by Lilia Moon
She lifts up her first piece and takes a tiny nibble off the end, humming happily.
I take a bite of cheese so hot it requires the burnt-tongue-sucking-air dance, but I don’t let that chase away the thing I want to say next. “How am I doing on escaping your baby Dom box?”
She closes her eyes over her slice of pizza. “You know about that, do you?”
I nod. “You have good reasons.”
She takes a bigger bite and does the same dance I just did. “Some of my friends think I’ve used those reasons to build walls I don’t need.”
There are more people holding a container for us than I ever would have imagined. “I know there are still big question marks about whether I can be who you need. I figure it’s okay to enjoy what happened today and to celebrate it and to follow it up with some really good pizza. It doesn’t mean all the doubts need to be gone. I want you to know that.”
She smiles. “And you want to know how big they still are.”
I borrow one of her lines. “Duh.”
She laughs, but it doesn’t take her long to sober. “You get it. Thank you.” She takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand with her pizza-greasy fingers. “I wish the doubts weren’t there. I’m working on them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We’re working on them.”
She makes a face, but I see the gratitude that sparks in her eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
I chuckle and lean in, pitching my voice a lot lower than she just did. “I had no idea you were so terrible at the whole vanilla thing.”
Her ears turn as pink as the lovely couple who ran away a while ago to have elder sex. “I’m sorry. I’m usually a lot better at it, but not when my brain has been recently scrambled. Public aftercare might need to be a hard limit.”
Not a chance. “Ari, this is Seattle. I’m pretty sure you could stand up and announce that I spank you every morning before breakfast and most people would just grin and ask how hard.”
She raises an intrigued eyebrow. “Any chance of that?”
I manage not to spill the water I just picked up. “Behave. Eat your pizza. I’ll consider it.”
She grins at me and chomps a huge bite out of a slice as big as her head. Apparently someone in the back room knows that Ari’s pizza shouldn’t be divided into ladylike wedges.
Mine, on the other hand, was apparently fair game. I pick up a second slice, determined to earn my way to pizza that gets delivered in monster quarter-pie slices. And to a more solid place inside the walls of the woman across the table. But I meant what I said. None of that needs to happen tonight.
Ari makes a strange squawking sound, mouth full of pizza. Her face morphs through a run of emotions, most of them infused with pleasure. She’s not looking at me anymore, so I turn around to see what’s caught her attention.
It doesn’t take long to figure out. Quint is standing just inside the door with Meghan at his side—and half of Fettered is crowding in behind them.
Chapter Forty-Two
Ari
I look around at all the peeps who matter to me, and my heart swells with the kind of happiness only my kinky tribe can deliver, even though they’re not really here to deliver it for me. I know what this is, even if Jackson doesn’t. This is his impromptu graduation party. He made me scream and then he turned me into a sub with no bones, and either of those would have gotten him booted out of the club’s baby Dom ranks with flying colors.
I grin at Jackson. “Let me guess—you mentioned to somebody that we were going for pizza.”
He raises an eyebrow at Quint. “Yeah.”
Damn. Quint’s never the guy leading the graduations. He likes to hold on to his trainees for as long as humanly possible.
Quint flips a chair around and takes a seat next to Jackson. “If you didn’t order five thousand pizzas, we should fix that.”
That won’t be a problem—Mia’s on duty, and she’s one of ours. I raise my hand, but she’s already headed our way with the kind of grin on her face that says she’s been filled in on why the whole club decided to take a spontaneous pizza break. We’re about to take the place over, but this late on a Tuesday night, the other customers are already emptying out and our crew just means really good tips for the staff who choose to stick around.
Damon intercepts her, which means the boss man’s buying. Mia nods and walks off with Scorpio and Mattie right behind her. Between those three, they’ll make sure all the vanilla people are cleared out of harm’s way in a jiffy and the only people sent to take our orders can handle overhearing jokes about anal plugs. Which likely means some of the members will get conscripted, but a decent number of them have worked here at some point, including me, so it’s all good.
Jackson leans back, looking a little dazed. Chloe bends down and kisses his cheek. “About time you showed her your moves, hot stuff.”
Eli growls, but it’s about as effective as nicely asking kittens not to pounce.
Tank sits down next to me, pulls Eva onto his lap, and gives my Dom a look of serious respect. I have a moment to get a little worried about where this is headed, but then I see Mattie’s eyes over Jackson’s shoulder, and she’s not looking at my slightly overwhelmed Dom. Her eyes on are me. Checking in.
Good. Not everyone thinks this is a done deal. That kind of pressure we don’t need. We have a damn good start, but I know all about the deep twists and turns that live inside me. He’s earned the right to try to navigate them, but Mattie’s eyes say that she knows the same thing I do—even with the chops he’s just put on display, there’s walking left to do.
I swallow hard because I need to hold on to my brave long enough to ask him to do it—and all I really want to do right now is go plop myself in his lap and hold on for the rest of forever.
Eva’s fingers wrap around mine, wordlessly saying what Mattie’s eyes just did. And more. I can feel how darn happy she is for me. It’s flowing out of her like an electric current.
Tank’s hand strokes her hair, and for the first time in a long time, that kind of simple affection doesn’t send a twinge through my ribs. She leans in and kisses my cheek. “He’s a really good guy. I approve.”
I snicker, because what she really means is that Jackson just landed at the top of her list of Doms to prank. “Be gentle with him. He’s still learning the ropes.”
Tank snorts. “Like that will stop her.”
We all know it does. She’s been as gentle with Tank as I’ve ever seen her. And as bratty, but those things kind of need to travel together. Balance.
I feel a hand seeking my thigh under the table. The migratory forces of a few dozen people joining us have pushed Jackson’s chair tight against mine. I nestle into his side, enjoying the simple happiness of having someone to cuddle.
This kind of someone. I’ve never lacked for people to hold me when I need it, but it’s different when the same person can hold you in a scene and also wake up after a mostly naked nap on his floor and laugh at your bed head.
He’s not wrong that I still have doubts, and I know I owe it to both of us not to bury them. But right now, snuggled into his side with what’s left of the only slice of my pizza that hasn’t been stolen yet, I’m not feeling the parts that still wobble. I’m feeling the amazing amount of steady and solid that has somehow crept in. It’s not that I didn’t notice the trickles, but I haven’t held still before now and let myself feel what they’ve become.
This is the kind of steady that nourishes all the dry, cracked places—the scared and doubting ones and the waiting ones and the lonely ones.
I take a bite of greasy pizza and smile.
I want so much more of this.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jackson
She’s being really quiet, but it doesn’t matter. The people of Fettered are more than capable of filling a pizzeria with chatter. Most of it’s even appropriate for the few vanilla people left at scattered tables, finishing their late dinners and wondering who or what the heck just invaded.
&
nbsp; A couple of them wander over with beers, and whoever’s doing informal duty on the edges deals with them. Mia is making her way through the throngs with an impressive stack of pizza platters. I didn’t see anyone take orders, so presumably they’re just feeding us an assortment of whatever the guys in the back have left. It won’t matter with this crowd.
Scorpio starts unloading Mia’s arms from the top and silver trays pass hand over hand, with a lot of funny commentary and stolen slices as they travel. Clearly they’re less hot than the ones delivered to our table, which is good planning on someone’s part.
“That’s probably all the call-in orders that didn’t get picked up.” Ari finally speaks from her spot cuddled in tight to my side.
I raise an eyebrow. “That happens?”
She nods. “Usually the staff take them home, but they all just landed in a bonanza of tips, so this will keep people from eating the table legs until round two shows up.”
I picked the pizza place, but clearly she’s no stranger here. “Let me guess. You used to throw pizza dough around in the kitchen.”
“No.” Mia rolls her eyes and drops a platter in front of us. “She stuck the first couple to the ceiling and Gloria banned her from touching the dough or the pizza paddles ever again.” She winks at Ari. “She has no idea she lost the skills of the best woman with a paddle in all of Seattle.”
It finally registers that I’ve seen Mia before. At the club. In latex. Not often, and if I recall right, she has a tiny spitfire of a partner, but it’s definitely her, minus the flaming-red hair, stilettos, and evil looks.
She pats me on the head. “Hi, cutie. Thanks for being exactly what my girl here needs.”
Harlan growls at her and steals the last tray in her arms. “Stop treating the Doms like puppies.”
She ruffles his hair instead. “I can’t help it. You’re all so darn cute.”
Scorpio snorts and ducks under Mia and into Harlan’s lap. “Poking sticks at the bears again, Mistress Mia?”
Mia grins. “You’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?”
This is not the pizzeria I thought I walked into tonight, but given that it’s the closest one to the club, I don’t know why I’m surprised.
Scorpio makes a valiant attempt to look innocent, which sends most of the people who can see her into giggling fits. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever.” Mia leans down. “Have you given any thought to coming to our next Domme night? You’d make a fabulous switch.”
From the look on Harlan’s face, this is news to him.
Scorpio rolls her eyes and leans into her guy. “I have a band to boss around. And I like the cocks I play with to still have skin on them.”
I wince, along with every other guy in earshot.
Mia just chuckles and winks. “Let me know if you change your mind. Or tell Ari. She’s gentler than I am.”
I sense the cold wind blowing through Ari before I feel it in her body. There’s not much to feel. A small catch in her breath. A tiny stiffening, barely the length of a heartbeat before she releases it. But it’s there.
There, and she’s trying to hide it.
I can also see the quick glances our way. The polite avoidance as people wait to see if I noticed. If I’m going to do anything about it.
I could, but if the last decade of my life has taught me anything, it’s about the importance of rhythm. Of the spaces between the beats. We’ve had a big day, and nothing in me wants to add to it. I’m not done climbing the mountain of Ari yet and we both know that, but I don’t need to do the rest of it tonight.
We have time, and she’s got a week of really slow, quiet orgasms coming to her before we embark on anything else.
But I can do something about the belief, crackling in this pizzeria like a live wire, that I somehow haven’t noticed that Ari’s a switch. I pull her in a little closer and kiss the top of her head. “For the record, I kind of like my cock with skin on it too. In case that matters.”
This time, the wind that blows through her is hot and jerky and she tries to hide that too. Not that it exists, but how big it is. How necessary it is to who she is. How my words matter somewhere deep—and how much they surprise her.
I do my job and stand in the hot wind right beside her, looking straight at the mountain of one of her doubts. I don’t try to tear it down. Words won’t do that, and I’m well aware I’m not ready. I have no idea what to do with this part of who she is, but I know it’s on the table. I’ve always known, and no matter what else I get wrong, and I will, I will never ask her to be less than who she is.
I try to say all that with my silence, because pizzerias and tribal gatherings are for eating, not for tearing hard things out of the soil and peering at their roots.
All I want her to know right now is that I’m steady and I see.
Chapter Forty-Four
Ari
A week. A whole freaking week.
I glare at the hook on the end of Quint’s bar as I walk by it. Scene of the crime, and my Dom is totally making me pay for all the noise I made when he strung me up and had his way with me. A whole week of gooey soft orgasms, and I have no idea when he’s going to bust me out of marshmallow prison.
I grin and pour myself a pink virgin margarita. Subs are honor-bound to complain, and I will, but all Jackson has done in the last week is cement my pussy’s love affair with his fingers. And with the slapper. And, one very inventive night, with his drumsticks. The man is frightfully good with percussion instruments, even if he’s sticking to the kind I generally think of as the kiddie bench.
Quint wasn’t wrong about all this stuff being different when your heart is involved.
Which is going to make today tricky. I have a demo to do, which is something I do several times a week and they never make me blink—but this one seems custom designed to see if Jackson will. It isn’t intentional. It’s been on the schedule for two months, and it’s a classic Ari thing to be doing, but the timing still feels loaded.
I didn’t help any by not mentioning it when I left his bed for work this morning. A conscious choice, and not the one I would usually make, but this doesn’t belong in marshmallow land and he’s not a Dom who needs to be babied. At least I hope those were my reasons. It’s possible it was just good, old-fashioned avoidance.
I reach up and touch the hook and let my eyes drift to the cuffs I wear more often than not these days. It pleases him, but that’s only a nice side effect. They please me, in some soft, gooey, deep-inside place I knew I had but didn’t know he could touch. Not like this, anyhow. Not while I still have doubts.
It’s wondrous that he can—and it’s scary as fuck.
I head back to the club’s small change room, running my fingers over the weaving of the cuffs as I walk. They need to come off today, which seems more potent and symbolic than I want it to be. I lean my forehead against the cool steel of my locker. This is part of me too. I can’t put a lid on it just because it might make my Dom uncomfortable. He said he’s watched me before, and when it came up at the pizzeria, he didn’t run.
I shake my head. I should have said something this morning. I can feel it as an act of avoidance now, and that tells me things I don’t want to know about the state of my insides. How Jackson feels about this part of me matters, maybe too much. The consequences of the gooey parts of us moving too fast for the rest to keep up.
I huff out a breath and reach into my locker for my favorite pair of latex pants. I can’t think about this now. Mistress A has an appointment to keep.
Chapter Forty-Five
Jackson
There aren’t a whole lot of things that can disrupt my drumming. Watching my sub walk into the lounge in shiny black leather from breasts to toes is absolutely one of them.
She doesn’t look like a sub tonight. A shiny black corset shows off a lot of skin and even more of the sensual power she’s put on. Skintight pants and boots that look like they stepped out of a steampunk
novel. No stilettos for Ari. She doesn’t need them. Dominance isn’t a height thing, it’s a mindset, and nobody with a brain would doubt this woman has it.
She turns for another pitcher of whatever she’s pouring, and I can make out the lariat attached to the chain belt riding her hips. Probably a crop on the other side, but black on black on shadow means I’m mostly getting impressions, not details.
Impressions are enough. She’s stunning, golden confidence encased in black. I’m just not sure she’s mine, and that would be what’s messing up my drum beats.
I can feel the eyes of the rest of the band on me. I don’t bother checking, because I know what I would see. Scorpio, daring me to step up and ready to hold my drumsticks while I do it. Eli with the steady look of a guy who’s walked his own tunnel of risks and come out the other side. He likely understands better than most. Chloe’s not a Domme, but she can impersonate one really well. Quint’s the only one I can’t be sure of. He’s my trainer, and he’s had my back every damn step of this walk so far, even the ones where he maybe thinks I’m fucking up. But Ari’s his little sister, and she’s in here for one reason and one reason only, and it’s not so that she can pour a bunch of drinks.
She only looks at me once. A quick glance, and it’s not loaded at all. Just a club Domme going about her business.
The loaded part is up to me.
I take my first real breath as she pushes back through the swinging doors into the dungeon. Scenes happen in there. I’ve watched her in action, but not since I got permission to touch her, and every inch of this is hitting me differently now that I have.
I hit a roll on my drum and realize I’m the only person left playing. I stop, not sure whether the song halted or whether I just kept going past its end, but either way, there are three people waiting for me to do something other than keep the beat.
I take another solid breath and meet Quint’s eyes. He’s got his poker face on, which doesn’t tell me anything useful. I shrug a shoulder in the direction Ari just headed. “Are the Dommes meeting tonight?”