by Lilia Moon
And then I see her. Mattie, sitting on the floor in the center of the dungeon, playing jacks with what looks suspiciously like a set of my prized copper nuts and bolts. She bounces a small rubber ball again, scooping up some of the hardware, and I squint long enough to see at least three sizes scattered on the floor in front of her. Which probably means every piece of equipment in this room is compromised.
A quick glance and I can see a pink plastic bolt on the front left of the nearest spanking bench, and another gracing the sideboard of my favorite chair. Finding the rest is obviously going to involve a game of kinky hide and seek.
Mattie looks up at my growl and smiles sweetly. “Hello, Sir. I helped with equipment maintenance tonight. I found a few loose bolts, so I replaced them.” She reaches into a pocket that shouldn’t exist on a corset that skimpy and pulls out a pink plastic wrench. “You might want to check my work.”
I stare at her, because this is more than a brat prank. It’s dressed up in those clothes, but for something this flagrant, any smart brat would be miles away when I made the discovery. This is a sub waving a red cape in front of a Dom—an absolute dare, and every single person in the dungeon knows it.
She asked once and I said no. I still have that choice, but it’s a far tougher one. She absolutely has to be dealt with—the rituals of our world and her own sense of security here demand it. I could hand that off to someone else, but she’s made that tricky too.
This is a deeply personal dare, and she knows it. She’s an experienced sub who knows exactly what she’s doing—and she’s just gone all in.
Chapter Thirteen
Mattie
I had a point to make when I started this prank. A good one, about BDSM being about more than equipment. About it being about hearts and people, and that the toys we like to play with maybe aren’t the most important things in the room. But I can’t remember any of that right now, because the man who’s been looking at me for days with uncertainty in his eyes is still studying me like I’m some kind of weird bug he’s found on his dresser. He doesn’t know what to do with me, and it’s making me crazy.
I don’t think that’s what most of the other people in here are seeing. He’s a good actor, and his body lines are all annoyed Dom because he knows that’s the role he’s supposed to be playing. But he’s faking it—mostly, anyhow. He’s tangled, and I don’t like that I’m the one who did it. He’s also annoyed, but that’s pretty much the life goal of a submissive brat. Annoyed with a side dish of amused would be practically perfect. But uncertainty is Dom kryptonite, and the last thing I wanted to do was to make him feel weak in the room where he works so hard to make the rest of us feel good.
I swallow. I got us in to this mess, so I’ll get us out. I scoop up the rest of the nuts and bolts from the floor and let my body slip into lines of apology. A message to him and to everyone else watching. I’m going to fix this. He just needs to stand there and keep playing his role a little bit longer and I can slide all of this onto me.
“Mattie.”
One word, and there’s no hesitation in it at all. My eyes snap up, because that voice is all Dom.
He’s not acting now.
I blink, trying to figure out what happened while I was picking up a handful of bolts, but there are no clues on his face at all. I swallow hard and meet his gaze for longer than I should, trying to work out if this is just a beta Dom doing the right thing because a sub forced his hand, in which case I’m going back to plan B and getting us out of this mess.
I see the corner of his mouth quirk, and I know that whatever the answer is, I’m too late. He’s already two steps ahead of me. “I didn’t realize you had a fondness for wrenches.”
That’s the kind of question a Dom asks when you’re about to be in big trouble no matter what your answer is. I set my handful of nuts and bolts down gently on the floor. Whatever happens next, I don’t want to lose them. I’ve stripped one from every piece of equipment in the room, which means this playground is closed until they all get put back on.
A move I’m already seriously regretting, because I wanted this Dom to play with me, very much, but the look in his eyes right now is anything but reassuring. I gulp and try to assemble my body into classic submissive posture, feet tucked underneath me, arms behind my back, gaze down. He’s not much into high protocol, but when in doubt, I head there fast. Doms get mad about all kinds of weird things, but following the stiffest version of the rules usually isn’t one of them. Not at the beginning, anyhow—and whatever else this is, it’s some kind of beginning.
I try to remember that he painted hope over my heart.
Leather-covered knees drop to the floor beside me and I look up in horror. Doms don’t kneel.
Milo slowly picks the nuts and bolts up off the floor, one at a time, naming the equipment they’ve come from as he does it. Confusing me even more, because even though he’s on his knees, that’s totally the voice of a Dom who’s about to wreak havoc on my nice, comfy sub world. He picks up the last one and raises an eyebrow, looking at me. Waiting to see if I’ve paid attention.
Fortunately it’s one of the biggest ones, and I took it off last. From his brand-new spanking bench. I nod my head in the direction of the piece of equipment he delivered only yesterday. “That one, Sir.”
“Good. I’m glad to see you know how to fix what you broke.” He tosses the pink plastic wrench in the air and catches it, and then hands me a real one from his pocket. “I suggest you start with the spanking bench, as I believe Ronny and Tex are waiting to use it.”
I stare at him. “You want me to put the bolts back on? Sir?” Nobody but Milo touches the equipment. We all know that. Harlan does occasionally, or Damon, but definitely not a sub who buys most of her tools in the toy aisle.
“I do.” His eyes are full of messages I can’t read—but they’re also buttressing me. Building walls around me for whatever happens next. He tosses the pink wrench into the air again. “While you’re doing that, I’ll be running some tests to see what this is good for.”
My horrified brain finally catches on. Oh, no. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Shit, shit, shit. “Sir, the equipment in here is important, and I wouldn’t want a sub to be hurt because I didn’t put a bolt back on correctly.” Which seems highly likely to happen if he’s torturing me with a plastic wrench while I switch bolts out. I’ve been a sub long enough to know that anything can be kinky in the right Dom’s hands.
And this Dom is really good with wrenches.
He smiles, like I’ve just pointed out that it’s raining in February. “You have your safewords.”
Chapter Fourteen
Milo
Mattie might be a sub who usually plays with floggers and paddles, but she’s phenomenally responsive to my far more subtle Dom tactics—and not just the ones designed to make her uneasy. She’s also very clearly picking up on the things I’m doing to keep her safe, to give her confidence that she can trust me through whatever’s about to happen.
And it’s lighting a fire in us both. I can see her nipples pebbling, the light dimpling as the hair on her arms stands at attention, the slight muscle tension of a sub holding back a squirm. I presume she can read the signs of my arousal just as easily—there’s no hiding a hard cock or the need in my hands to touch her skin.
I have no idea what to do with any of that, but improvising is one of my better skills, and it’s time to use it. I nod at the high recliner chair to our left, since it has fabric draped over it that will work well for my purposes. “Let’s begin with that one.” I hold out my hand with the collection of nuts and bolts in it.
She takes a deep breath and reaches for exactly the right hardware.
I give her nothing she can read from. No approval, no subtle correction. She took the bolts off without guidance, she can darn well get them back on that way.
She eyes the adjustable wrench in her hand and surreptitiously gives the mechanism a roll with her thumb.
I hear Quint’s very quiet
snort behind me. He’s figured out the same thing I have. Mattie’s not an experienced tool user. Which is going to make this more fun, if I can just figure out how to get her into the right zone. Which is going to be seriously tricky with a brat and an audience. This is why I don’t tend to play in public. Too many variables, and while Mattie scenes in the dungeon plenty and I’ve watched like I always do, I still don’t know how she’s going to respond under my hands.
She hasn’t moved, her knees still rooted to the ground.
I put a sardonic note in my voice. “You didn’t need an invitation to take the bolts off, Mattie.”
She casts me an uncertain look.
I climb to my feet and walk over to sit on the chair, facing the bolt she needs to replace. I have to hide some serious amusement. They’re not toy bolts like I thought. They’re sized, which means some damn hardware store actually stocks hot-pink atrocities. I keep all that off my face. Pranked Doms aren’t supposed to be amused.
Mattie’s headed my way, her whole body communicating relief. I’ve taken a position she understands. She kneels gracefully at the foot of the chair and gets to work fitting the wrench to the nut that’s currently defiling my equipment. Her hands are trembling, but it’s not fear—it’s arousal.
I can hear her breathing, fast and shallow. Mine’s long and deep, but only because I’ve absolutely forced it to go there. I run the pink plastic wrench under a lock of her hair and lift it up. The wrench is next to useless for my purposes, but she doesn’t need to know that yet. I wait until her gaze starts to drift upward. “Eyes on your work.”
Her gaze snaps back down, and the dungeon has gone quiet. I wait for her to make the replacement, noting that she tightens the bolt as far as it can go and then backs it off a quarter-turn. She might not know much about tools, but she’s observant. That’s something I’ve probably done in this room a thousand times, but only a small fraction of the people in here would have noticed that slight adjustment at the end, and hers is precisely a quarter-turn.
Something in my moldering Dom embers lights. I love observant subs.
Chapter Fifteen
Mattie
“You’re good at that.” It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me. Not because I’m unfocused, but because I’m so deeply tuned in to what he’s asked me to do. He strokes a finger down my cheek. “There are eight bolts underneath the chair. Please hand-tighten each one exactly the way you did for this one.”
Doms giving really precise and seemingly random directions is nothing new. I don’t ask why—I don’t need to know. He’s holding me with his words, and it feels insanely good. I realize I’m going to need to lie down to shimmy under the chair, but before I can move, Milo is up and spreading some kind of soft cloth on the floor. “Lie on this. You’ll slide more easily.”
I think he’s being kind—until I lie down, slide the short distance under the chair, and feel the darkness close in on three sides. The velvet cover of the chair would cloak me in complete darkness except for the edge he’s holding up with the dumb wrench that came with my toy hardware.
He holds up the pink nut I just replaced and sets it down on the bare skin of my belly, giving it little twists. “I bet I could get these to stick with a little lube.”
I scowl where he can’t see me. Being decorated with slimy pink nuts would be totally appropriate punishment and we both know it. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
He moves up and lays it over my nipple like he’s trying it on for size. I can hear murmurs from the audience. They’d never intrude on a scene, but he’s clearly inviting their participation at the moment.
I grit my teeth and look for any sign of the bolts I’m supposed to be tightening under here. I’m a smart sub and there’s no way he’s going to keep his distraction levels this low for long.
He chuckles as I get the wrench on the first one. “Very focused. I like that.”
He drops the curtain. I try not to whimper. The velvet cover of the chair has me in a tent—one that muffles sound and light and any other information about what’s going on out there. It also leaves the rest of my body on display and entirely too available for whatever he wants. He has me entirely at his mercy—and I’m supposed to find seven more bolts and get a job done.
I moan into the dark, very quietly. This shouldn’t be working for me, because no way is he going to spank me with a plastic wrench, but it is. And it’s different. Erotic. I can hear my breathing in my dark cave, and when I fumble around for the next bolt, I can feel my hands shaking. I start swearing under my breath, trying to dial my arousal down a notch or two. He’s making me want things I don’t usually want in public scenes, and it’s getting in the way of following his instructions.
And I really want to follow them.
I get to my fourth string of whispered curses by the time I feel his fingers. At least I think they’re his fingers. Something is brushing me, so lightly it’s almost ticklish. My skin pebbles in protest—or in request.
I can’t hear his chuckle, but somehow I can feel it. It takes me a moment to realize his hip is right up against mine. Security. He hasn’t left me all alone in the dark. I’m stupidly grateful, and I manage to get my fingers moving again, feeling around the underside of the chair for another bolt. It’s kind of like one of those haunted houses with the bowls of spaghetti and peeled grapes, except I’m very sure Milo never lets anything that gross grow under his equipment. I’m still freaked, though.
And quivering as I wait for his next touch.
There’s a small slap against the side of my waist that nearly shocks me up to sitting—and then I realize he’s just thwacked me with a plastic wrench, and it’s all I can do not to laugh.
The wrench taps a beat up the side of my ribs, as if he’s laughing with me. And then it’s gone, and his fingers brush the under curve of my breast. The place where my ribs meet. The inside of my arm, right above my elbow.
I shudder. He watches way too carefully. I’ve played with Doms who haven’t found that many of my favorite erogenous zones in hours of trying.
I feel his breathing picking up, and I smile. Subs watch for clues too, and I’m not the only one getting hot and bothered. My Dom is with me. We’re actually doing this thing, whatever it is.
His fingers are drawing a slow trail, reminding me of paintbrushes and pink art and just how much of my body isn’t under the dark curtain. He traces a lazy path down the line of my ribs and the curve of my hip, and then up the inside of my knee. Just like the inside of my elbow, that one sends shudders up my body. My hands have totally given up trying to find bolts and are just clutching the sides of the chair. Those fingers are making me promises, and I’m nearly dizzy with it.
Pink plastic replaces his fingers, tap dancing on my inner thigh just like it did on my ribs. I lean into the silly little wrench. I need more. It’s time.
For one breath, I think I’m going to get it. And then I feel the shift, as surely as if Milo painted it on my forehead. Or on his. Something’s changed. I can feel it. I’m losing him. He’s still physically there, but he’s disconnecting from me and from whatever we were just building between us.
His breath hitches, but it’s not arousal anymore. The wrench clatters to the ground and his fingers wrap around my leg. Still. No more teasing, his hand saying what his words can’t.
He’s sorry.
Chapter Sixteen
Milo
Damon catches me before I even make it to his office. Which is a dumb place to run to, but I know I can hide there. I look at him and say the only thing that matters. “Please go take care of Mattie.” I’ve just dropped a sub in the worst way, and I need my friends to clean up after me, because I can’t.
“Harlan’s on it.” He tosses me a bottle of water and a glare. “The fuck was that?”
That was me imploding. “That was me starting a scene I didn’t have the balls to finish.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Keep talking, before I kick your ass out of h
ere for screwing with a sub’s head and leaving her to put it back together.”
Harlan won’t let her crack. Except that’s not his job. “I need to go check on her.”
“The fuck you do.” He shoves me into his office and stands in full bouncer mode by the door, and it’s clear I’ll be going through him to get anywhere. “Not until you dig your head out of wherever the hell you just buried it.”
“I could name a few choices.” Quint shoves past him and takes up a post on the other side of the door, just in case I was thinking about trying to run.
I’m far more scared of what just happened inside me. “How’s Mattie?”
He’s inches from pounding me into grease. “She’s fine. She’s helping Sam put the nuts and bolts back on. Harlan’s supervising.”
The thought of fifteen people messing with my equipment barely registers. “She’s good at looking like she’s together, even when she isn’t. Check. Please.”
His eyes soften a fraction. “Harlan’s got her back, and Ari and Sam aren’t going to let her get more than six inches away from either of them.”
She might fool one of them—but not all three. I turn around and slam my palms into the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Good summary,” says Damon dryly. “Care to give us the slightly longer version of what just happened in there?”
“You saw when Mattie approached me the other day, wanted me to scene with her. I said no.”
“Like hell you did.” Quint’s back to glaring. “You said you weren’t the Dom she needed.”
Fuck. “Yeah. But still. It definitely wasn’t a yes. And then I walked into today’s little stunt. She set me up and I should have walked away and I didn’t.”
“Really.” Damon raises the eyebrow that made him the Dom he is. “You should have let a brat punk you in front of half the club and just walked away?”