by Lilia Moon
I feel his chuckle rumbling against my ear. “Do you want it to?”
I don’t. Growing up, moving from base to base every couple of years, I never had a history with people. I do now, but it’s adult history. He knows parts of me I don’t want to forget. “No. But I really don’t think it’s fair that you got taller.” And a lot more built. I have my arms wrapped around one sexy musician.
“They fed me a lot at Juilliard.” His voice is quiet.
I lean back in his arms, trying to reconcile the man with the boy who cried in my arms the night before he left. “You were supposed to go, Eli. I still believe that.”
He nods. “I was. You were so much surer than I was back then.”
I knew he needed to leave so the music that made him beautiful didn’t have to die. “You got sure.” I’d seen it in his letters. The ones we’d eventually agreed to stop writing.
They hurt too much.
And that isn’t somewhere I want to go in a room full of people. I reach up and touch the scruff on his chin. The boy I remember would have killed for that much facial hair. “We’ll talk.”
He eyes me carefully, not letting go of his snug hold around my waist. “Are you staying a while?”
I nod, feeling short of words. “Yes.”
The smile holds so much of the boy. “I’ll come find you at my break.”
His arms let go and I step back. I watch him walk onto the stage like he owns it—and like he doesn’t need to be the star. Instead, a woman wearing torn jeans and a corset I designed steps up to the mike, electric guitar in her hands. She gives me a look that says she didn’t miss a second of what just happened between me and her keyboard player, and then she strums a loud chord as she grins out at the audience.
I miss what she says next. I’m too distracted by the man rolling up his shirt sleeves in the background.
Chapter Four
Eli
I’m a professional musician, which means I know how to stick with the program even when half my brain is somewhere else. However, just because I have that skill doesn’t mean I should use it. Not here. People here are observant, and a checked-out Dom is dangerous, even if all he’s touching is a keyboard.
I shoot Jackson a wry look, because he just morphed his beat to something a three year old could follow, and get my head mostly back in the game. Scorpio’s warming up the crowd, getting them going with some of our standard covers. Softening them up for marshmallow Quint and his ballad.
I’m trying to figure out which parts of me I need to firm back up.
I glance at the back couch where the siren from my past is sitting with Ari, looking for all the world like she’s just stopped in for social hour. That’s a skill she’s always had, right from the first day of high school on the base in Heidelberg where we met. Me, I always looked like the new kid, even when I wasn’t—awkward, shy, and a little lost unless I was on my way to the music room.
Chloe knew how to land somewhere and make it her own.
I shake my head as she elbows Ari and they both laugh. Apparently she still does.
Scorpio swings us into another one of our classics, which I suspect she’s doing mostly out of kindness to me. I can’t take my eyes off the girl who once dared me to make myself whole. I know why we lost touch, but in this moment, watching Chloe’s sexy legs and laughing eyes and expressive hands, I want to kick my younger self around the block.
She meets my eyes and I see the same confusion that lives in mine. Two people trying to overlay this moment on ones that are a whole lot older. It’s a strange feeling, like a chord progression that hasn’t resolved. There’s a tension in the air, a next step waiting to happen.
I add a flourish as Scorpio drags us into the chorus. Eli of the present, trying to reassert a little control—because control matters to me almost as much as the music. It’s how I finally escaped awkward and shy and lost and became the person Chloe always thought I could be.
Right now, though, I’m more fascinated by who she’s become. Her eyes are curious, wandering the lounge. Focused in particular on the subs in skimpy lingerie, which is interesting. I frown. She’s not putting out a Domme vibe—just classy, self-assured poise. If I’m guessing, which is always dangerous from a distance, she’s self-assured and vanilla. She’s too obviously curious for someone who’s spent any time in a kink club.
I realize where my head has gone and give it a mental swat. Trying to figure out if Chloe is kinky is putting the cart before a whole herd of horses. A lot can change in twenty-six years. She could be married, lesbian, or completely uninterested in the guy who once kissed her with far more ardor than skill. I know better than to read too much into trembling breaths and shaky legs at an unexpected meeting, especially when it was mostly me doing the shaking.
She might not know that, though. Doms learn some interesting things, and so do professional musicians, and pushing the nerves deep underground where they can’t be seen has served me well in both of my chosen realms.
Quint comes up behind me and snorts. Loudly. I check—I’m still playing the same song he is, but it’s fairly embarrassing that I have to check.
Chloe has visitors now. The boss man himself and the gorgeous ray of sunshine he convinced to be his sub and the love of his life. Chloe flows off the couch, radiating surprise and pleasure, and gives Emily a huge hug. Clearly they know each other—and clearly neither of them expected to meet here.
I aim a pointed look at the young, blonde troublemaker sticking to Chloe’s right shoulder, who probably has all the answers.
Ari winks at me and turns to say something to Damon.
I growl. Quint snickers behind me and manages to mess up his guitar riff.
Scorpio turns our way, amused as fuck and looking like she might brain the entire band with her guitar. Which is a serious threat—they don’t call us Doms on the Bottom for nothing.
She shakes her head at the two of us and steps up to the mike. “It appears we have some distractions that require our attention, so we’ll be taking our break a little earlier than usual tonight.” She raises her hand and waves at Chloe. “Hello, nice lady in red. Do me a favor and put my keyboard player out of his misery one way or the other. The songs after the break actually require his brain to be attached to his fingers.”
The entire lounge is laughing, which was absolutely Scorpio’s plan.
Chloe isn’t. She’s watching me. Waiting to see what I do next.
Chapter Five
Chloe
I’ve been here less than an hour, and I already know I like these people—even when they’re shining a spotlight straight into my soul.
Maybe especially then. I run a store that encourages people to let their underlayers be seen. There’s a reason. I get the feeling that the members of this club would understand my exhibitionist tendencies better than most.
They’re all watching as Eli makes his way over to me, but it’s a supportive kind of staring. A room full of strangers, many of them half dressed, ready to catch us if we need catching. It feels like balm a teenage army brat didn’t know she needed—and gives me my first real clue about why the man walking toward me has made his place here. Because clearly he has. He belongs, and not just up on stage. I’m good at reading people quickly, and Ari has been a fast, efficient tour guide. The man walking toward me is a Dom, even if I have a really hard time reconciling that with the boy I once knew.
He takes a seat beside me on the couch, crowding my space in a way that the last three people sitting there didn’t. My breath gets wavery again, and I firm it up. There are things I need to know before I let him see me shake.
He angles himself on the couch and takes my hand. “So, of all the sex clubs you could have walked into, what made you pick mine?”
Sixteen-year-old Eli wasn’t this bold. That used to be my turf. I’m not sure how I feel about that. “Ari invited me.” I pause. He hasn’t done anything to deserve the sudden snap in my spine. “I own an upscale lingerie boutique. We d
o a lot of custom designs, and she’s hoping we might develop a line for the club.”
His eyes light up. “You’re Harlan’s source?”
That’s been the standard reaction all night. Instant celebrity status. “I am.”
Eli shakes his head. “I have a card for your store. I’ve been meaning to drop by.”
I don’t want to ask why. Men don’t usually buy lingerie for themselves. “Harlan has apparently been handing out a lot of cards.” I’m glad Eli’s is still in a pocket somewhere. Him walking in the door of my store would have been equally shocking, but it would have been different. I wear different skin on my turf, the less-vulnerable kind. It feels right that he sees me this way first.
He smiles and cups one of my hands in both of his. “So you came to check us out and see if you want to make pretty, kinky underthings?”
It’s time to remind him I’m not sixteen. I give him the same level look I give Mandy when she forgets I’m competent. “I’ve already decided that much. This is a chance to observe my wares in their natural environment.”
The light in his eyes is different this time. More dangerous. “For that, you’d need to pay a visit to the dungeon.”
I laugh and pat his hand. I do still take dares, but I’m more selective now. “Have you forgotten how outrageous theater people can be? Nothing I see on the other side of that door is going to shock me.” Even in high school we were pretty brazen, and my drama tribe happily let Eli hang around simply because he was mine. He might not have done much, but he watched plenty.
He doesn’t seem like a man who watches from the sidelines anymore. He’s recaptured both my hands, and there’s a control there. One that dares me to try patting him again.
I’m tempted, but I’ve learned some things about starting fires since he saw me last. And I’ve learned to appreciate the first small flames, and not to blow on them too fast. “Ari is organizing a focus group for me, but tonight I’m just going to sit here and talk to a few people and keep my eyes open.” I smile. “And listen to a band that’s pretty fancy for a sex club.”
His grin could melt every pair of panties I sell. “We like fancy here.”
They like everything here. The fashion in this place runs from naked to grunge to high-end boudoir, which is going to delight my designers to no end. Eli’s chosen look is elegant and understated. The suit he’s wearing wouldn’t look out of place in any of the best restaurants in town. I stroke the sleeve, appreciating the cut and the fabric. “You like fancy.”
He shrugs. “I lived in Europe for a while and got used to dressing the role of dashing classical musician out on the town.”
There are stories there, and I want to hear all of them. I like who he’s become, and I want to know how he got there.
He lets go of my hands and runs his palms down my arms. “I’ll be playing for a while longer, but I’d like to walk you home. Will you stay?”
He doesn’t even know where my home is. That opens up something tender and a little bit sore inside me. He knew everything about me once. “Sure.”
He nods at the woman behind the bar, who is currently giving the band’s other guitar player a kiss that looks like it’s seconds away from going molten. “Meghan usually has something tasty she can serve up. Ask for something that isn’t pink.”
There’s a story there, too—one that’s amusing several people within earshot.
I’ll ask Meghan. It will give me something to do while I wait for a walk that’s either going to chase away the last vestiges of history wreaking havoc in my belly—or start forming them into something new.
Chapter Six
Eli
She waited. I didn’t doubt that she would, but I didn’t expect it to feel so good to see Chloe standing by the door, chatting casually with Ari and Sam and Harlan. She might not be part of my world, but she’s clearly a welcome visitor. The three she’s chatting with have been herding members her way all night.
Sam gives me a look as he leaves the group and meets me halfway. One that says I might have to go through him to get to Chloe.
I chuckle. Even at sixteen, she didn’t need protectors. “Hey Sam—how’s Soleil?”
He melts into daddy-shaped goo. “She made a sound yesterday that might be her first giggle.”
I was there the day my niece did that. She held six adults hostage for several hours waiting for her to do it again. “Who managed to pry you off her long enough to send you to the club?”
The subs at the club have all learned their sulks from Sam. “Gabby. She said we can’t be decent parents if we don’t get out once in a while. Besides, I think Leo needed this. He keeps waking up at night, scared that she’s stopped breathing.”
I’ve seen their set-up—the baby sleeps in a cradle about six inches from Leo’s nose. She will never lack for love, but she may eventually need to learn to fight for a little space. Or let Gabby do it for her. “I’ll come by early to the barbeque on Friday and hold her while you make the tacos extra spicy.” Sam’s cooking skills don’t range a lot wider than mine, but all of his options will set fire to your taste buds.
He shakes his head and pats my shoulder. “Sugar, you got beat to that chance by ten miles. Mattie’s coming early, and she promised me extra-hot jalapeños from the market.”
I clearly need to up my game, and in more than one direction. Chloe isn’t looking my way, but Harlan’s starting to give me dirty looks. It’s time to figure out what to do with my siren in red before the big guy decides Chloe needs his protection. Unless she’s changed a whole lot, she might punch him in the nose if he tries.
Sam grins and blows me a kiss. “Have a really interesting evening, Sir.”
Sam generally uses that title right before he pulls one of his famous pranks, but I don’t think that’s his intention tonight. Probably because he knows I have my hands full already.
I make my way over to the small cluster of people at the door and step in to Chloe’s side. “May I walk you home?”
She smiles at me, the light in her eyes not at all dimmed by the late hour. “If you don’t mind a slow meander. I was trapped in my back room doing inventory all day, so I’ve got the urge to stargaze a little.”
Harlan bristles behind me. “Nobody walks home from the club alone.”
I ignore him. He’s not wrong, but he should know better—he’s got a sub who thinks she’s invincible too. Chloe isn’t going to take kindly to any man telling her what to do, especially if he’s using Dom voice while he does it. I slide her hand into the crook of my arm instead. “Do you have a coat?”
She laughs. “No. I still run hot.”
The sound Harlan makes this time sounds a lot more like laughter. I guide Chloe out the door with more haste than skill. I’m done with being a public spectacle. There’s too much I want to know about the woman gliding into the dark beside me, and I don’t need all of Fettered standing watch and offering commentary while I do it.
She nods us to the left when we hit the sidewalk, and breathes in the cool air of one of Seattle’s spectacular late-summer nights. “Yes, this is absolutely what I needed, thank you.”
Twenty-six years apart and apparently we’ve developed some new habits in common. “I liked to stroll around the cities in Europe where we played after our shows. I loved the shadows and the character and the lack of tourists.”
“Shows?” She reaches out her fingers to brush leaves as we walk past them. “You weren’t in an orchestra then?”
The pangs are gentler now than they were a few months ago. “I was part of a cello quartet. We toured extensively, mostly in Europe.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I imagine she can feel the loss inside me. “What happened?”
“Nothing dire.” Although sometimes, on dark nights, it doesn’t feel that way. “The other three settled down to wives and babies and jobs that don’t require them to travel the world. Sean’s in Paris, Bojena’s in Prague, and Leon is in New Orleans, at least for now.”
&nb
sp; “And you’re here.” Her fingers brush the inside of my arm.
I am—and somehow, that doesn’t feel quite so random anymore. “The symphony wanted a cellist, so it was a chance to keep playing without the constant travel. I’m working on some material for a solo album. Once I’m ready to record, the others will fly in to play on some of the tracks.” It was the best reason I could come up with to pull the three people who were the core of my existence for fourteen years back together.
“That sounds lovely and interesting and maybe a little sad, too.”
She’s nailed it—and started us into the conversation we need to have. I keep the pace slow. She asked to meander, and that fits the conversation I want to have. “Things change, but sometimes it’s hard to know if they’ve changed in the right ways. If there was a different choice that might have worked better.”
She chuckles. “They didn’t get rid of your perfectionist tendencies at Juilliard, I see.”
They honed them into an art form, but that’s not what I want to talk about. “I’m sorry we lost touch.”
She shrugs. “We agreed. It hurt so much to get your letters, and it felt like a piece of me wouldn’t truly be mine again until I could let that go.”
I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “Did it work?”
She smiles up at me. “I would have said yes this morning. Right now, I’m not so sure.”
She’s always been able to flatten me with her honesty. I tug us in the direction of the water. I don’t know if I can find her stars tonight, but I can at least arrange some cool ocean breezes. “I’m not sure whether to ask about now, or about all the years in between. Who have you become, shorty?”
She snorts. “Someone that nobody would dare to call shorty.”
I grin down at a scowl that would do a Domme proud. “I might need some kind of special dispensation.”
She leans into my shoulder. “You might get it.”
