YIELD - Emily & Damon (Fettered Book 1)

by Lilia Moon

  “Doing my job for me again, are you?”

  The voice from the doorway is deep, calm, and demands instant obedience.

  Ari slides back in to her professional skin and rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Damon. We’re just excited, that’s all.”

  I look over at the man who has just walked in, and feel my palms break into an instant sweat. He’s gorgeous, dressed in a suit that does nothing to dim his slightly dangerous charisma or his obvious fondness for Ari. The interesting contradiction of that does something strange to my insides.

  He puts a hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Let’s talk to Ms. Madigan here first and find out how we can be helpful. When it’s time for things to do, I promise you’ll be the first person on my list.”

  The bubbly co-ed is back, although a somewhat subdued version. “Cool. Just line things up and tell me where to point people. I love Doxy so much, and she deserves the best day ever.”

  “We all love Doxy,” he says gently.

  I watch the wildly unlikely tableau as the door person and owner of a BDSM club exchange goopy grins, and wonder just what I’ve gotten myself into.

  And then Damon turns to face me, the flutters in my stomach move lower, and I don’t have to wonder anymore.

  This is clearly the most insane thing I’ve ever done.

  Chapter Four

  Damon

  New members walk into my club every day. Some of them are hot. Some of them yank on my Dom chains and make my cock stand up and pay attention.

  None of them make me want to bury my face in their hair and just inhale.

  Emily Madigan is not the kind of person who walks into Fettered. She’s not nearly that in touch with herself and her needs. Even the people who are scared to be here can sense something they want.

  She’s here because of something Doxy and Jimmy want, but she’s got my full attention anyhow, with her neat gray suit and carefully coiffed hair and her bag full of cranberry-colored folders that match her shoes. She looks like a schoolteacher—a really sexy one. She doesn’t look anything like the women I bring to orgasm against a wall or bend over my spanking bench.

  I have no idea why I ache to do both of those things to her. This woman is no one’s sub. Hell, she probably doesn’t even know what that means.

  I can see Ari watching the two of us, and I know better than to let Fettered’s gatekeeper look at anything for very long. People underestimate her all the time, and they generally live to regret it. She’s observant, insightful, and devilishly creative, all of which make her one of the club’s best switches—and a perpetual thorn in my side.

  She’s lucky I consider her my little sister.

  I gesture toward the door that leads up to my private office. It’s where I hold meetings with people who might be distracted by floggers, leather, and scantily clad patrons. Emily looks at me briefly and steps into the hallway.

  “Straight ahead,” I say. Normally I would lead her there, but I can’t resist the urge to watch her move in front of me.

  She turns, trying to walk beside me. “Ari seems very likable and competent.”

  I stow that away to pass on sometime when Ari’s being particularly bothersome. It’s a good distraction from wanting to push Emily up against the hallway wall and see just how long it takes to make her scream. “Ari is both of those things.”

  “She seems young to be working here.”

  I’m listening carefully, and I don’t hear judgment—not yet, anyhow. “She’s twenty-six, and she’s always been very clear about what she wants.” She’s also one of the visible leaders of the younger branch of the local BDSM community, which makes her a great person to have on the door, and also makes what I say next permissible, even if I’m doing it for the wrong reasons. “When she’s not working the door, she does a lot of the training of our new members. As a switch, she’s uniquely positioned for that.”

  Emily blinks. “What’s a switch?”

  I’ve been educating people on the basics of my lifestyle for ten years. This time feels anything but routine. I walk faster toward my office. I need a desk between the two of us. “Most people in the BDSM community identify as dominant or submissive. That describes the way they prefer to play—how they like to position their power with their partner in a scene. Ari enjoys both roles, so that’s what we call a switch.”

  That has her attention—I can practically hear the wheels turning. I step into my office, turn up the lights, and turn off the music. The last thing I need right now is a seductive backdrop. I have a newbie in my office who’s probably imagining all kinds of things that aren’t remotely accurate—and that I’d like to help her learn.

  Thoroughly and properly and with my undivided attention to every inch of her body.

  Chapter Five

  Emily

  I’m incredibly good at boundaries—in my business, you have to be. Not every groom is as enamored of his bride as he should be, and there are always bachelor uncles and friends and groomsmen, often with far too much alcohol on board.

  I’m very good at professional distance.

  Or I was until tonight.

  I don’t want to keep any distance between Damon Black and me at all, even though he owns a club that encourages things I’m pretty sure I can’t even imagine. I seize on his last words like we’re having a normal conversation. “Why would someone want to give up their power to someone else?”

  He smiles at me as he takes a seat behind his desk, and my crazy urge to jump in his lap does a back flip. “You run a business where you control every last detail, I bet. Where you have to keep track of all the moving parts and make sure they come together flawlessly.”

  That’s a very good description. I wonder just what he does with his days that he understands mine so well. “Yes.” I’m suddenly feeling short of words.

  His next smile is far more dangerous. “So imagine what it would be like to have a safe space where you can let all that go and hand your pleasure over entirely to someone who’s willing to accept that responsibility. Who craves it and gets their own pleasure from taking you to all the places you need to go.”

  I can feel the blood that used to serve my brain heading somewhere entirely different. I swallow, hard. There’s suddenly nothing I want more in the universe than to experience that kind of release. That kind of freedom.

  Which is waking up things in me that have no business at all attending this meeting.

  His eyes don’t leave my face, and I don’t want to think about what he can see there. I swallow one more time and reach into my bag for my planning folder. I also pull out my phone. Intentional redundancy—I track everything twice. Especially when my hands are shaking.

  I look back up at him, feeling entirely too naked. “I understand that you’ve agreed to host Jimmy and Doxy’s wedding here.”

  For the first time, Damon Black looks unsettled. “I’ve agreed to meet with you. I need to know if this is workable. If it isn’t, I’ll sit down with the two of them and find an alternative.”

  That’s my job, but we can argue about that later. I tap my folder. “I’ve checked in with my usual contacts, and catering, flowers, and decorations shouldn’t be a problem.”

  He’s already shaking his head. “We use my people.”

  Over my dead body. Not with two weeks to get ready. “I’ve worked with these vendors for years, and it will smooth the process considerably to keep using them.”

  He only raises an eyebrow.

  I’ve dealt with difficult clients before—and the difficult decision-makers that often come with them. “Let me do my job, Mr. Black. I’m here to take all the work and stress out of your hands, but I can’t do that if you tie up mine.”

  The look that comes into his eyes is amused—and deadly. “We’re pretty good at tying people up around here.”

  I walked right into that one, and I can feel the effects of it skittering over my skin. It’s all too easy to imagine my hands, restrained, while his travel wild and free and do whatever the
y want.

  I can see his eyes imagining too. He’s probably not thinking soft candlelight and even softer silk. Nothing about this place feels soft.

  I don’t know how to break this contact. I want to look away, but I can’t.

  His eyes suddenly gentle, and he leans forward a little. “I apologize. Jokes like that are standard fare around here, but you didn’t come here for verbal play, and I crossed a line. I’m sorry about that.”

  I’m not. I’m suddenly feeling bereft, like he took me somewhere I’ve never been and then disappeared. “I’m a grown-up. Innuendo is surprisingly common in wedding planning too.”

  “We do things differently here. BDSM involves playing with power relationships, but they’re carefully negotiated.” His shoulders move in a self-deprecating shrug. “Which in plain English means I’m a real hard-ass about consent, and you didn’t give yours, so by the rules of my world, that makes me a jerk who needs to apologize.”

  There’s something about a strong and charismatic man freely admitting that he’s wrong that’s pulling me in like a moth to flame.

  That and I somehow can’t eradicate the image of giving myself entirely into his hands. Which is totally not something I should be thinking about while trying to get a shotgun wedding under control. I take a deep breath and try to pull this meeting back on track. “No apology necessary. It sounds like we’re going to be working quite closely together for the next two weeks.” I unbend a little, because I sound obnoxious even to my own ears. “I appreciate that I’m going to be working with a guy who thinks that agreement matters.”

  “Always.” His smile is professional now, but his eyes say something different. “And you’ve just heard one of my hard limits, which is another thing we take pretty seriously around here.”

  Usually I’m the one doing the educating. I borrow one of his tricks and raise an eyebrow.

  This time I get a grin, and it transforms his whole face. “Hard limits are absolute nos. Things people don’t want to do or try or engage in at all. Soft limits are normally set by someone in areas where they’re feeling hesitant or uncertain, but willing to try. Having strangers come into my club is a hard limit.”

  This is a very weird combination of familiar ground and totally new lands. I try to keep my attention on the part that matters. “Can you tell me precisely what concerns you about having my vendors in your club?” I need to know the exact nature of his objections before I can diffuse them.

  He looks oddly pleased by my question. “Most of the space at Fettered is restricted to club members only. No one gets in until they’ve been vetted by my staff and committed themselves legally and personally to very strict standards of privacy and non-disclosure and non-judgment. I’m sure your vendors are professional and discreet, but I’m also sure most of them have never set foot in a BDSM club before. I work really hard to keep Fettered a safe space for everyone here, and that means we use my people.”

  I breathe out. He’s being reasonable, even if it didn’t sound like it at first. There’s a big difference between being a control freak and taking good care of your people, and I walk that line every day. “So let’s talk about some specifics and see if that helps. Catering and flowers are both things where I can have it set up for exterior delivery, and then your internal people could take it from there, with support from my team.”

  He considers that a moment and then nods. “That would be acceptable.”

  I want to make sure he registered all the details. “Having my team working inside is non-negotiable.”

  He pulls out a sheet of paper and reads off names. Leo, Gabby, Scorpio, Meghan, me. “Is that everyone?”

  I’m reduced to stuttering—he’s done some very fast homework. “You researched my staff?”

  “Meghan provided us with a list at my request.”

  She didn’t bother to let me know that.

  “Anyone on this list who wants to be inside at the wedding will need to come here for vetting.” He holds up a hand as I start to protest. “Non-negotiable, for their safety and comfort as well as that of my members. I know they’re your team and you trust them, but do you have any idea how they’ll respond to the sight of a flogger or a spanking bench?”

  I blurt out the first thing in my head. “I don’t know how I’ll react.”

  His smile is long and slow and dangerous. “We can take care of that part tonight, if you like.”

  I have no idea what he’s asking me to do. I only know that the long liquid pull inside my belly wants to say yes.

  Chapter Six

  Damon

  I see her struggle, her discomfort. She covers it well, and she’s probably not used to anyone watching. Not like I do, anyhow.

  She doesn’t want to be here, and yet part of her absolutely does, and usually I just let people like that walk away. It’s not my job to pull people into this lifestyle—it’s my job to help them be safe and fulfilled once they arrive. But something about this woman pokes at me and makes me want to change her mind—or at least give her a real taste of what that neat, organized brain of hers is turning her nose up at.

  I sigh. That’s not fair either. Emily hasn’t been remotely judgmental. Just clueless, as she sits there with her downcast eyes and all the signs of a woman who is getting aroused and trying to fight it.

  Which means we’ve both done more than enough thinking. I stand up from my desk and keep my face schooled as her eyes widen. My Dom senses flare, though—that’s the look of a woman who’s waiting to see what I’m going to do next.

  The best subs are the ones who really know how to pay attention.

  The best Doms, too—and I’m one of the very best.

  I can’t resist the urge to play with her, just a little. I hold out a hand. She doesn’t even hesitate, just reaches out and takes it. I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s a little shocked at what she’s just done. Which would be cute and funny, except her fingers are in mine now, warm and soft and charged with something that just shouldn’t be there.

  I might think she’s out of her league, a sweet suburban wife-to-be on a visit to the dark side—but my cock thinks she’s hot.

  Or worse, it thinks she’s sweet too—and it wants to taste her. Teach her. Add a little spice to the luscious curves and schoolteacher manners.

  Blow those manners all to hell.

  I swallow. This wasn’t what I had in mind, but I don’t back down. Ever. Not when my ego’s on the line, anyhow, and I didn’t start up Fettered to get unmanned by cute blonde schoolteachers. “Want a tour?”

  Her eyes focus, coming back from wherever they’ve wondered. If she were my sub, I’d make her tell me. “What?”

  I’m messing with both of us, and that isn’t smart or fair. I drop her hand and put both of mine in my pockets. “I’ll take you on a tour of the club’s public areas.” It’s a Tuesday night, so things will be fairly quiet—but it’s still going to stretch schoolteacher Emily way, way out of her comfort zone.

  It bothers me that maybe I need to see her reject the life I’ve chosen. “I’ll be doing the same with each of your staff members who you want inside during the wedding.” I don’t mention that her staff will get a tour during the day, where the most shocking thing they’re likely to see is Milo in his leathers repairing a sex chair.

  I expect her to say no.

  I want her to say yes. “You can see the potential locations for a wedding as we walk.” That’s not fair, and I know it. I know exactly where the wedding will happen, and she doesn’t have to run a gauntlet of BDSM play to see it.

  I want her to see my world.

  She’s watching me very carefully. “What happens in the public areas?”

  She picks up too much. I bet that very little sneaks up on Emily in the vanilla world. “Once people make it past Ari at the door, they get into a bar area. Drinks, appetizers, a chance to chat and connect. Many of the club members are friends, so socializing is one of the important things we offer. You’ll see some peo
ple dressed in leathers or underdressed by your standards, but there’s no play in the bar.”

  I’m feeling too much need to justify. To explain. “Past that is the public play space, which most people call the dungeon, although that tends to be a word that frightens newcomers. That area has the equipment and layout to keep things comfortable for people who want to play publicly and those who want to watch. Beyond that is a more private members-only zone.”

  She’s still watching me with those quiet, piercing eyes. “I’m not fragile, Damon. What is public play?”

  I like her, dammit. She’s soft and bold all at the same time. “Tonight is one of our light bondage theme nights. You’ll see a lot of people tied up and really enjoying themselves.” I can’t help myself. “And a lot of inventive Doms coming up with new ways to bring their subs to the edge of pleasure, over and over.”

  Her cheeks are wildly pink. “While people watch?”

  This would be so much easier if she wasn’t getting more aroused with every breath. I don’t want to know what turns Emily on.

  Who am I kidding—I want to know everything that turns her on. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  She takes in a deep, slow breath that seems to draw her back into herself, and turns to face my office door. “Ready when you are.”

  There’s no way she’s ready for what she’s about to see.

  I might not be ready for it either—but that doesn’t stop me from reaching around her sexy curves to open the door.

  She walked into my club. Time for her to actually meet it.

  Chapter Seven

  Damon

  I can’t just walk her in there—that’s not how we do this. So while I’m walking down the hall, I send Ari and Harlan a quick text.