by Lilia Moon
She whimpers and tries to spread her legs. I put a hand at her knees to stop her. “Keep them together.” I want the ropes to stay on for a while yet, which means blood needs to make it through the ankle cuffs.
She makes a face, but her knees stay together.
I scissor my fingers, showing her just what I can manage from this angle.
Her feet pop off the arm of the couch in a desperate, needy hop that lights my cock on fire. I pull my fingers out, which gets a whine of protest until she sees me shucking my clothes. Shirt, pants, underwear, a few inelegant hops for the socks, and a split second to roll the condom on.
Languorous can wait.
I put a hand on her knees, pushing them up and over her belly, and sit on my heels right behind her ass. Her feet find purchase on my chest, and she uses them to lift her hips. I slide two fingers into her pussy. She doesn’t need any more warm-up, but I want to see her eyes cross before this night is done, and now seems like a really good time to get that started.
Her moan is the sound of bones coming undone.
I settle one hand over her feet on my chest and let the fingers of my other hand scissor. She writhes, toward, away, in every direction and none, and then she freezes, bottom lip in her teeth, and exhales into a long, undulating cry.
I watch, awed, as yet another layer of Liane unveils itself. And then I line up my cock and drive home,
Some things aren’t meant to be watched.
They’re meant to be joined.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Epilogue - Liane
I flow through my back door into my kitchen riding a wave of laughter, India leading the way, Daley bringing up the rear, both of them drunk on the strange alchemy that sometimes happens when the three of us are together.
I might not be entirely sober myself.
Matteo grins at us from the stove, which would be alarming on any other day. The man is convinced he can learn to cook. The evidence so far is not in his favor. “Hey, you three. Hungry? I made soup.”
India, who happened to be in the vicinity the last time he tried to make lunch, looks suitably worried. Daley walks over, kisses his cheek, and sniffs at the contents of the pot. “It smells edible.”
He gives her a wry look. “It should. It’s from the Black Salt Cafe. I’m just warming it up, which falls within the scope of things I’m allowed to do in the kitchen without supervision.”
She kisses his other cheek. “Way to stick to what you’re good at, sexy man.”
I just shake my head. From anyone else, that would be an insult, but Daley truly means it. My fingers brush over the tape and gauze under my loose shirt. Two hours must be up. I look over at India, who’s the resident expert on fresh ink. “Can I take the dressing off yet?”
She nods and motions to a stool. “Yup. Have a seat and I’ll peel you.”
That doesn’t sound like fun. My dandelion tattoo was an easy walk in the park to get inked compared to this one, and I suspect that’s going to be true for the healing parts too.
She pulls up a second stool and motions at my shirt. “Off.”
I make a face, torn between wanting Matteo to see and wanting to strip in the privacy of my own bathroom.
Daley laughs and hops up to sit on the counter, which is a bad habit nothing will ever break her of. “We’ve all seen you naked, hot stuff. Come on, let’s see the tattoo.” She makes a pouty face at Matteo. “She wouldn’t let us watch.”
That had less to do with keeping my new ink a secret and more to do with not wanting everyone to sit there and watch me whimper like a baby. Tattoos over bony parts hurt.
I peel off my shirt. Carefully. I really do want him to see.
India nods approvingly at the tape and gauze. “Old school. I like it.”
My tattoo artist offered me the cling-wrap option, but I had that on my dandelion, and watching blood and ooze gather underneath it was not my idea of fun.
India hands Matteo one of the sterile gauze pads we picked up on the way home and a bottle of the liquid body wash that met with her approval. “Warm water and a squirt of soap on it, please.”
He looks at the bottle and grins at India. “You’re old school, too, are you?”
She only raises an eyebrow, but clearly he’s surprised her. “You have ink?”
I’m pretty sure I would have noticed that.
He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve been the nursemaid for plenty of friends who couldn’t reach to wash their back.”
I’ve never understood why people get huge, beautiful tattoos somewhere they’ll never be able to see them. I look down as India begins to peel off the gauze-and-tape contraption, starting with the part over my heart.
My nose wrinkles as the first part of the tattoo emerges. Apparently I haven’t managed to entirely avoid the blood and ooze part.
She snickers. “Don’t look, silly. Let me clean it up first.”
My friends are well used to my weak stomach for anything medical. I look over at Matteo, a little embarrassed by my squeamishness, and realize I don’t need to worry. He’s far too busy ogling my breasts to notice anything as mundane as my aversion to blood.
India carefully teases off the skinny strip of gauze that runs down between my breasts and ends in another wider patch just above my belly button. Which wasn’t an easy shape to tape, so there are approximately a billion pieces to gingerly loosen from my skin. She gets the last of it off, takes the wet, soapy squares of gauze Matteo hands over and starts wiping me down. Which feels good, actually. I keep my eyes closed and try not to think about crusty goo. A second wipe down, this one slightly less slippery, and she squeezes my shoulder. “All clear.”
I open my eyes just in time to catch her sliding off her stool. She hands the last item from the pharmacy bag to Matteo. “I assume you know what to do with this.”
He raises an eyebrow, but he wastes no time coming around the counter. India snags Daley by the elbow. “We’ll just be over here, putting soup into bowls.”
Whatever Daley whispers is full of pouting, but she goes. Or I assume she does. I’m too busy watching the man with the bottle of lotion in his hands to really know. The lightning is back in his eyes—and overwhelmed tenderness.
His gaze lifts slowly to mine. “So that’s what she looks like, your orchid.”
He should know. He’s drawn her there often enough. I nod silently. I’ve had a whole day of chatter. I don’t have any more words.
He squirts some of the lotion and rubs it between his fingers. Then he reaches out and starts to trace. Petals first. Right above my heart and spread wide open for all the world to see. Then down the stem. His fingers stutter when they get to the spot, right between my breasts, where the orchid is tied to a slim green stake—with a double loop of yellow rope.
I breathe into his fingers. Letting him see the truth I’m willing to wear on my skin.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Epilogue - Matteo
I swallow hard as my eyes come up to hers.
She shakes her head. “Keep going.”
It takes me a minute, but then I know. It’s not avoidance. She needs me to see all of it.
I trace the lines of yellow winding down the stem of the orchid, all the way to the roots. The ones that tangle themselves around the ends of yellow silk rope.
I would be an idiot to think this is about me. It’s about her. About her dandelion, and bringing her orchid to the surface, and staking them to each other. About growing who she is from one set of intertwined roots. What she’s just had inked on her skin is about her—but there’s space for me too.
I tip my forehead down to her shoulder.
She takes a shaky breath. “Later.”
That would be part of the dance we’re learning too. The space Liane needs after she’s stripped herself bare. The knowing that I need her to come back.
I pull out my Dom growl, mostly because it amuses her. “Not much later.”
She rolls her eyes and stands up, reach
ing for her shirt.
I keep an arm wrapped around her waist, which doesn’t make getting dressed any easier.
Daley beams at us, holding a tray full of soup. “Soup out on the balcony?”
For reasons I don’t understand, most of the meals in this house happen anywhere but the kitchen table. I nod. Eating outdoors is a thing here, and one I’m embracing, at least in this weather. I’m less sure about doing it in the dead of winter, although it’s possible the locals are pulling my leg about that. They’re all willing co-conspirators in my version of a hundred-mile diet, though. I’m trying everything that grows nearby. Food, and other things. The hidden rock climbs. The people. The hangouts to go to for company and the gorgeous, unmarked havens in the wild to head to for space.
I’ve even managed to paddle Liane’s canoe over to Bee’s house and finagle my way into fried chicken. She hasn’t given me the recipe yet, just the finished product, but I’m pretty sure she’s wavering.
Maybe I’ll try my Dom growl on her.
Or not. She’d probably growl back.
India gives me a look as she passes by, almost like she heard that thought.
Which is behavior I recognize. Hyper-attentive sub. It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought, either. I pick up a basket of sliced bread and a really lopsided handmade bowl of butter and follow the procession out onto the balcony.
Daley pulls out a chair and angles it toward the water. Pointing herself at beauty, always.
India gives me a glance before she pulls out a second one, and that suspicion I’ve been harboring for a few weeks coalesces. She hides it really well, but there’s a submissive inside her. One that clearly doesn’t have a Dom or want one, and that still isn’t thrilled one invaded her friend’s life.
Liane pushes me into a chair and lands herself on my lap. Reminding me that I need to worry about the woman I have, and not the two she’s friends with. Or at least I need to hold her tight while I let my thoughts wander.
She feeds me a bite of buttered bread before she leans in and pitches her voice low enough that probably only I can hear. “What’s got you thinking?”
Nothing I can ask right now, and probably something I shouldn’t ask at all. India’s story is her business.
Mine, however, is shaking things up. I grin and make a mental note to shift my business plan again—to one that might include recruiting a couple of Doms with too much time on their hands. This little bay in the middle of nowhere has some surprises, and maybe I’m not the only one with a life that needs surprising.
I kiss Liane’s ear and reach for a bowl of soup. “I’ll tell you later.”
She chuckles and slides into the chair beside me. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to be busy later.”
Daley laughs and tosses me a bread roll. “Eat up, sexy man. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
I dunk the bread in my soup and take a huge bite. Sampling every single thing the Black Salt Cafe makes is a core part of my hundred-mile diet. So is sampling Liane. Fortunately, those two things go together really well.
I keep eating, and watching, listening to my woman of purple petals and yellow silk joke with her friends about what we might get up to later, including some pro tips from India on how to have sex with a newly healing tattoo.
And I clasp the fingers that are seeking mine.
Tugging me, gently, into her life.
NEXT UP: India’s going to have more to worry about than Liane’s healing tattoo… Preorder Weighted Wires.
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(If you can’t follow a link from here, go to liliamoon.com and I’ll get you hooked up.)
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xoxo Lilia