YIELD - Emily & Damon (Fettered Book 1)

by Lilia Moon

  Yield (Fettered #1)

  Emily & Damon

  Lilia Moon

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Emily

  2. Damon

  3. Emily

  4. Damon

  5. Emily

  6. Damon

  7. Damon

  8. Emily

  9. Damon

  10. Emily

  11. Damon

  12. Damon

  13. Emily

  14. Emily

  15. Damon

  16. Emily

  17. Damon

  18. Emily

  19. Damon

  20. Emily

  21. Damon

  22. Emily

  23. Damon

  24. Emily

  25. Damon

  26. Emily

  27. Emily

  28. Damon

  29. Emily

  30. Damon

  31. Emily

  32. Damon

  33. Emily

  34. Damon

  35. Emily

  36. Damon

  37. Emily

  38. Damon

  39. Emily

  40. Damon

  41. Emily

  42. Emily

  43. Damon

  44. Emily

  45. Damon

  46. Emily

  47. Damon

  48. Damon

  49. Emily

  50. Emily

  51. Damon

  52. Emily

  53. Damon

  54. Emily

  55. Epilogue - Damon

  56. Epilogue - Emily

  Note from Lilia

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Lilia Moon

  Borrowing my words to make money is a hard limit. Using them to fuel your own fantasies is totally encouraged!

  xoxo Lilia

  Chapter One

  Emily

  Saturdays are weddings. Sundays and Mondays are sleep. Tuesday is the day when I have to hold meetings with my cranky staff and make sure we have all the logistics for the next week under control.

  Tuesdays aren’t all bad. In the winter, when things are slower and brides aren’t falling from the sky in triplicate, our logistics meetings can even be fun. But in the dead of summer, all that keeps Tuesdays rolling is the sheer willpower of one Emily Madigan.

  Unfortunately, my name is Emily.

  Scorpio puts her coffee mug down beside mine. There’s no chance we’ll confuse them. Mine is delicate green china with a modern aesthetic. Hers is chunky, black, and covered in skulls.

  She slams her body into a chair that was chosen to be both beautiful and comfortable. “Morning. Leo’s running late.”

  Our erstwhile videographer has been running late since the beginning of time. He also makes wedding videos guaranteed to make brides weep tears of never-ending joy, so I tolerate his lackadaisical attitude toward anything resembling a clock.

  Actually, so long as it isn’t a Tuesday or a Saturday, I find Leo pretty endearing.

  I know Scorpio won’t make it past grunts until she’s downed at least half a mug of caffeine, so I keep laying out papers in front of chairs. Some businesses have gone entirely electronic, but we aren’t one of them. Some things have to be touched and felt and experienced.

  Scorpio side-eyes the lengths of ribbon I lay down in front of her. “What are those for?”

  “Accent pieces, bouquets, thematic inspiration.” The words don’t matter—none of that is her responsibility, and the day I leave Scorpio in charge of decorating anything will kill us both. Her style runs only one direction, and retired punk rocker isn’t a look most of our clients are going for.

  “Morning, Em. Hey, Scorpio.” Meghan swings in, her usual sunny self on full display. Gabby, our new receptionist, is hot on her heels. The two of them are turning into a good team, which is great. Meghan needs help handling the clients, and Gabby has a soft, motherly touch that works equally well with frantic brides and grumpy coworkers. Hiring her before the summer rush hit was one of my greater strokes of genius in recent memory.

  I smile and nod at everyone to take their seats. Leo will get here when he gets here. The rest of us need to make sure we’re going to survive August.

  Six more weeks. Then things will slow down and we can all take a well-deserved mental health break. Until then, Your Perfect Moment needs to stay in top gear, and that’s pretty much entirely up to the four people in this room.

  I pick up a green folder as I sit. It pleases me that it matches the green of my coffee cup. I smile at Gabby to let her know I’ve noticed. She’s great with details like that—the ones that make clients feel special. Sometimes I can steamroll right over those, and it’s good to know she’s got our backs.

  She flushes and looks down at her hands, but I can tell she’s pleased.

  I also see Scorpio’s wink. She and Gabby have hit it off like gangbusters, which I think surprised everyone, including the two of them. Gabby’s a curvaceous, forty-three-year-old grandmother with self-esteem issues who lives in a pretty house in south Seattle, and Scorpio’s the exact opposite of all of that—but on her third day, Gabby walked into the office with a box of goth donut holes, handed it to Scorpio, and they’ve been tight ever since.

  Meghan tilts her chair against the wall, head back, eyes closed. I wince—we had four weddings this weekend, and her job is keeping people happy.

  I lean her way and squeeze her hand. We not only started Your Perfect Moment together, she’s been my best friend since third grade. “Tired?”

  Her eyes pop open. “Nope, just under-caffeinated.” She reaches for the cup Gabby’s handing her and casts a wary glance in my direction.

  I know that look—it’s the one that says she’s made a promise to a client that I’m going to want to kill her for. Meghan’s a people pleaser, and a born saleswoman, and it’s thanks to her that we’ve never had to worry for a single day about how we’re going to stay busy.

  But she tends to adore our clients and want to do everything for them—and I’m the one who has to deliver on whatever she promises. I shelve my intended agenda for the morning and pin her down with my eyes. “How about you kick us off this morning?”

  Scorpio snorts—she doesn’t miss much.

  Meghan reaches for the scones in the middle of the table and hands me one. Strawberries and cream. My favorite, which means that whatever’s going on, Gabby’s in on it too.

  I wait silently. I know how to be patient, and I know how to get even. And I know that my best friend since third grade can’t stand empty silences.

  She rolls her eyes at me, swallows a bite of scone, and clears her throat. “I have a new client for us.”

  That’s standard Tuesday-morning fare—she handles our intake process. I pull out the wall calendar I use to track dates. “What’s their timeframe?”

  I look back up when the room is silent.

  Meghan winces at me, her eyes pleading. “Two weeks.”

  Scorpio snorts again. Gabby just looks like she wants to crawl under the table and hide.

  I count to ten. In three different languages. “Unless they want Scorpio to sing them a song on our front lawn with leftover scones for the reception, no way. No chance, Meghan.” I cut off the protest I can see rising in my partner’s eyes. “Pulling off a wedding in two weeks, even a small one, requires several minor acts of God and no sleep for anyone. We can’t. We’re all already dead on our feet.”

  “I’ll help.” Gabby looks astonished to discover she’s spoken out loud. The color in her cheeks matches her cranberry coffee mug, but she keeps going. “They’re a really sweet couple. They’re older and they’re so in love and ha
ppy and they just want to celebrate with all of their friends. They won’t be high maintenance at all.”

  That’s the biggest speech I’ve ever heard her make—and a really big problem. It means two of the four people in the room want to do this thing.

  We’re not exactly a democracy—but we aren’t exactly anything else, either.

  Meghan leans forward and holds out her phone to Scorpio. “This is the couple.”

  I know I’m in deep, dangerous waters when Scorpio’s whole face softens. You’d never know it from looking at her, but she’s got a gooey, romantic heart underneath all the tough—and my business partner and best friend knows it.

  I lean forward, trying to stop the snowball that’s already rolling down the hill.

  Meghan carefully doesn’t look at me as she swipes at her phone and hands it back to our punk-rock queen of logistics. “This is where they want to get married.”

  Scorpio stares at the screen for a full fifteen seconds—and then laughter spurts out of her, all the way from her belly.

  I watch in shock as the edgiest woman I know falls into something that can only be described as a fit of giggles.

  Leo cruises into the room, eyes wide. “Whoa—what’d I miss?”

  Scorpio somehow manages to contain most of her mirth. “New client. Two weeks. They want to get married at Fettered.”

  The parade of looks that cross Leo’s face would be comic, if I weren’t so certain that a tornado just landed. One I don’t know nearly enough about. I hit my palms down on the table hard enough to get everyone’s attention and glare at Meghan. “Where or what is Fettered?”

  Locations are always the bane of a wedding planner’s existence—they book up far in advance and clients often have their hearts set by the time they walk in our door. In this case, however, I figure this Fettered place is going to be my salvation. No way they’ll say yes to a wedding in two weeks.

  There’s dead silence at the table as everyone finds someplace else to look. Leo slides into the vacant chair and raises a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s the best BDSM club in town.”

  I stare at him. I know what BDSM is, but that’s about as far as my knowledge runs.

  “It would actually be a pretty cool location.” Scorpio looks like she could bust loose giggling again at any moment. “Old house, cool renos, lots of atmosphere.”

  Of course Scorpio knows about this club. Retired punk-rock singers know everything.

  “The clients are speaking with the owner today.” Meghan’s eyes gleam with a whole lot of things I don’t want to think about. “They’re pretty sure he’ll agree—they’re long-time members and it’s where they fell in love.”

  There are lots of images running through my mind, and none of them are remotely compatible with a Tuesday morning and my first cup of coffee.

  “The owner’s name is Damon Black.” My partner has the grace to look a little sheepish. “They’re hoping you’ll be able to meet with him this evening so you can check out the club and figure out how to do your magic.”

  Scouting locations is my job. If anyone else does it, we end up making idiotic promises. Like trying to throw a wedding on two weeks’ notice at a club where people tie each other up and have mad, crazy sex. Or something.

  Meghan pushes her phone my way. “Just look at them, Em. They’re hopelessly in love.”

  I don’t want to look. Scorpio isn’t the only romantic in the room. “Two weeks, people. You’d all hate me if I said yes to this.”

  Gabby leans forward, hope shining in her eyes.

  Leo grabs the phone, looks at the screen, and practically melts on the spot. “I’m in.”

  Meghan and Scorpio look at each other and then at me.

  I’m totally outvoted. I take a bite of my scone and scowl. “This Damon Black person is probably going to say no.”

  Or at least I hope he is. One of us needs to have a spine.

  Chapter Two

  Damon

  I want to put my head between my knees, which is a pretty unusual feeling for a Tuesday morning.

  Or for any time—Fettered has a strictly enforced two-drink limit, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve come anywhere close to reaching it. I wrap my fingers around the fancy pen my brother gave me for my last birthday and look across my desk at the two people currently giving me a headache. “You can’t be serious.”

  Jimmy Barrett nods. “Totally serious, boss.”

  I’m not Jimmy’s boss, but the man is one of Fettered’s original members, and he’s using the word as a term of respect. Which isn’t something a Dom does easily, so I take it as it’s intended, even if it makes my temples throb.

  I created Fettered to form a tribe, to let people find theirs, and Jimmy is a pillar of the community that has grown here over the last ten years. There’s a lot I’ll do to support the club’s members, because I know that what happens here is about a lot more than just sex.

  But do they have to go off their rockers and get married?

  Doxy leans forward, her fingers reaching for Jimmy’s. “Our friends are here, and we want to share this with everyone. We’re so happy.” The look she shoots the man beside her is full of utter adoration. “We want to celebrate that, here in this place where all the best things in our life happen.”

  Those are brave words from a sub who I know sometimes has trouble finding her voice. She moved here a year ago, a transfer from another club that came along with a note from her previous club’s owner, asking me to keep an eye out for her. She has long experience on the scene, but that doesn’t always translate into safety, especially in a new place—and she’s the kind of sub who can be the most vulnerable.

  I didn’t have to keep an eye on her for long. Jimmy took one look at the slight, gray-haired pixie and fell head over heels. Seattle’s most eligible bachelor Dom for forty years, felled in a heartbeat by a woman who doesn’t weigh much more than his big toe.

  They’re ridiculously good together, and their love affair has been the talk of the club for months.

  I shake my head—and take another look at the glinting sapphire on Doxy’s finger. The talk is just getting started. Fettered is going to go nuts for this.

  I look back up at the two people watching me with hope riding high in their eyes, and raise my shoulders helplessly. “Even if I had any idea how to host a wedding, it can’t possibly happen in two weeks.” I cast about desperately for anything that might save me. Someone must have a nice garden somewhere we could invade.

  Jimmy grins. “Doxy’s taken care of all of that. She’s an organizing whiz. There’s this nice lady, Meghan, who runs a wedding planning company, and her partner is going to come meet with you tonight. They’ll take care of all of the details.”

  I know an overblown sales pitch when I meet one. No way this goes off without me handholding every last step. “I bet they’ve never had to move spanking benches out of the way.”

  “I can find some guys to help with that.” Jimmy’s face is wearing the eternally cheerful look of a man high on fifteen kinds of drugs.

  Those are banned at Fettered, but I can’t do much about the naturally occurring kind. And Jimmy does indeed know several dozen people who will line up to help move whatever might need to be moved and decorate whatever might need to be decorated.

  I imagine streamers running through the dungeon and try not to cringe. The club’s look is a point of pride for me—sexy and classy and the good edge of dangerous.

  Fettered decked out for a wedding? My head definitely needs to be between my legs.

  Small, warm fingers slide over my hand. Doxy clears her throat, but her hand doesn’t waver. “Please, Sir. This is where our people are.”

  I know she isn’t using that word to manipulate me in any way—it’s just a deep enough part of her being that it slipped out. But it does its job on my Dom instincts anyhow. I look at the shy, beautiful sub who in the last year has taken her place as grandmother to everyone in the club, and sigh. Seeing her in a wedding d
ress is going to be seriously weird.

  And also really beautiful.

  Except for the part where there are going to be flowers and streamers all over my damn club.

  Chapter Three

  Emily

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Not the part where I’m scouting a location for a wedding in two weeks, not the part where I’m working a fourteen-hour day because my staff are all nuts, and not the part where I’m walking into a club on the heels of a guy wearing leather and chains and holding a pair of handcuffs.

  He turns around and smiles as he holds the door open for me.

  I’ve never felt more out of place in a business suit in my life. I walk through the door, trying not to stumble or gawk or any of the other horrible clichés that must happen every day at this place.

  The lovely young woman at the standing desk blows a kiss at the man behind me and waves him in. “Hey, Giordie. Head on back—Suzanna’s already at the bar waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, hot stuff.” He grins at her and drops the handcuffs on her desk. “Think you can ask Milo to fix these for me? Something’s up with the release mechanism.”

  “Sure thing.” She tucks them away like she gets asked to fix malfunctioning handcuffs every day of the week, and then straightens up again, smiling at me. “How can I help you?”

  She’s wearing a business suit too, but she fills hers out in ways I can only dream about. “I’m here to meet with Damon Black.”

  That surprises her, but she covers it well. “I’ll let him know you’re here. Can I have your name?”

  It’s never felt weirder to introduce myself. “I’m Emily Madigan. I’m the wedding planner from Your Perfect Moment. He should be expecting me.”

  The professional layers slide off the woman in front of me, and she bounces onto her toes, face full of contagious joy. “Oh, you’re here to help Jimmy and Doxy get married.” She grabs both of my hands. “I’m Ari, and I’ll be so happy to help you in any way that I can. I know pretty much everyone at the club, so you just say the word and I’ll get you anything you need.”