loop the fabric in my hands around them several times. It’s stretchy as heck, which makes for a good yoga headband and a crappy restraint, but I only need it to work for a few minutes. I run my hands down her arms again and take a step back. “Ass bare and bend over the table, legs spread as far as you can with your pants around your knees.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ari
Shit. I wince, because this scene just ran into a logistics problem and I don’t want to have to say so. He’s surprised me again, and even though I didn’t drink nearly enough coffee to be ready for him this morning, this is really hot. I can hear the other people in my class slowly moving around the studio, rolling out mats, collecting blocks, assembling a blanket nest for opening meditation.
Orgasms are excellent meditation.
A low growl by my ear. “Now, beautiful.”
Crap. The logistics issue hasn’t miraculously resolved itself, and I’m pretty sure I can’t shake my pants down my ass with hip wiggles alone. I brush my restrained wrists in the general direction of my waistband, hoping he’ll twig to the problem. Pants down needed to happen before restraints, which doesn’t sound like a big thing to fix, but baby Doms are really sensitive to screwing up and this one specifically asked me not to act like his trainer.<
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I can feel his attention on me, and his creeping doubt, wondering why I’m not following his really simple instructions.
Which I can’t let grow and fester, because the rest of what he’s set up here is totally in Ari’s happy zone, and the last thing I want him to do is stop accosting me in semi-public places. I look over my shoulder and make eye contact so that he has something to fuss at me for if he needs to. “I might need your help with my pants, Sir.” I watch his body language carefully. I need to know if I’ve just popped his ego balloon, because deflated Doms are high on my list of dangerous substances.
He gives me a quizzical look and glances down at my pants. At my bound wrists. I see when he gets it. The stillness. The small head shake. The gusty sigh.
Then he looks back up at me and the laughter in his eyes does something really important to my insides. “Not that bendy, huh?” I feel my pants starting to slide down my hips, aided by his warm hands.
Thank fuck. I wiggle a little, because he’s going way too damn slowly and I’m pretty sure he won’t spank my ass in here.
He chuckles in my ear. “Keep that up and I’m sending you in there wearing nipple clamps and weights.”
Those would make downward dog interesting. I hold still, although I’m really pleased he’s starting to think about toys that aren’t on the beginner shelf. Scenes, too. He’s pulled three of these feel-me-up stunts in the last twenty-four hours, and this one’s a big step up from copping a feel in the storage closet during pink-drink-mix inventory. A big step up from the crop cupboard, too. Public makes everything way bigger, especially when obviously public is a hard limit. This is the first time he’s tried to skate on the edges with me, and I can feel what it’s doing to both of us.
I bend over as soon as my pants hit my knees, letting my face sink into the soft pad on the massage table. It’s heated, which is a nice touch, maybe even an intentional one. I spread my legs, slowly enough to get his attention. I want him looking, even if this room is too dark for him to properly see the effect he’s having on me.
His low groan tells me he’s got other ways of knowing.
His fingers slide into my pussy, stroking the really clear evidence of just how aroused I am. I clamp my lips together. If this is when I finally get my hard orgasm, staying quiet is going to be a really big job.
His fingers play in my wetness a moment longer, and then I hear the unmistakable squelch of a lube bottle. I blink, because he totally doesn’t need lube for where I thought he was going with this.
His hand slides up my ass crack, which comes bearing two more surprises. First, he’s not tentative at all. And whatever he’s spreading, it’s not lube. Oil, maybe—which makes my trainer head rear up. Oil and most toys are a bad mix.
His hand settles on my shoulder. “Not a fuck-up. I promise.”
Shit. Okay. He needs me to trust him, and really, the worst thing that can happen here is a butt plug that can’t be re-used.
Butt plug. My sub brain finally catches up with what’s going on. The evil man is going to send me off to yoga class with a plug up my ass. Which is a Dom cliché for a reason, and one I adore. I sigh happily and relax into the sheepskin under my cheek. I almost slept through my alarm this morning, and that would have been a real tragedy.
He chuckles and slides a finger in my ass.
I don’t need this kind of warm up, but no way am I telling him that. Whatever oil he’s using has an amazing, slick feel. Way better than lube.
His free hand moves in to hold my butt cheeks open, and I feel the cool, seeking presence of a plug. Not silicone, it’s too cold for that. I relax under his hands. Nothing good has ever come from fighting the intrusion of objects into my ass, and he’s finally stepping into one of my favorite kinds of play, so I want to make it as good for both of us as I possibly can.
He slides the plug in slowly, and I’m surprised by how big it is. Brave Dom. I can take it, but it’s got enough girth to make the stretch fairly uncomfortable, and he’s not being tentative about pushing it inside me at all. With some Doms I might suspect ignorance, but not this guy. I know who trained him on butt plugs, and Jimmy has a clear policy. If the sub isn’t squirming, the plug isn’t big enough.
A push that has me wincing, and then the plug is in place and my pants are sliding back up my ass.
I can feel my pouty face. I don’t bother hiding it, because I assume the dark will do that for me, but I’m sad that he’s ending it here.
He slides off whatever he’s used to restrain my wrists and gives my covered ass a gentle pat. “Opening meditation has started. I set you up a mat and bolster in the back row.”
My first thought—aww, that’s really sweet.
Until my brain catches up with the vague something in his tone that isn’t sweet at all.
Oh, shit.
Chapter Thirty
Jackson
She’s gorgeous, and easily the wiggliest meditator in the history of meditation. Also possibly the only one with a vibrator up her butt.
I grin and turn the thumb dial that will end the torture. For a while. I managed to find myself a good line of sight from the shadows, through the side door Athena kindly left open. This wouldn’t be nearly so much fun if I couldn’t see the results of tormenting my sub.
My sub.
Those two words send shivers up my backbone. Ari is my sub. For five more days. Which might worry some people, but it took me less than five hours to fall in love with the beat of a drum and spend the next six years of my life learning to be its worthy partner. If Ari and I are right, we’ll know. A week isn’t long enough to get there, but it’s more than enough time to feel the rhythms of what could be.
Not that I’m taking much convincing.
I watch her, sitting tall on a bright-red bolster, legs crossed and hands calm on her knees, and marvel at the lithe, beautiful strength of her. I don’t know if she was born knowing who she wanted to be, but her feet have been on a voyage of intense self-discovery longer than anyone I know, and the person she is shows the length and depth and breadth of her journey.
Kengali’s village has a saying. “Blown clean by the hot winds.” That’s how you get wise. How you lose the weak parts of yourself and burn off the parts that don’t belong and learn to keep precious water safely sequestered inside you.
It wasn’t a saying that made a whole lot of sense until I spent my first summer in that valley.
Ari knows how to hold on to the water that matters.
Athena moves the class into some gentle stretches. This is mostly yin yoga, but it’s hard to relax until you’ve gotten your limbs out of the shape of an office chair, and most of the people in here don’t bend in all the ways the human body has been meant to go for thousands of years.
I rock my hips in the shadows, letting my energy move in the easy, cross-legged pose my body still assumes without thinking. Gambia didn’t run to a lot of chairs. I wait for Ari to flow through a simple forward bend into a lunge. A squirmy one, so I stick to nice Dom territory and leave the vibrator off.
I can’t resist once she hits downward dog, though. Ass in the air, heels down, hair flowing down to hide her face from most of the room. I turn the dial just enough to start the vibrator rumbling. I can’t hear it—I picked the quietest one I could find, and Jimmy has the largest collection in the known universe to choose from. Fortunately, he likes to pass on his knowledge.
I’m under strict instructions not to take it past level three. Given how much the thing jumped in my hand on level two, it’s not hard to imagine why.
Or why Jimmy nearly died laughing when I commented that it looked like a good choice for a beginner. It looks like sexy modern art, but apparently the last time he used its twin on Doxy, she refused to feed him for three days.
I inch the dial up a little more. It’s probably a good thing I know how to cook for myself.
Ari’s ass twitches, but she manages to flow into something resembling plank pose, and then into cobra. I catch
the strange look Athena gives her, which tells me I’ve disrupted this particular flow quite enough. Athena probably doesn’t strictly qualify as innocent, but I’m aiming to brush against the rules here, not dent them noticeably.
The playlist suddenly softens, the beat heading for something a lot more conducive to napping than to hatha flow. The class seems to take that as their cue, reaching for the mountains of bolsters and pillows and blankets that the average office-chair dweller needs to get comfortable lying on the ground. Ari’s collection is fairly minimalist, but her work doesn’t involve a whole lot of being trapped in one position all day, and when it does, Milo is the king of kinky ergonomics.
More wiggling and groaning as people get settled, and the room slowly settles into a lake of calm. A very quiet lake. I make a face. I was hoping the music was going to provide some cover for the continued torment of my sub, but I can practically hear Ari breathing.
Ah, well. Jimmy told me not to be a wimp. He said that’s not what Ari needs, and he’s right. She’s done her time in the hot wind. A Dom who can’t stand there with her should just pack up his drums and go home.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ari
I can’t believe I thought he was cute.
Evil Dom. He’s given up on making my ass vibrate forever, which was annoying enough. Now he’s pulsing it. A few seconds here, a quick burst there. Random, mindfucking torture, and there’s no way he doesn’t know it.
I glare in the general direction of the open door, because I’m sure he can see me and that’s the only place he could be, even if I can’t spot him in the shadows. This place has way too many dark corners. We do that on purpose at Fettered, but here I’m pretty sure it’s just the result of a lack of imagination.