TRUST - Meghan & Quint (Fettered Book 5)

by Lilia Moon

  I pick up the fork and scoop her a bite of cake. I have it on good authority that chocolate is always acceptable aftercare.

  I can feel the moment she sees the eyes. There are still plenty of people gawking. Not as many as before, but more than enough to scratch up against the skin she’s put back on.

  I put a hand on the small of her back. I tell my trainee Doms that the most important part of a big scene is aftercare, and I mean every word. “Tell me what you see, sweetheart. All those eyes that are looking at you—look back at them and tell me what you see.” I need to get her around her preconceptions. If we’re going to crash now, I want it to be into the truth.

  She tenses against me, but she doesn’t move away. “Some judgment. Condemnation.”

  I hurt for her that those are the eyes she sees first. It’s my job to make her see the rest. “Yeah. What else?”

  She swallows. “Some lust. Men who want me.”

  Better. “They can’t fucking have you. What else?”

  She smiles softly. “Some people who want to be me. And some who are going to go home and have a really good time tonight.”

  There we go, and with barely a skid around the corner. “Right. There are always some fuckers, and you can ignore them or deal with them. You know how.” Drunk assholes at wedding receptions likely don’t give a damn about consent. “But you didn’t let them win tonight. Instead, you pleased your Dom and shared some good vibes with people out there who have maybe just expanded their worlds a little or will have a better night because of you.”

  She leans her head into my shoulder, and everything about her is soft. “The person who grew the most tonight is me.”

  Not just her. I feel like my Dom heart got three sizes bigger. “It’s what you asked for. To not feel small. To find out what makes you whole.”

  “I know.” She chuckles quietly. “I had no idea what I was asking for.”

  I’m watching her, because she’s still focused on the crowd. “What are you looking at?”

  “I’m meeting the eyes of all the people who are judging me.”

  I gulp and keep holding the fucking container. “And how does that feel?”

  Her grin is the size of the whole chocolate cake. “I don’t care. And I always care.”

  I’ve taken subs through some big scenes—some really big ones. I’m just beginning to understand how big this one was. How big she let it be. “You don’t have to give a fuck what they think. You can be what they expect to see, or not. You get to choose.”

  She’s nodding. “If I’m at a client wedding, I can conform. And if I’m at the bar with my sexy guy, I can choose something else.”

  I’m liking the sound of that. A lot. Including the part about being her guy.

  My sub’s not done. “That’s why people do this. It’s why Scorpio lets her soft side out now and Gabby has a take-no-shit one. And how Sam found his reasons to be steady and now he’s going to be the best dad ever.” She looks at me with gratitude and wisdom and pure happiness in her eyes. “That’s why you do this, isn’t it?”

  Nailed in one. “Yeah.” I swallow, because I only have one question left—and it’s a really big one. “Will you keep doing it with me?”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Meghan

  I’m swimming in the wild ripples left from what just happened here. What he built for me and held steady while I blew apart. But I don’t miss the significance of his words—or the vulnerability in his eyes when he says them.

  I shift on the bar stool that was never really meant for sitting on and angle so that I can see his face. Feel his heart. “The sex part, or the rest of it too?”

  He shrugs and makes a wry face, his eyes never leaving mine—and what lives in them is utterly naked. “I don’t usually do the rest. I might need lessons.”

  I’m not the only one trying to feel my way to wholeness. “I’ve heard the stories of Gabby’s cooking lessons. I’m pretty sure only crazy people try to train a Dom.”

  His lips quirk. “I can cook. Not chocolate cake, but bacon and eggs and shit.”

  I can feel the bubbles of laughter trying to sneak up my throat. He sounds like he’s applying for a job. “I like you. I like being with you. We could start there.” It feels wide open. Big. Whole.

  His knuckle traces down my cheek. “I have some rules.”

  The laughter wins. Of course he does. “I might have some too.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’m still a hard-ass. That’s not going to change.”

  I grin. “I’m not defenseless. One word from me and you’ll have three brats riding your ass at the club, your cookie supply will be cut off, and your lead guitarist will make you wish you’d stayed in your stinky teenage garage.” And that’s leaving my biggest threat on the bench. None of them have seen Emily really angry.

  Quint looks like a puppy I just threatened to kick. “Cookie withholding is a low blow.”

  I stick a fork in the chocolate cake I’ve barely touched. “You’re the one who put baked goods in play.”

  He’s still trying the puppy-dog deal, but his eyes are too amused for it to work. “It would hurt Gabby to be mean to me.”

  I grin and kiss his almost-pouty lips, because I can, and because I’ve always been a sucker for puppies and good men who don’t go down easy. “Then you’d better be a hard-ass who colors inside the lines.”

  He blinks at me and shakes his head. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

  Maybe let her out of her cage a little. Or a lot. I reach for his chin and the scruff that has somehow grown there overnight. “You just took some of her shackles off. Thank you.”

  His eyes warm—and the vulnerability is back. “I’ll keep working on that. Not as your trainer. As a Dom who really likes you.”

  I’m not done laying down my rules. “I want the guy who plays guitar and has groupie sex in the storage closet too.”

  He looks a little worried and a little glad. “You’ll have him.”

  I smile and lean in. “I hear that Damon paints Emily’s toenails and Harlan licks pizza cheese off Scorpio’s belly.”

  He groans. “None of that was even on my radar. I’m a guy who tends bar at a kink club.” Now he looks really worried. “And who doesn’t want to give that up.”

  I roll my eyes. “I plan weddings. I don’t want one. I’m happy to be your barmaid.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “I get to name the drinks, though.”

  He turns a little pale. “No way.”

  I’m high on some kind of buzz that isn’t going away anytime soon. “Hard limit, or you’re just really uncomfortable and you need to be pushed?”

  He shakes his head. “Do you know what happens to subs who use their Dom’s best lines against them?”

  I grin and pick up my cranberry juice. “No. But it might be fun to find out.”

  He leans into me and growls.

  I close my eyes. What happened here is huge, will be huge for a while yet. The next part needs to be private. “It’s a twenty-minute walk to my place. That should be long enough for you to tell me the rest of your rules.”

  He’s shaking his head. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

  I breathe, because I’m standing, quivering, astride one of those lines again. The one where I want the Dom, and the guy with the soft eyes and the skills with bacon, and the drink menu that needs a total overhaul. “Normally I’d tell you that I get to say when I’m done, but I’m still new at this business of being a sub. So how about I tell you that I want and need all the closeness I can get with you tonight, and leave it up to you to decide how that looks?” I tip my forehead down to his shoulder. “If it means you crawl into my bed and all we do is hold each other, I’ll be okay with that.”

  He groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  I laugh. “Totally. Is it working?”

  There’s an erection pushing hard into the side of my leg, and I didn’t put it there. He growls into my ear. “I hope you don’t need to walk at w
ork tomorrow.”

  I push into his hardness. “It’s my day off, there’s bacon in my fridge, and if we get bored with sex, we can work on renaming your drink menu.”

  Yes, I’m taunting a hard-ass. I don’t plan to regret it for a minute.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Meghan - Epilogue

  Ari grins at me over the top of the bar. “I’ll have a Pink Catastrophe and a Harlan’s Cock Fuzz.”

  I grin back. I paid a high price for renaming Quint’s drinks, and Fettered’s members are working really hard to make sure I get my money’s worth. “I’ve got a new one that doesn’t have a name yet.” I point to a glass bowl at the end of the bar, stuffed almost to the brim with small, folded pieces of paper. “I’m taking suggestions.”

  She cackles. “You just want someone else’s ass to suffer this time.”

  That’s the story I’m telling, but my ass is as happy as it’s been in my entire life. Just this once, change has been a really good thing. I pour Ari a tumbler of flaming-pink juice and add a little paper umbrella covered in skulls. “I thought you were on Soleil duty tonight?”

  She frowns. “I got bumped. Leo’s parents are in town.”

  Grandparents probably trump best aunties, but just barely. “Is Damon still cursing?” He’s discovered that his staffing schedule plays second fiddle to time with Sam and Leo’s baby girl.

  “He’ll deal.” Ari grabs a bowl of peanuts and chocolate to go along with the two tumblers. “His life is easier now that you’re handling the bar more and Quint’s free to roam.”

  That’s taken careful negotiation on a lot of fronts. Your Perfect Moment is pivoting. Less weddings, more parties and special occasion celebrations for Fettered people. A business plan that’s more compatible with club life, band gigs, babies, and lazy nights at home eating pizza naked. It feels weird. And good. It leaves me more time to be a barmaid and whatever else this has become. We’re not naming it yet. We’re just sinking in and letting it take shape around us. Or that’s what I’m doing. Quint probably has plenty of diabolical plans.

  Ari blows me a kiss and walks off with her booty. I scan the bar—Doms on the Bottom just wrapped up their first set and business has been brisk. I’ve got drinks ready for the band. Ice water for Scorpio and Quint, because singers need hydration, not sugar. Basil-infused water with a twist of lemon for Eli, because he’s a classy guy and doesn’t care if everyone knows it. A Naked Sub with a Cherry on Top for Jackson, because he’s not picky, he loves sugar, and he has an understated but easily tweaked sense of humor.

  Two arms skate around the sides of my waist, pinning me to the bar and holding me exactly where my Dom wants me. He bends down and nibbles on the back of my neck. “You’ve been busy. Take a break.”

  I shake my head, even as I lean back into his chest. “I can’t. All those people who have been dancing up a storm while you guys play are going to want beverages.”

  He chuckles into my neck. “That wasn’t a suggestion, sweetheart. But if you want to stay right here, I can work with that, too.”

  He does this all the time. Talks like a normal guy instead of a Dom and expects me to read his mind. I’d throw a hissy fit, except it wouldn’t change the outcome—and the tone of his voice has me worried. “Fine, I’ll take a break.” I try to move and feel his cock grinding into my ass. Which my pussy apparently thinks is a really fine idea.

  My growl sounds mostly like a groan.

  He chuckles again and puts one of his hands on my stomach, pulling us tighter together. “I don’t do second chances—you know that.”

  I groan again. He totally doesn’t. Especially in front of his people. He’s a hard-ass with a rep to maintain.

  He bites my neck, hard. “I have ten minutes, and you look like you could use an orgasm or three.”

  I can feel my legs turn to goo. We’ve done a couple of scenes here in the last two weeks, but they’ve been in the dungeon where most people are busy worrying about their own asses, not whatever’s about to happen to mine. I’m not anywhere near safewording out, but I’m shaky. Behind the bar is my happy place. My safe zone for dealing with the people and the culture and the wild sexual behaviors of Fettered at my own speed. On my own time.

  Unfortunately, Quint’s happy place is knocking me out of anything that might feel comfortable. His fingers slide under the front triangle of the tiny panties that came with the slinky slip dress he decided was appropriate bar wear for tonight. The bar counter hides his hand from view—barely. The man deeply enjoys pushing right up against my limits on public displays of kinky behavior. His fingers slide into my folds, and he hums approval into my ear. “Waiting for me, were you?”

  More or less. He’s turned into a habit. Kind of like sleeping or eating or breathing.

  He toes my legs wider apart and presses his fingers more firmly over my clit. I tip my head back into his shoulder. I’m pretty sure I’m about to be the entertainment of the set break, and I can’t find it in myself to protest. Not with his cock a hard ridge against my ass and his fingers already working their magic between my legs.

  He stops suddenly. “I only have ten minutes. We might need to speed this up some.”

  He’s talking louder. I wince and lift my head off his shoulder—just in time to see him catch whatever Tank’s helpfully thrown at him. Eva winks cheerfully at me from under Tank’s arm, which isn’t much of a clue. There are plenty of things she enjoys that would make me run screaming.

  Quint palms whatever he’s just caught and drops it into the hand in my panties. I whimper, because he’s got a disturbing fondness for vibrators and all of them make me come in sixty seconds flat.

  He chuckles, and I hear the buzz. I have just enough time to make a face and then it’s on me, a tiny, evil bullet that kicks ass, or pussy in this case, and takes no names. I know this particular brand of hell—he has one at home, too. The first time it came out, I was innocent enough to think it was cute.

  He delights in exploding my preconceptions. All of them.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Quint - Epilogue

  She seizes against me, and it’s a beautiful thing. I’m a big fan of bullet vibrators—they carry serious punch in a really small package. They’re also loud enough to amuse our audience. When my sub won’t let people see, I have to get creative.

  Ari’s rolling her eyes and chatting with Eva, who’s looking both sympathetic and aroused. I hope Tank’s paying attention. Just like I need to do. I nip the top of Meghan’s ear, right where she’s most sensitive. I slide my hand out of her panties and drop the vibrator in her hand, still buzzing. “That’s going to be your job. When I tell you.”

  Her groan is laced with suspicion. As it should be. I take a step back, leaving her standing on her own two feet. I won’t leave her that way long, but I want her yearning for the strength of her Dom. I don’t waste the time. I’m already squirting lube onto my fingers. Letting the audience see, getting their imaginations going too.

  Playing the kink head game.

  Meghan whimpers and closes her eyes. She knows what’s coming—or she thinks she does.

  I don’t make her wait. I slide one finger into her ass and rapidly add a second, stretching her just to the point of discomfort, but not beyond. This isn’t a red-flower scene. I’m not aiming for pain, just my sub a little off-kilter and a lot needy. I work my fingers around in her ass. She grinds against me, a sub who likes ass play and doesn’t care how many people know it.

  She’s come a long damn way in the last two weeks.

  I contemplate telling her to use the vibe, but that will just make the next part way too easy. I don’t want it easy—I want her aware. I undo my leathers with one hand and roll on a condom, still twisting my fingers around in her ass. The conversation around us is hushing. A good ass fuck doesn’t happen behind the bar every day, even here. Harlan and Ari are manning the wings, keeping people at sight angles where they might get a good look at my cock, but they’re not going to cross Me
ghan’s lines. No pussies on display.

  I lube the condom and touch my sub’s hip. “Hands on the counter, sweetheart.” I slide my cock up and down her ass crack a little and enjoy her shudders. We’ve done this enough in private to know just how much she likes it. Now I want her to let everyone see.

  The first inch in is the toughest, and she takes it like a pro, pushing back against the discomfort. There are a few idiots watching me, but most people are smart enough to be locked on to Meghan’s face. She’s a bright, shining billboard of surrender and need, and if my cock got any harder it would be cast in concrete.

  I push all the way in, balls-deep, and hold her hips, taking a few slow thrusts. Invading, feeling her open for me. Hearing her breathing get all tight and high and desperate. Then I wrap a hand around her belly and pull her upper body back against my chest. I need the closeness. Quint the guy who plays second guitar insists on it.

  She arches her back, trying to ride my cock.

  I grin. Illegal sub behavior, but I’ve got ways to keep her busy. I nuzzle into her neck. “Put the vibrator on your clit. When you’ve come three times, you can give it back to Tank.”

  Her grind this time is one of protest.

  I give her a few seconds. They’re ruinous to my hard-ass cred, but she’s a sub who sometimes needs a little space. A breath before she surrenders.

  It takes two breaths, but then her hand heads downward, under the silk of the thing she calls a slip dress and into her panties, which are a soaking-wet mess.

  I hold her tight against me with the hand on her belly and grind my cock into her ass. Short, deep thrusts, the kind that won’t mess with vibrator positioning. She jerks as the vibe lands on her clit, and I can feel her muscles tensing. Readying.

  It won’t take long. I run my free hand up her side and find a breast, rubbing it back and forth under the silk. “I want to feel you come around my cock, Meghan. Tight and hot and wild for all these people to see.”