YIELD - Emily & Damon (Fettered Book 1)

by Lilia Moon

  Her eyebrows go up, but I don’t explain.

  I need someone I can trust to see if Emily wants to say no. If she needs to use her safeword. If she doesn’t want to be a part of this.

  The only way this works is if she chooses, totally free from any fetters at all. Ari and Scorpio have way too much hope and love and romance in their eyes to be my messengers.

  Scorpio leaves the room, and Ari takes one look at me and follows.

  I swallow. The most important scene of my life just started rolling.

  I unfurl the blue silk sheets and lay them out over the mattress and add the pillows in the formation I want.

  And then I sit down in the middle of them and drop my head into my hands and let my nerves completely run wild. They belong here too, just like everything else I feel. That’s what this scene is all about.

  Emily needs to be who she is and so do I.

  If I’m very lucky, this is maybe a space where we can find a way to do that together.

  If she shows up.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Emily

  Five weddings. Five.

  I look around the disaster of the room we typically use for staging and try not to panic. I don’t need to—my team has done this more times than I can count, and we’ve never seriously dropped the ball.

  I mentally run through my lists again. We’ve done everything but the minor details for two of the weddings, and Gabby is sitting on the floor with her laptop triple checking all the major bookings and vendors for the Merriman wedding in the fall. That one has enough moving parts to terrify even a seasoned wedding planner, but she’s taking it all in her stride. She says nothing is scary after parenting three girls to adulthood, and I believe her.

  Leo is editing video with one hand and talking into his cell with the other. I have no idea how he can do that, but I’m not going to interrupt him to ask.

  Meghan is sitting on the table, contemplating centerpiece options for the green-and-gold wedding on Saturday. Not normally her job, but the bride is a friend. One who has changed her mind on the centerpieces at least a million times.

  Meghan is scowling—nature doesn’t produce a lot of gold flowers, and most of them end up looking pretty drab in a display. I reach around her shoulder and pluck two perky red cosmos from the bucket of samples our favorite florist dropped off. “Use these.”

  She scowls at me. “They’re not gold. Or green.”

  This would be why Meghan doesn’t handle the decorating. She is, however, a whiz with brides who can’t make up their minds. “A pop of contrast color will make everything look better. Use two of them in each centerpiece. Tell Safira that in the language of flowers, cosmos represent balance and harmony.”

  Meghan looks unconvinced.

  I smile and deliver the line that will seal the deal. “And take a sniff—they smell like chocolate.”

  She sniffs and then leans over and gives me a big smacking kiss. “You’re the best partner ever. I love you.”

  Behind us, an obviously embarrassed male clears his throat.

  I spin around to see Harlan standing there, looking back and forth between the two of us like he just swallowed a ping-pong match.

  Meghan dissolves into peals of laughter. She climbs off the table, walks over, and pats Harlan’s arm. “Business partners, sweetie. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Leo and Gabby have stopped what they’re doing, and both of them are grinning at the new arrival.

  Harlan smiles at Gabby. “Hey—thank you for those cookies. Ari brought them to our staff meeting, and I’m pretty sure they were gone before anyone even sat down.”

  My receptionist looks totally charmed by the big man in tats and leather. “I’m glad you liked them. You were all so sweet to me when I toured the club, and I wanted to say thank you.”

  He grins. “If there’s any way I can bribe you to make some more, let me know, okay? You need heavy things moved or your car fixed or somebody beat up, I’m totally your guy.”

  Gabby laughs. “What makes you think I can’t fix my own car?”

  Poor Harlan turns pink all the way up to his ears.

  She gets up and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’m just teasing, and it’s a lovely offer, thank you. I’ll be happy to make you all the cookies you want.”

  “Whoa.” Scorpio is standing in the doorway, watching the kiss with raised eyebrows. “What’d I miss?”

  “Everyone’s kissing someone.” Leo puckers up and points to his lips. “Just you and me left. Right here, baby.”

  She rolls her eyes and looks at Harlan. “What are you doing here, tough guy?”

  The vibe suddenly flowing between them is most definitely not sweetness and cookies.

  I watch, fairly stunned by all the interplay between my staff and one of Seattle’s toughest Doms. Not that he’s looking all that tough at the moment.

  He turns to me and pulls something out of his bag. A cream envelope that looks for all the world like a wedding invitation. He holds it out to me. “I came to deliver this. You might want to open it in private.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you offering to duct tape all the people in this office to the roof? Because that’s the only way they’re going to let me or that envelope leave this room.”

  Leo grins. “She knows us so well.”

  The look that passes between him and Harlan is one that would interest me a whole lot on any other day. On this one, I can’t take my eyes off the invitation in my hand. It must be from Damon—there’s just no way Harlan plays errand boy for anyone else.

  I slide my finger under the envelope’s edge. It pops open easily, and I can see the stylized lettering and fancy calligraphy.

  And my name.

  I pull it out, taking in the flowers embossed on the edges. Wondering if Damon has any idea what they mean. And then I force my eyes to the words.

  To my gorgeous, luscious,

  brave, sexy Emily.

  I hereby invite you to join me

  in an intimate scene

  at Fettered.

  There, in front of a small audience,

  we will begin to let the world

  see who we are together.

  7pm.

  Wear your yellow dress.

  This time we’re doing it right.

  Damon

  Chapter Fifty

  Emily

  I stop at the foot of the walkway leading to Fettered’s classy, discreet front door and take a steadying breath. Nerves are landing now, complete with sweaty palms, tight throat, and legs that feel a whole lot wobblier than I want them to be.

  There hasn’t been time for nerves until now.

  Meghan took one look at the invitation and sent Scorpio running to my apartment, Gabby booking spa appointments, and Leo doing pretty much everything else. Even Harlan got recruited to go pick up dinner.

  A massage, a very sexy pedicure, a freshly steamed yellow sundress and new strappy sandals later, Meghan finally deemed me fit to be let out into the world. After hugs, tears, and well wishes that felt more like a bridal shower than a send-off to a public scene at a sex club.

  Leo even took my picture. For posterity.

  At least they let me walk here alone.

  I don’t know exactly what awaits me inside this door, but I know it will be about walking the walk. About going to my edges and beyond them. About doing whatever my Dom asks me to do, with his people watching.

  The part of this that happens in my world is done. Now I need to bring who I am to his.

  I don’t know if I’m ready, but I remember Ari’s words. The only way to know if you’re really ready to bend over a spanking bench is to stand in front of one. I take one step forward, and then another. It’s time to move my feet.

  I’m scared, and only part of it is because of the wreck that happened the last time I walked through this door. That hurt, but the magnitude of what could happen if I crash again looms far bigger.

  I barely get the front door open before
a squealing Ari envelops me in a bear hug. “You came!”

  I have to laugh. “That was in doubt, huh?”

  She shakes her head, looking almost shy. “Not really.”

  I know a lie of kindness when I see one.

  She reaches forward and grips my arms. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I’m going to anyhow.” She takes a deep breath and calms herself, and there is glistening acceptance in her eyes. “No matter what happens in that room, not a single person will judge you, okay? This is for you. And for him.”

  I can feel my smile, wavering and bright and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

  She walks to the door into the club and pulls it open. “Follow the yellow silk ribbon.”

  It isn’t just ribbon. There’s a winding walkway, lit with candles and bowls of flowers, running from the doorway into the dark.

  I know it will take me to Damon.

  I take one step, and then another. I know where he got the ribbon. And the bowls. My world, on display here in his. I walk, listening to the sounds of my own footsteps, embraced by the dark and the smells of vanilla and something with more spice.

  Following the ribbon that matches my dress.

  I don’t realize for a moment that I’ve reached my destination. Not until I hear the murmurs. The quietly indrawn breaths.

  I look up. The river I’m following runs into the center of the room I’ve entered and flows around a low mattress on the floor. One covered in blue silk bed sheets and pillows from my living-room couch.

  His world and mine, on very public display in the heart of what he’s built.

  I can see dim faces in the shadows behind the candles. I can hear their welcome. People he knows and trusts, here to bear witness, just as my people witnessed in ways that matter to me.

  I look around, seeking the man who invited me here.

  Damon steps out of the shadows. He’s bare chested, barefoot, clad only in a loose pair of pants that make very clear just how aroused he already is.

  A man who hides nothing.

  A man who asks the same of me.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Damon

  She’s here.

  My feet are frozen to the floor, my eyes drinking her in. She’s gorgeous—streaming yellow sunlight and wide-open eyes.

  I can see the nerves. The trembling that started when she saw the bed and the audience. The quaking that landed when she saw me.

  I take a breath and unglue my feet from the damn floor. I failed her the last time she came to me this open. I won’t do it again. I close the distance between us. I want to sweep her into my arms, meld her to me, and never let her go.

  But that’s not why I brought her here. Not yet, anyhow.

  I brought her here to choose. To see all of who I am, laid out with all I see of her, and to ask if she will step into that with me.

  Except I’m a Dom. It’s not my job to ask.

  I hold her eyes with mine. I don’t touch her yet. “Do you need to use your safeword, Emily?”

  I can hear the people behind me holding their collective breath. They’ve all done this for long enough to know a moment of truth when they see one.

  She shakes her head. “No, Sir.”

  She’s not sure yet, and I know it. But she wants to be, and that alone is cracking me wide open. I keep my face stern, my eyes locked on hers. I reach out and touch her dress. “Strip.”

  Her hands are shaking like crazy, but she reaches up and pulls the straps off her shoulders.

  I wait. It has to be her choice.

  Her eyes are full of nerves and fear and sheer, gutsy will.

  I know how different this time is for her. In the doorway of my condo, she didn’t really understand what she was saying yes to. Now she does. I also know I can’t let her hang here like this. It isn’t willpower that will get this done—it’s trust. I put the crack of command into my voice. “Off. Now.”

  Her hands jump before her brain even processes my words, and that sets something inside me that’s been teetering for two days back to right. She’s new and she’s thinking too much and she’s got all kinds of reasons to question her Dom—but her body is telling a different story, and in my world, that’s usually the story that matters the most.

  She wants this.

  Her fingers are struggling with the zipper, and I reach forward to take care of that for her. Her breath whooshes out, almost like I’ve unzipped her ribs.

  The dress hits the floor a heartbeat later. She smiles at me, and I can see the beginnings of surrender in her eyes.

  I’m so damn tempted to kick twenty people out and let it be this easy. Instead, I wait as her shaking hands take off the sexy underwear and slide off her shoes and she stands gloriously naked before me.

  I step to her side and put a hand on her lower back.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Emily

  He’s taken his eyes away.

  I want, desperately, to turn and look. To see only him. But I know I need to face the rest of this. To walk the last steps of the walk.

  It’s what his hand is asking of me.

  And Dom or not, I can tell that he’s asking. Every single smell and sound and touch and feel of this is honoring my right to choose. Celebrating it.

  I take a step forward, letting my eyes glide over the undulating ribbon, the glistening reflections of dozens of candles on dozens of bowls of water and enough pairs of watching eyes to have me gulping, hard. I need to trust him on this. There is no one in this room who will judge me. He will have chosen them to be here for him and for me both.

  I smile as I see my favorite jeweled pillow, trucked back from a year in India after college. It’s usually where I sit when I try to meditate. I’m pretty sure its pillow life just got a lot more exciting.

  It looks good with his blue sheets. I know those are here for me too. To remind me that he’s more than this place. We both are.

  My feet arrive at the foot of the low mattress. It feels like an altar.

  He brushes his fingers against mine and then sits himself down on the bed, his back against a stack of pillows. He reaches up and pulls me down with him, my back against his, my legs nestled between his. I lay my head back against his chest, overwhelmed.

  There are people watching. He’s letting them see him be tender.

  I can’t see his eyes, but his warm breath on my neck holds me steady. He reaches into a small bowl beside him and lifts out two fingers dripping with oil. He trails them down my collarbone and into the valley between my breasts, leaving a slick trail as he goes.

  I let out a small sound and feel him harden behind me. I also hear the crowd murmuring. Appreciating. Watching who we are together and liking what they see.

  I can feel my cheeks heating. My hands close on Damon’s thighs.

  His slick fingers brush over my nipples. “Let them see how beautiful you are, Emily. How easily you let go for me.”

  Something fierce and hot lights in my belly. I want this.

  His fingers work my nipples harder, and this time the sound that comes out of me isn’t quiet. He presses his arousal into my back, and the breath in my ear isn’t totally calm and steady anymore.

  His hands move lower, spiraling down my belly in slick, slow circles. I know where he’s going, and I can feel the heat in me trying to fight off the embarrassment. He slides his hands to the junction of my closed legs and presses with his fingers. “Bend your knees and open for me.”

  He’s said it loudly enough that everyone can hear.

  I freeze. I am a wedding planner. I wear shoes that match my file folders and I go to Pilates class every Thursday morning and I collect artisanal teas. I don’t spread my legs and put my desire on display for the world to see.

  “Do you need your safeword, Emily?” His voice rings harsh in my ear.

  It isn’t the harshness I’m paying attention to—it’s everything else. What he’s letting me feel with every breath, every touch. This isn’t two nights ago. He isn’t angr
y, he isn’t distant, he isn’t scared and backing away from me with his heart even if his feet are still.

  He will be here for me whether I can do this or not. He’s letting me choose who Emily Madigan needs to be.

  Something deep inside me breaks loose, strong and fierce and totally unwilling to be denied. Demand, flooding forth from the bedrock of who I am. Reaching for him. Reaching for this.

  And I don’t care who can see it.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Damon

  I thought she was going to say no. I thought she was going to walk away and end this and take a big piece of me with her as she walked out the door.

  I feel Emily relaxing into me, spreading her legs under my hands, and it’s all I can do not to gather her up and curl her into my heart and bury my cock in her and never leave. But I can’t do that, because my sub has just trusted me with every damn thing, and I will not drop her. Not here, not now, not ever again.

  I slide my fingers into her wet pussy and hear myself suck in a breath that’s mated to hers. She’s so wet.

  I don’t need the oil, but I reach for it anyhow. I breathe in again, slower this time. This is a scene and she needs her Dom here for her, not just some guy who’s desperate to taste her and touch her and thrust into her until there’s no space left between us.

  I take another breath, pulling my shit together. The room smells of vanilla and oil and Emily’s arousal, and it’s the most beautiful thing my nose has ever met.

  I reach for her clit with one hand, her nipples with the other. I’m not being gentle anymore. I push her up with my fingers, hard and fast and demanding, and I can feel the electric shocks traveling between my hands.