by Lilia Moon
Her cheeks are flushed and hot, but she meets me more than halfway, her fingers thrusting into my hair to pull me closer. My tongue invades, tasting, tangling, eating her up. She moans and plasters herself against my body.
I back her through the door to the storage room into the dark. I manage to pry a hand off her ass long enough to find the under-shelf lighting, and then I press her back into the closed door, never taking my mouth off hers.
She moans and puts my hand on her breast.
Tonight, she gets to do that. I’m not her Dom. I’m just Quint, the guy who plays second guitar and wants to fuck her more than I want my next breath. I roll her nipple in my fingers, feeling the shiny fabric slither. My sexy groupie isn’t wearing a bra. I release her long enough to duck under the hem of her tank top, and then I’ve got a handful of warm, ripe breast in my hand, her nipple, already pebbled and hard, in my fingers, and her near scream in my mouth.
I give her nipple another squeeze. Somebody’s very sensitive. She yanks her mouth away and clamps her teeth on my neck, which makes my cock roar. I slide a hand between her legs and nearly explode when I discover how wet she is. The scraps of lace she’s wearing aren’t enough to hide anything.
She grabs for my shoulders and tries to climb me. “Quint, please.”
She knows I’m not her Dom right now. I’m just a guy who wants his cock in her pussy worse than he’s wanted anything in a really long time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Meghan
Never, in my whole life, have I wanted sex this badly.
And I don’t want it gentle.
I grab Quint’s hair again and grind myself into the hand he has between my legs, needing something I can’t even begin to ask for. I don’t need to. I’m not his sub. I’m the hot chick he wants to bang against the wall, and she really obviously wants him.
He groans and slides two fingers into me, and he’s not gentle at all. “Do you want to come on my fingers or my cock?”
I bite his neck again. I have no idea when I turned into a vampire, but he tastes salty and hard and real and I want so much more. “Both. I want my legs to wobble when I walk out of here. Please.”
The fingers that are inside me pull out and thrust in again, so hard I’m amazed I don’t break. His other hand is torturing my nipple, pinching it hard enough to cause sharp flashes of pain that head straight to my clit. I whimper into his neck. Nobody has ever manhandled me like this.
He rolls and tugs on my nipple again and my whimper becomes a scream. A really good one. I can’t believe I like this, but I so completely do. His fingers are thrusting into me, hard and furious, touching something deep inside me that needs this and is roaring out to meet it.
He yanks his fingers out and grabs my wrists, lifting them over my head. “There’s a big hook on the back of the door above your head.” He wraps my hands around it. “Hold on and don’t let go.”
He kisses me as I hold on, only it’s more like being devoured. And then he’s gone.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s on his knees. His hands run up my legs, pushing the tiny excuse for a skirt up my hips. He pushes my feet apart with his knees, spreading me wide open right in front of his face. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you come in my mouth, sweetheart. And I want to hear every damn beautiful noise you make.”
I don’t think I could be quiet if I tried. I hang off the hook and push my hips toward his tongue, shameless.
He chuckles and circles two fingers around my clit. “Impatient.”
Fuck. I throw my head back against the door. “You only have ten minutes. Less now.”
“I won’t need them.” His fingers drive inside me, so deep I feel them in my throat. I jerk, and then his tongue is on me. He licks my clit and groans. “Fuck. You taste even better than you smell.”
My fingers are gripping the door hook so tightly I may never get them off. “Quint. Please.”
Another lick, and then it’s not just his tongue on me. It’s his whole mouth, sucking on my pussy, flicking his tongue against my clit as his fingers thrust in and out like pistons.
I don’t even feel the orgasm building. It just lands, blowing me up into a thousand pieces of hot, fiery pleasure.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Quint
Ten minutes. It only took her two to blow my mind.
I yank my mouth off her clit, because I could stay there for hours, but her legs are already way past wobbling and I need to fuck her. I slide up her body, sucking on one of her nipples on the way by. A lick and a promise—I’ll be back.
She yanks my head over to her other nipple, and I grin and give it a sharp nip. She nearly buckles and keens into my shoulder.
If she were my sub right now, I’d be tying her to that hook, but that’s not what this is. She’s meeting my needs with crazy fire and demands of her own, and I’m desperate for more. I release her nipples and stand, grinding her into my cock as I take her mouth again. I want her to taste. To know how damn hot her pussy was for my tongue.
Her hands are in my hair. Yanking. Insisting.
I reach into the back pocket of my jeans for the condom some helpful person stuffed in as I backed her into the storage closet, and break off the kiss long enough to make sure she knows what’s coming. Her hands fumble with the snap and zipper on my jeans, trying to help.
I grin and do the job myself. I’m flying commando, and her hands are so shaky right now I don’t trust them near my cock with a zipper.
She wraps her fingers around my length and I’m so fucking tempted to let her play, but I don’t have any more patience. I move her hands back to the hook and bite her earlobe. “Time’s almost up, and you’re still standing, so clearly you need to be fucked harder.”
She’s panting, hot, sexy gasps that tighten my balls and nearly make me drop the condom. I fumble like a teenager and get the damn thing on, and then I’m back up against her. I lift her knee to give me better access and position my cock against her entrance. “Meghan, look at me.”
She manages to get her eyes open, and in the dim dark of the storage closet, all I can see is heat and desire.
I thrust in hard, balls-deep in one motion. She moans, a long, loud sound of pleasure and demand.
My cock is totally fluent in that language. I pull almost all the way out and find her breasts with my hands. I wait just long enough for her to open her eyes again and I bury myself in her as I give both nipples a good, hard twist.
She hisses—and arches into me.
Permission for the furious, hot, rough fuck I want, totally granted. I keep my hands on her nipples and pound into her wet heat, covering her mouth with mine so that we can both hear the glorious, slick, slapping symphony of my cock in her pussy.
She uses the hook and the door and her one foot still on the ground for all the leverage she can find to meet my thrusts. I pull all the way out, slam in hard, and grind in a tight circle that should give her clit what it needs.
She lets out a high, needy wail, and then she’s gone. Over a sharp edge and contracting fiercely around my cock. I thrust one more time and detonate right along with her.
It takes me a while to realize the harsh, wheezy breathing is mine. I’m leaning into her hard, holding us both up as the aftershocks quake us. I figure out where my neck muscles live and nuzzle in to her warm, soft, sweaty shoulder. “Best groupie sex ever.”
She laughs, which just shakes us more. “You may have overshot a little on the wobbly-legs thing.”
Mine aren’t working any better than hers. “Let’s go find a place to clean up and cuddle a bit.”
She kisses my cheek. “You have another set to play, and I’ve got a shift behind the bar.”
She’s not pushing me away—nothing in her body language or tone is saying that. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I can feel her grin against my neck. “I get to watch you do your hot-guitar-player thing again. It’s all good.”
She’s about to discover ju
st how much I can do with an eye-fuck. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
She goes still in my arms. “Who’s asking?”
Smart question, and I’m not sure I have the answer. “All of me. Dom, trainer, guy who plays guitar.” I’ll figure out the details later.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Meghan
I sit down on the low stone wall outside the offices of Your Perfect Moment. For the second morning in a row, my head’s nowhere near the space it needs to be in to get any work done.
I slide my cell phone out of my pocket and glare at the cause. The text that woke me up bright and early this morning. I’ll pick you up for dinner at 7pm. Dinner is with Quint who plays guitar and has hot fucks in storage closets. After dinner, your Dom wants to play with you. I’ll be pushing on you tonight. In public. Trust me to keep you safe.
And another text, an hour later, this one from Ari. In case you don’t know, that last text from Quint was a negotiation, not a demand. Let me know if you need backup.
I’m still getting used to the idea that everyone at Fettered seems to know what’s going on with me—but it feels good. I feel protected. Taken care of. Inside the circle. I text Ari back first, because that one’s easier. I think I’m good, thanks.
I get a reply almost instantly. I’ve got badass Dom-handling skills and I’m not afraid to share them.
She’s not afraid to share anything. She led the teasing as I dished out drinks from behind the bar until closing last night, trying not to spill too much as I watched the sexy man on guitar as he watched me.
I set my phone down, because sweaty Quint isn’t what I need to be thinking about right now.
Or at least not all of what I need to be thinking about.
I yawn and watch the flower heads flutter in the breeze that’s coming off the water. That’s how I feel this morning—fluttery. Something shifted last night, for me, and maybe for the guy who made me scream in a storage closet. That wasn’t trainee sex. It was insanely hot sex with a guy who wanted me just for me. A point Ari made sure to drill into my head over a pink martini later, just in case I planned to make up any other dumb story.
She’s becoming a good friend. And a scary one.
I grin. My life is suddenly full of scary people. All of whom are apparently inside or sleeping this morning. I can’t see another living soul on the whole street. Just me and the flowers, and I’m okay with that. I need to figure out what I want when I’m just me. I don’t do much of that, and maybe it’s something that needs to change.
I reach down and run my fingertips over a blue flower petal. It’s not as delicate as it looks. Soft, but with a strength behind it that says it’s not fragile.
I didn’t feel fragile last night. Quint knocked my request out of the park, because I woke up this morning with my parts still swollen and my legs aching in some really good ways. A half hour of yoga later and I managed the walk to work, but even without the wake-up text, I wasn’t going to have any problem remembering him today.
I glance over at my phone, but I don’t need to pick it up to read the words. They’re seared on the back of my eyelids. The part where I have dinner with the sexy, laid-back guy who plays guitar and lets Scorpio boss him around—that part sounds really good. I like that guy, and I’m pretty sure he’s mostly who I had sex with last night. But that was Quint in his non-pushy form, and we still had a hot, noisy, groupie-and-rock-star fuck against a door with several dozen kinky people listening, which is so far out of my normal comfort zone that I might be tempted to blame it on a really realistic dream.
Except for the very well-pleasured zone between my legs. And nipples that are so sensitive this morning that I came to work in my yoga clothes. And the random bruises on my hips I discovered in the shower.
I close my eyes. I liked the bruises. I like knowing that I got handled like I’m not fragile at all. I like knowing that Quint took what he needed.
Now he’s asking for a chance to give me what I need. I lean down and run my fingers over the tops of the flowers again. They’re bright and wide open and swaying in the breeze. Flowers don’t hide—not once they bloom, anyhow. All of them gets to be in the world and they don’t care what anyone else thinks. They don’t have judgy voices inside their heads saying that maybe they shouldn’t want some of those things.
I want to feel like that. I want to feel bright and wide open and whole. And the guy who fucked me so hard I couldn’t stand last night—I think he’s offering me at least a piece of that chance. But I’m not a flower, and a lot of me is still really scared of what he’s asking. I sigh. Consent matters—he helped me to understand just how much. And no matter how much I liked last night, and how much I sit on this wall thinking about flowers and who I want to be, my insides aren’t consenting.
Not yet. I don’t pick up my phone. I have until seven p.m.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Quint
“You’ve checked that darn thing a dozen times in the last ten minutes.”
I glare at Harlan and put my phone away. “Sorry, I’ll put on my nice manners now. Should we hug?”
He snorts and takes a one-armed swing from one of the replacement attachment points we’re installing. Milo won’t let us near the fancy repairs, but we’re allowed to do the basic stuff without supervision. “That should hold.”
Since he outweighs most of the club subs by at least a hundred pounds and none of them are likely to be swinging around like gorillas, I’m pretty sure we’re good. “I sent Meghan a Dom invitation. Via text. Which Ari has already yelled at me about, so you can skip that part.”
He takes one more swing and drops to the floor. “Not gonna yell. Meghan’s a sub who likes some space to think. Texting’s one way to give her that.”
Maybe I didn’t fuck all my decent instincts out of my head last night. “That’s what I was thinking, but Ari rightly pointed out that Meghan might not have seen my words as an invitation.”
“Used your demanding-asshole voice, did you?” Harlan laughs and puts a screwdriver back in its neatly labeled spot in the toolbox. Messing up Milo’s tools is grounds for having your leathers set on fire. “Ari knows how to backstop a negotiation, and if Meghan’s going to end up your woman, she might as well get used to your tone now.”
“I’m not looking for a woman.” The words slide out before I think about them, and even I’m not sure they’re true.
Harlan closes the toolbox and raises an eyebrow. “You have something against being happy?”
I just growl. He’s plenty used to my tone.
He snorts. “You might not have been looking for a relationship, but one just swatted you on the ass, and you’re an idiot if you don’t at least give it a look.”
He’s singing from Ari’s choir book, and it pisses me off. “I’m not you and Damon. I don’t want to sit at home and eat pizza with matching napkins. I want to tend bar and talk to my people and leave some nice stripes on a sub’s ass. Meghan probably wants a dog and babies and a picket fence.” Which seems like a totally reasonable assumption of a wedding planner—but after last night, I’m not sure it’s a fair one.
Harlan gives me a closer look and grunts. “I’m not sure you need me to hold up the other end of this conversation. Those voices inside your head are almost loud enough I can hear them.”
Damn observant Dom. “There’s a lot to argue about.” I head for safer ground. Ground he’ll understand. “Any woman of mine is also going to be my sub, and if I was looking for a sub, it wouldn’t be a people pleaser who would let me walk all over her. I need someone who will push back.”
He shrugs. “So teach her how to do that.”
Easier said than done, and he knows it. “I can teach her enough to handle a gentle Dom, but I’m not that guy.”
“I don’t know.” He’s still squatting by the toolbox, and his eyes are opaque. “I think she might surprise you. She sure the hell surprised herself last night. And her wanting to please people isn’t really t
he problem. She just needs to please the right people. You and her. Full stop. Maybe if she gets enough of that, she can tell everyone else to fuck off and mean it.”
I stare at him—because he’s smart as fuck and reads subs better than anyone, and because he just flicked the switch on a whole damn forest of light bulbs. “So I don’t need to squash her need to please. I just need to redirect it.”
He nods, and the smile that grows on his face is pure, evil Dom. “What did you have planned for tonight?”
I grin. “Interestingly enough… exactly the right thing.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Meghan
He’s going to hyperventilate. I grab Leo’s shoulders and shake. “Hold your breath for three seconds. Then let it out.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking Klingon. “What?”
I don’t have a paper bag, so I’m improvising. “You’re breathing too fast. Hold each one for a few seconds before you let it out or you’ll pass out and this baby will meet one of her dads while he’s unconscious on the floor.”
“Way to calm him down,” says Scorpio dryly, shoving a chair under Leo’s butt before he crash lands on the floor. “Sit down, dude. Sam’s on his way, Gabby’s calling Jules to get some baby gear dropped off, Mattie’s picking you guys up a couple of days of big-people food, and Emily’s bossing social services around so that you can sign most of the paperwork tomorrow.”