TRUST - Meghan & Quint (Fettered Book 5)

by Lilia Moon

  There’s no judgment in his question, but I squirm anyhow. “I wanted to do something together. To build something that felt like ours and had our people in it. I didn’t care so much what shape it took.”

  His eyes have gone soft. “You wanted a tribe.”

  He says that like it’s a really good thing. I nod slowly. We share this, and I want him to know. “People matter to me. I wanted to run a neighborhood bar when I was a teenager. One with live music and drinks with sophisticated names where the same people would come in every night and I would know them all.” I shrug, suddenly embarrassed by how much I’ve just said. “I really liked hanging out behind the bar while you played last night.”

  He’s looking like I just kissed him until he forgot his own name. “Seriously? You wanted to run a bar?”

  So seriously I still remember the names of most of my drinks. “Ask Emily. I talked her ear off about it for years. Then we turned legal drinking age and discovered most bars aren’t actually like that.”

  He’s playing with my fingers. “Mine is.”

  It totally is—and it almost feels like he’s offering me a piece of it. I’m not sure what to do with that. “Yours has a lot of half-naked customers.”

  He grins. “Yeah. And really bad tips.”

  I like this side of him. Laid back and quick to smile and touching me when he’s not trying to steal my food. I hold my garlic bread out of his reach and kiss his fingers instead. “Mine.”

  He raises an eyebrow, but it’s so mock stern it almost makes me giggle. “You’re going to pay for that later.”

  I don’t want to think about later. It makes the land between my legs pulse, and I’m already so achy and sore I’m not sure I can handle much more.

  His fingers stroke my cheek, and his eyes look concerned. “What is it?”

  I grimace. “I’m not sure my ass can take much more tonight.”

  “Shit.” He pulls his chair closer and tips his head to mine. “I’m sorry, Meghan. I forgot how new you are. Impact play isn’t something that happens multiple times a day for anyone. I didn’t mean for you to be sitting here stewing about that.”

  He looks so worried. I kiss his cheek, just because I can. “Thanks for letting me know. My ass is grateful.”

  He flashes me a wry grin. “I’m betting it’s not quite there yet. How sore are you?”

  I don’t really know what the scale is. “Sore enough that sitting on this nice padded chair is making me pretty antsy. Not sore enough to hate you.”

  “That will probably last for a couple of days. I want you to track it, let me know. Everyone is different in the frequency and intensity of impact play they like and can handle, and any time a Dom is doing more than making your ass pink, it’s something he needs to know.”

  My trainer is back, but this time it doesn’t feel like he’s pushing me away. He’s just taking care. “Got it. I don’t think I’d want to do that really often. It feels like something that should be special.” I realized I’ve just told him exactly how I feel without screening it at all. “Sorry, I probably don’t get to decide that.”

  “With me, you do.” He leans in and pulls my hand, with the rest of my garlic bread, to his mouth, and takes a nibble. “You don’t get to decide the details of when and where and how, but I’m hearing loud and clear that for you, the pain is an accent. Like the single red flower in a bouquet.”

  I stare at him, because he’s just explained it utterly beautifully.

  His eyes glow with amusement. “I stole that from Ari.”

  “You stole a really good line.” He’s given me a way my mind can be proud of the marks on my ass. Proud of the marks he put there.

  The single red flower in my wholeness.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Quint

  We’re halfway through heaping plates of spaghetti and I’m sitting here wishing I could stop time. Which is an entirely weird feeling for me period, but especially when I’ve got plans. Dom ones that are going to push hard on the woman sitting across from me with laughter in her eyes and enough garlic in her belly to spawn little garlic babies.

  Somehow I didn’t expect her to love to eat.

  It’s a surprise that fits, just like her neighborhood-bar fantasy, and the bra she didn’t wear under the dress that shows off every single one of her curves. It’s not an overtly sexy dress—it’s one that sneaks up on you. Just like she’s doing.

  I know what I’m doing with that dress in an hour or so, and still, I’m totally content to stay right here and slurp spaghetti and listen to her tell stories of the ten-year-olds she and Emily used to marry.

  She scoops a stray noodle with her fork and catches me looking. “Do I have sauce on my chin?”

  I run my thumb along her jaw line. “Not anymore.”

  She grins. “Do I get chocolate after this? Because that would be pretty much my perfect date.”

  That wasn’t in the plans, but it is now. “I know a bar. It’s got some really good desserts on tap.” I touch her hand again. Quint who plays second guitar has a touchy-feely side I didn’t know about. “I like watching you eat. You’ve got a sensual side you don’t let out much.”

  She makes a wry face. “I usually hide it while I eat, too. It’s not a good idea to be a sensual wedding planner.”

  It’s the only kind I’d want. “I’m glad you’re letting me see.” I manage not to roll my eyes. Quint who plays second guitar is also embarrassingly goopy.

  She leans over and plants a slightly oily kiss, redolent in garlic, right on my lips. “You’re welcome. Also, you should know that whatever you’ve been thinking about this evening when you get all quiet and broody is making me nervous. Which apparently makes me eat more.”

  I lean in and drop my voice. “I want you nervous.”

  She groans softly. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “You have your safewords.”

  It’s a throwaway Dom line, but she looks at me, dead seriousness in her eyes. “I know. And I know you need me to be really clear and use them.”

  When she gets a lesson, she really gets it. I let her see the approval in my eyes. And watch her melt. Trust, building, shimmering in the air between us.

  What I’m going to do tonight will either cement that or blow it all to hell.

  She smiles. “Tell me about the band.”

  It isn’t something I think about very hard. “When Eli moved here, we got together to play a few times. Classical shit mostly, because he’s a fancypants musician. The band somehow grew out of that.”

  Her eyebrows fly up. “You play classical guitar?”

  Not where anyone but Eli can hear me. “My mom made me take group lessons when I was a kid. I was shy and awkward and she signed me up hoping it would help me make other geeky musical friends.”

  Meghan’s got a look on her face that I can’t quite read, but I like it. “Did it?”

  I shrug. “We moved around quite a bit in those years, and I started taking private lessons. Then I grew like a weed and turned into a decent point guard, so I made my friends that way. That’s how Damon and I met. He tried to block a three-point shot and I got fouled for moving his ass out of the way.” I grin, because he argued with the ref over that call more than I did. “But I kept playing the guitar. Eventually I got an electric one and jammed in my friend’s garage. Worst band of all time, but we had fun. Probably burst some eardrums too. We made up for lack of talent with volume.”

  She grins. “At least you didn’t force people into child marriages.”

  I never sit and talk with a sub about my childhood. Ever. “This time I got lucky and hooked up with some band members who can actually play. They make me sound good.”

  She gives me a look I’m more used to seeing from Ari. “You are good. But mostly you work hard to make everyone else sound good. It’s sweet.” She shrugs, suddenly more diffident. “I got to see a different side of you. I liked it.”

  I can’t believe I’m about to tell
her the whole truth, but I am. “I get to back off. To just be one of the guys and let someone else be in charge. Nothing breaks if I hit a wrong note, and I can goof off or try some stupid show-off guitar riff and not worry about throwing anyone else off.” I stop, because even I can hear my words giving her totally the wrong impression. I love being in charge.

  Her head is tilted like a curious bird. “Which is really different from being a Dom.” She smiles. “It’s your red flower.”

  I stare, because she’s just nailed it. “Yeah, exactly. It’s not what I want the rest of the time, but the contrast makes the Dom stuff more fun. It helps me remember it’s a choice, and one that I really like.”

  She’s looking down, and her cheeks are rosy. “Was groupie sex in the storage closet a red flower too?”

  It was. And it was also a freaking idiot thing to do with a new sub, but I can read her body language. She’s proud. Happy. Glad she could be that for me and way more clear on the lines than I was. I reach for her chin and drop my voice low, because she deserves to have that honored—and she deserves total clarity about what’s coming next. “It was. Tonight isn’t.”

  Her smile takes a long time to bloom. When it does, it’s beautiful.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Meghan

  The bar Quint guides me into is only a couple of blocks from the restaurant where we ate. A short walk on a night hinting of spring. No reason at all for my legs to be shaking, but they are.

  We enter the dim, crowded space. I survey it with a wedding planner’s eyes. Lots of regulars. People are comfortable here, and judging from the number of plates on tables, the food is good. I shake my head. I’m not here as a wedding planner, and thinking about the food service is just a convenient way to avoid thinking about the man walking beside me. The change in his eyes, in his posture, as soon as we hit the door of the bar.

  His hand settles on my back, and even through my wool coat, I can feel the authority. “Over in the back corner. The bartender saved us a couple of stools.”

  Normally I would think it’s cool that he knows the sexy, bald man behind the counter serving drinks. On a night like tonight, I don’t want to know he has friends in key places. Potential accomplices. I head toward the rear of the bar, noting that my legs haven’t gotten any steadier. If Quint wanted me nervy, mission accomplished.

  When we get to two back stools that are miraculously empty and have a great view, he leans over and kisses the top of my ear. “Let me take your coat.”

  I don’t want to give it up. It feels like the security blanket between me and whatever comes next.

  His lips quirk. “I didn’t pick you out a sexy dress so that you could hide it, sweetheart.”

  I felt sexy and brave when I got dressed. When I decided to leave my bra in my drawer and live a little closer to the wild side. Somewhere on our short stroll to get here, I lost the brave part. But I haven’t lost my manners yet, so I unbutton my coat and slide my arms slowly out.

  Quint catches it and pauses the slide while my forearms are still trapped, holding them together behind my back. He leans over my shoulder and drops soft kisses on my neck. “I have a gorgeous view from up here.”

  His kisses are making me shudder, but his words make me laugh. “Are you looking down my dress, Quint?”

  He growls.

  Damn. I’m still amused, but suddenly very aware that my wrists are trapped and my breasts are pushing out for all the world to see. Good thing the lighting in here is standard neighborhood bar. “Are you looking down my dress, Sir?”

  “Absolutely.” He steps away from me and slides my coat the rest of the way off my arms.

  I shiver as he moves away to hang it up. Then he’s back, and this time his arms slide in around my waist, snugging me into his chest and his very noticeable erection. “I’m the only one who will get that view tonight.” His hand slides up to cup my breast. “The only one who gets to touch you.”

  He might be the only one touching, but he’s groping me. In public. In a bar. I try to step out of his arms, away from his sudden step across a line I didn’t think anyone old enough to drink needed to hear.

  His arm clamps down around my waist. “You have safewords, Meghan. Unless and until you use them, your job is to submit.”

  His voice is in that range that tolerates no disobedience—and makes my neurons melt. “We’re in public. People can see.”

  “Your hard limit is people seeing you naked while I touch you.” His hand is still cupping my breast, gently kneading. “This doesn’t cross that line. If you need out, you have words that will get you there.”

  My mind is going a hundred miles an hour, even as my nipple tries to mate with his fingers. I can hear my breathing. My want. And I can hear his certainty. The only line that matters right now is the one I set. He doesn’t give a damn about what anyone else in this bar thinks is appropriate.

  But I do.

  I keep breathing. “Yellow. I need some time to think. Please.”

  His hand stills. “Do you need me to stop touching you, or change how I’m touching you?”

  My nipple vetoes my brain. “No.”

  He nuzzles into my neck. “Okay. You have as long as it takes for Mike there to wipe down the bar. Then I need a red or a green.”

  He understands me way too well, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now. Mike is pretty thorough, but the bar isn’t that long. He lifts his head and gives me a quick wink, and then goes back to polishing.

  Oh, hell. There’s no way he missed the man behind me, currently fondling my breast through fabric that is suddenly way flimsier than when I put it on. But Mike didn’t blink, which means I’m not going to get saved by the bartender.

  The lines need to be mine.

  I look around the bar. People are mostly talking to each other, eating nachos and pizza and ice cream sundaes in tall glasses and ignoring this dim corner at the back. But not all. I can see furtive glances and a few more interested ones. One man at the other end of the bar raises his glass to me and I nearly bolt for the door. It’s probably good I don’t—I’m not sure my legs would manage it.

  Quint’s fingers lightly roll my nipple, and I can’t stop my whimper.

  Trust. It’s time to choose, and he’s asked me to trust that he knows what I need tonight, even if I’m not at all sure. To let him drive this bus long enough for me to learn.

  To let him push me so that I can be bigger. So that I can be whole.

  I take a deep breath. He knew when I needed to stop at the club, even when I didn’t. He put marks on my ass, the red flower that is entirely mine and lets the pleasure that comes after be entirely mine too. He knows what my limits are, even if I clearly should have had them looked over by a lawyer.

  I can trust him with this.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Quint

  I feel her decision, her body relaxing into mine, her spine signaling surrender before I hear her whispered “green.”

  She’s just put herself into my hands and Mike’s still got half his bar to wipe down, because he’s not nearly the hard-ass that I am. I wanted to give her time to process, to think, to choose. To take her to the cliff edge but not over it, because I need this to be crystal clear for her.

  She’s chosen.

  I cup both breasts, wrapping her in Dom strength. Mike casts me a quick look Meghan can’t see, and so does Neil, sitting at the end of the bar sipping something that is almost certainly water. They’re my lookouts. The ones who will pay attention to everything I can’t and run interference for me if necessary, because I’ll have my hands entirely full with the woman currently in them.

  The one whose legs are about to give out on her.

  I smile into her neck and guide her to the nearest stool. It’s smaller than the usual ones, a fat crescent moon shape with a foot bar at just the right height, because this isn’t Mike’s first rodeo. “Have a seat. Rearrange your dress so that the skirt is loose and hanging down all around you.�
� It’s not a long skirt—well above her knees when she’s standing, and nice and flowy.

  All the better for easy access.

  I hear her intake of breath as she processes my instructions. The panties I sent with the dress are all that will be between her and crescent-shaped leather, and she’s just figured that out.

  I run my hand up and down her spine. “Trust me, Meghan.” For a lot more than basic hygiene, but we can start there.

  She whiffs out another breath and begins to move, freeing her skirt from underneath her ass with an impressively ladylike series of wiggles. I don’t do anything. I just hover and let her breathe in Dom fumes.

  Mike is busy serving drinks, chasing away a couple of guys who have come over to get a closer look at the action. They can watch, but not from this close. Neil grins at a woman who has stepped in beside him, clearly distracted from ordering her drink, and even more clearly aroused. I roll my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be recruiting night, but she can watch too.

  Mike heads our way and gives Meghan a pleasant smile. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  I let my hand trail down her spine and lower, tracing a finger into the cleft of her ass. The magic stool has her nicely exposed, even with a layer of skirt in the way.

  “Cranberry juice. Please.” Meghan practically squeaks.

  “Sure.” Mike pretends like everything’s normal as I start bunching up the back of my sub’s skirt. “With soda or straight up?”

  Meghan closes her eyes and looks like she’s praying. Possibly wishing for higher powers to strike me dead. “Soda. Please.” She has better voice control this time, but her hands have curled up into fists.

  I let the skirt fall over my wrist, which leaves my hand and her ass a nice convenient little tent to play in. I don’t mess around. I pull on the bikini tie on her left hip and then her right one, freeing her underwear from its job covering too much of her ass.