KNOW - Mattie & Milo (Fettered Book 4)

by Lilia Moon

  KNOW (Fettered #4)

  Mattie & Milo

  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. Mattie

  2. Milo

  3. Mattie

  4. Milo

  5. Mattie

  6. Milo

  7. Mattie

  8. Milo

  9. Mattie

  10. Milo

  11. Mattie

  12. Milo

  13. Mattie

  14. Milo

  15. Mattie

  16. Milo

  17. Milo

  18. Mattie

  19. Milo

  20. Mattie

  21. Milo

  22. Mattie

  23. Milo

  24. Mattie

  25. Milo

  26. Mattie

  27. Milo

  28. Mattie

  29. Milo

  30. Mattie

  31. Milo

  32. Mattie

  33. Milo

  34. Mattie

  35. Milo

  36. Mattie

  37. Mattie

  38. Milo

  39. Mattie

  40. Milo

  41. Mattie

  42. Milo

  43. Mattie

  44. Milo

  45. Milo

  46. Mattie

  47. Milo

  48. Mattie

  49. Milo

  50. Mattie

  51. Milo

  52. Mattie

  53. Milo - epilogue

  54. Mattie - epilogue

  Note from Lilia

  Chapter One

  Mattie

  I glug down half a bottle of water. Pretending to be scared is thirsty work, but nobody wants Rich to take a flogger to his wife until he can read a sub miles better than he can right now. I watch as Quint herds the idiot baby Dom out of the dungeon. Safewords exist for a reason, but no decent Dom ever relies on them. Rich isn’t mean, though—just clueless.

  They checked in to see if I needed aftercare first, but since I mostly want to punch the guy in the nose, Quint’s smart enough to get him out of here. Quint will make sure he gets the remedial lessons in sub reading that he needs. We don’t leave people flailing, even if they obviously didn’t pay much attention during their swimming lessons.

  I pull on a bright-green tee over my sports bra and step into my Uggs. They’re dumb footwear for a Seattle winter, and they mean I spend way too much of my time hopping over puddles on the sidewalk, but they’re stupidly warm, and I have a thing about cozy feet. The rest of me is fond of clamps and paddles and things, but my feet want nothing but comfort.

  I wiggle my toes and cast one last glance at the area where we were training. No sign we were there, which is just how I like to leave things. That’s technically the Dom’s responsibility unless he makes it mine, but Rich’s head is going to be too full of Quint bullets to worry about whether he left his anal plugs behind.

  I carefully don’t glance at the wall where Milo stood and watched our training scene. That’s complicated, and the last thing I want right now is anything that will make the coiled energy inside me wind any tighter. A decent flogging would have taken care of that, and Quint wasn’t wrong about Rich’s arm being decent, but it takes more than that to give me a nice trip into sub endorphin land. Not a whole lot more, but Rich was missing pretty much everything else.

  I breathe out and blow my hair off my forehead. Rich isn’t my problem anymore. Neither is the new waitress at work who can’t remember any of the specials. Tonio had to come out and talk nicely to at least three tables today who thought they ordered fish and were surprised when it turned out to be stuffed ravioli instead.

  Fish was yesterday’s special.

  I pat my bag, which has two uneaten orders of stuffed ravioli in a to-go bag. There are upsides to incompetent waitresses. And she might learn, just like Rich might get wise to the body signals most subs put out like electric current. Or she might get fired and Rich might be sleeping on the couch on his wife’s birthday.

  I’m not unsympathetic, and I’m not unhelpful. Heck, I just offered the skin on my back as a teaching tool, and I wrote out the specials for the new girl so that she didn’t have to remember them on her walk from the counter to her tables. But after I help, then it ends. I can’t carry that stuff home with me, or let it wind me up any tighter.

  Especially if some of my favorite ways of unwinding are getting harder to find.

  “Sucked, huh?” Ari swings through the door of the dungeon and gives me a look of total sympathy.

  Which just makes me grumpier. “Yeah. He’s trying, but he can’t pay attention to more than one thing at once.”

  She makes a face and plops herself down on a spanking bench. “I hear he’s got two kids.”

  That’s Ari—a great friend and about as subtle as a naked pole dancer. “I know, I know. There are guys out there who are good with both a baby and a paddle and I shouldn’t give up looking just because I haven’t found one yet.” I’m preaching to the choir, because Ari can’t find the Dom she needs either, but it still pisses me off.

  She shrugs and gives me half a grin. “You know quite a few, actually. Daniel. Leo. And I’m pretty sure Harlan and Damon are headed that direction.”

  Still not helping. “Leo’s gay and the other three are all hooked up with amazing women who don’t need hardcore kink.” I sigh and take pity on the friend who’s trying to talk me out of my funk. “Harlan and Scorpio will make pretty much the cutest babies ever, though.” So will Damon and Emily, but it’s going to take them longer to get there. I can smell these things—it’s like some kind of weird radar that knows how far someone is from wanting to procreate.

  Leo and Sam are a freaking monster bouquet of procreating desire, even though they’re going to adopt. Gabby has the grandmother smell, which is different, but still cool. Scorpio’s pretending she’s far away from wanting to make anything that cries and drools, but she lies, and the man she’s hooked up with isn’t even bothering to pretend anymore.

  “Harlan and Damon didn’t think it would happen for them either,” says Ari softly.

  I know. Two guys deep in the lifestyle who somehow managed to find what we all want. They’re my mantra, and my touchstone. And also my fear. Because they don’t need what I need either. Their subs are good with a spanking. I need so much more than that, and I have ever since I began to understand that kink was a thing.

  The Doms who can dish out what I need are the alpha types. The ones who are always looking for a new challenge, and once they’ve mastered me, then they move on. Or they want a hardcore power exchange outside the sexual stuff, which isn’t kid friendly at all—or Mattie friendly, for that matter. For me, surrender is a thing I do sometimes so that I can be happy in my skin the rest of the time. Someone telling me what to do every hour of the day would make my brain leak out my ears.

  I sit beside Ari on the spanking bench and lean into her shoulder. She has even bigger problems than I have, because she wants her Dom to let her paddle his ass sometimes. “Want to have babies together?”

  She grins and tilts her head until it touches mine. “Sam would happily give us sperm.”

  Sam’s the other veteran brat at Fettered, and the only one of the three of us who’s found his forever Dom. I scowl, because that makes me feel like one of the puppies down at the shelter. “Sam’s sperm should come with warning signs. He’s never met a rule he can follow for more than ten seconds.”

 
Ari laughs. “Okay, then how about Leo’s sperm?”

  Leo’s a gentle guy who somehow manages to keep Sam mostly in line, but it’s not his sperm I want. It’s my own Leo. Someone who can handle bratty, experienced, hardcore me—and cuddle a baby too. And much as I love Ari, she’s not the guy I need. I lean over and kiss her cheek and get to my feet. “Come on. We haven’t pulled a decent prank in at least two weeks. Let’s go spike all Quint’s drink mixes with pink Kool-Aid.”

  She rolls her eyes, but she’s off the bench almost as fast as I am. “You just want to earn yourself a punishment.”

  I grin. If Quint’s handing them out, he’ll make sure I get a good one.

  Chapter Two

  Milo

  I shake my head as Ari holds out a paintbrush, a cup full of very pink fluid, and her naked arm. “I’m guessing this didn’t turn out the way you expected?”

  She grins. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  It probably wasn’t—she wouldn’t have picked pink. I cast an eye over the other artwork already adorning her body. “Nobody here tonight should give up their day job.”

  She laughs and turns around so I can see her back. “People tell me this one’s not bad.”

  It isn’t—but it is highly pornographic. “Good thing it’s winter, or you’d traumatize small children at the grocery store.”

  She rolls her eyes and holds her arm back out. “Less talk, more action.”

  I snort, but I take the paintbrush and the cup. “Is that any way to talk to a Dom, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes glint, wise and amused. “Quint neglected to mention any rules of behavior while we did this. He said we had to get painted, full stop.”

  Sam dances by, shirtless and wearing It Wasn’t Me painted in big pink letters on his chest.

  I hide a grin as I start my painting. The brats are in fine form tonight, and clearly Quint’s not in a mood to stop them. Probably because he knows there’s very little that brightens a Seattle day in February better than Ari, Mattie, and Sam on the rampage.

  Ari glances at Sam and snickers. “He’s mad he wasn’t here to help.”

  I add a couple more brush strokes to my masterpiece. “And to think they’re going to put that man in charge of a baby.”

  She laughs. “Apparently the adoption forms neglected to ask how often he gets himself into trouble.”

  We’re both teasing. Sam’s going to make the best father ever, and the guy he loves isn’t too shabby either.

  Leo strides past in pursuit of his sub and tosses us both a long-suffering look. I smile. Whatever struggles I’ve been having lately about my role in this place, I know why I stay. I hand Ari back her brush.

  She glances down at her arm. “What does it say?”

  A reasonable facsimile of the Kanji symbol for sister. “It’s Japanese for troublemaker.”

  I listen to her laughter as she walks away. So many reasons why I stay, and she’s at least a dozen of them.

  “This is supposed to be a punishment,” says a growly voice at my shoulder.

  Quint stopped scaring me a long time ago. “Right. Which is why you’re letting them wander freely while armed with weapons of mass pink destruction.” I nod at Sam, who’s commandeered himself a cup and a paintbrush and is offering his bare ass cheek to Jacob. “Someone should give Jacob a paddle.”

  “Right. Because that would totally make Sam behave.” Quint sounds as amused as fuck, which tells me everything I need to know about why tonight’s getting to jump the rails. “They spiked every damn drink mix I have. We’re going to be drinking pink martinis for months.”

  First world kinky problems. “You can use them all up on the Valentine’s Day theme night.”

  He groans. “Do we have to have one of those?”

  “Yup.” I break the rest of the bad news. “Ari’s got a big spin-the-bottle game planned. Approved by our boss and our club manager, who suddenly think smooching is fun.”

  “Smooching? What are you, twelve?”

  “Right. Says the man who’s allergic to every holiday in which there might possibly be kissing.”

  He growls. “We’re a damn kink club. There shouldn’t be anything pink or kissy going on inside these walls.”

  It doesn’t much matter what he and I think—we’re totally outvoted. “Tell that to Emily.” Ari’s been festooning us with occasional romance for years, but Emily’s seriously upped that game. There’s a wedding or something similarly kissy here practically every other weekend.

  At least they aren’t all pink.

  And they’ve breathed some air into my life that’s gone far too stale and gray.

  Quint shakes his head and claps a hand to my shoulder. “You want some time off monitoring to play tonight?”

  I’ve been taking on more dungeon-monitoring duties so that Harlan can snuggle with his woman. “Aren’t you guys onstage tonight?” Quint and Scorpio are half of the really excellent band that’s rapidly become one of Fettered’s main attractions.

  “Nope. Eli’s got Ebola or something, so he’s at home and we’re off the hook.”

  That’s too bad. Quint looks stupidly happy when he plays guitar back-up to Scorpio’s tough-girl vocals. I’m smart enough not to tell him that. All Doms need to set down the reins sometimes.

  Some of us more than others.

  His hand is back on my shoulder. “You haven’t played in a long time.”

  “I’m not one of your trainees.” A warning, and he knows me well enough not to take my mild tone at face value.

  He’s also stubborn enough to ignore me. “Mattie could use a good scene.”

  I manage not to grind my teeth. “Your trainee shouldn’t be flogging anything more sentient than a carrot.” Especially when the sub involved was hurting. Not physically. Quint didn’t miss any of Mattie’s physical cues, and he’s not a total dolt when it comes to the subtle emotional stuff either, but he didn’t understand how much that scene cost her.

  Mattie wants a baby. All the regulars know it. She wants a family, and every time she scenes with someone who wants those things too, her hope dies a little more. Because she doesn’t just want a baby. She also wants a Dom, and she’s a sub who needs a strong one. One who knows how to wield the tools of hand and mind and voice and drive her to that strong, silent, crystal clear place that’s the whole reason she does this.

  Someone needs to help her with that, even if it’s only temporary. Spank her ass and feed her hope so that she can wait a little longer. It just can’t be me. “You should find her someone with solid skills. She needs it tonight.”

  Quint’s giving me the dirty eyeball. “I know. That’s why I asked you.”

  It’s not all of why. It’s no surprise he’s noticed the quiet ripples in the water. He was at Gabby and Daniel’s party, and he’s not blind. “I’m not the Dom she needs.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

  I try a partial truth. “I’m not much interested in impact play anymore.”

  He gives me a thoroughly skeptical once-over. “So do something else. Edge her for a couple of hours. Make her cry.”

  Keeping a sub right on the brink of orgasm without going over is one of my favorite games—but it’s not one of Mattie’s. “You could make her cry way faster.” Quint’s reputation as a hard-ass Dom isn’t the least bit undeserved.

  “I could, but I’m not the guy who needs to get back in the game.”

  He walks off with that parting shot, eyes intent on the other side of the lounge, and I breathe out, surprised and grateful he’s decided to leave it at that.

  And then I see Mattie headed my way.

  Chapter Three

  Mattie

  Dammit, he’s noticed me. I was hoping to sneak up on him—giving Doms time to plan is never a good idea. I keep my eyes downcast, partly because it’s good sub behavior and partly so he can’t read all the confusing things living in my head.

  He’s so not the kind of Dom I play with, but something ab
out him has his hooks in me anyway. Probably watching him hang out with Evie and Tash so sweetly at Gabby’s party. Those two tiny girls can turn even the toughest Doms to mush, but Milo got down on the floor and built a cushion fort for Tash when she got overwhelmed.

  Which is so not what I should be thinking about right now. I’m half naked and covered in terrible, mostly pornographic art, and Quint was very specific about handing our paintbrushes to every Dom in the lounge. I dip the brush in the pink concentrate that used to be drink mix, wipe the brush off carefully so that we don’t dye the floor pink, and hold the handle out toward Milo. “Sir? Would you like to paint something?” It’s my politest sub voice, and somehow, this time, I’m not having to restrain my brat.

  This Dom brings out my nice side, even when he’s not trying. Which isn’t at all what I need in a Dom, but the silly flush working its way up my skin apparently doesn’t know that. I keep my eyes down. There’s no way a Dom as observant is this one is will miss my stupid signs of arousal, but I’ve been in this lifestyle long enough to know that neither of us needs to act on it. And he’s observant enough to read my signals on that, too.

  He takes the brush from my hand, carefully avoiding contact with my fingers. “Is there anywhere left to paint that won’t involve hanging out with graffiti that looks like it escaped from a really twisted preschool art class?”

  Nowhere that’s currently uncovered. Which he already knows. It unsettles me that he’s offering me a choice. I prefer Doms who don’t do that.

  I feel the moment he hears my thought. I don’t know how he hears it, but it’s very clear that he does. His spine snaps straight, and the gentle, quiet guy is suddenly every inch a Dom. “What’s your safeword, Mattie?”

  Shit. “Same as the club ones. Traffic lights.” I don’t mess around with fancy words someone might forget, not when my safety is at stake. Although I’d comfortably stake all of me on a bet that this man has never forgotten a safeword in his life.

  “I’m going to touch you. Unlace you some and clear space to work.” He’s already reaching for the front ties on my black satin corset. “I want you to close your eyes and stand perfectly still.”

  Damn. Losing visuals always ratchets things up for me. He’s observant, but I already knew that. The subs he plays with swear he can read minds. I let my eyes flutter shut. I can feel what it does to my breathing, my chest rising and falling in shallow pants.