by Lilia Moon
She’s listening carefully, her whole body parsing my words.
“I ran from that for a long time. I controlled me and I controlled my music because I’m a better person when I have some structure to live in. But I tried really hard never to do that to anyone else.”
Her smile is soft and warm. “I remember.”
She always gave me so much credit.
“Then one day I walked into a kink club and discovered that for some people, control is a path to freedom.”
She made a face. “That’s a hard one for me.”
I give her a wry look. “For me too. It kind of broke my head for a while.” I pause, and then I head straight for what might be rough waters. “But you know a person like that. Harlan told me about Mandy, who works in your store.”
Chloe stares—and then she starts to laugh. “Oh, man.”
I love how smart and agile and freaking honest her brain is. “You give her a structure to work in, yes? And she thrives.”
She nods. “Yes. It’s not about sex, but I take your point. I do it for brides all the time too. Some need me to be the riverbanks to help shape their self-confidence, or to hold the noise at bay long enough that they can figure out what they need.”
Her words are beautiful—and they slice at my insides. She gets, all too well, why it is that I do this. “Yes. In the kinky world, a Dom provides those riverbanks.”
Her chin tips down. Really, truly grappling with my words.
When she looks back up, her eyes are clear. “That history, the culture we grew up in, it shaped me too. Maybe it made me into someone who instinctively knows what Mandy needs, or a fussy bride. But I’m also the person who got cranky with you last night for ordering me dinner.”
Vanilla Eli doesn’t know how to banish her guilt over that, but he needs to try. “Being really sensitive about control isn’t a bad thing, shorty. It’s just something to know about yourself so that you can have those needs met.”
Her face scrunches up into something cute and confused.
I lean forward and kiss her nose. “Your vanilla eyes see what happened last night as something you want to avoid doing again. My kinky ones see it as something I’m glad we talked about so that we can use it in future to feed the connection between us. You’re sensitive about control. That’s not a landmine, it’s an opportunity.”
I can see that I’ve surprised her—and I love the wary, interested look in her eyes.
I also know that I want to leave it there for a while. I’m a musician and a Dom. Timing is everything. I lean forward and kiss her nose again. “A walk, more bacon, or vanilla after-breakfast sex?”
Her giggles spurt out all the way from her belly.
I’m really glad she doesn’t choose the bacon.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chloe
I want to strangle them all.
I allow myself one blissful moment to admit that in the vault of my own head and then I pick three silky camisoles off the rack, in the size the maid of honor should have been trying on in the first place, and head back to the dressing room.
Nothing makes me quite so crazy as women who don’t want to own their own shape, especially when my shop is full of quality, beautiful pieces specifically designed to give every kind of body a chance to shine. The rose cami will look absolutely delightful on Deirdre if I can get her to try it on. And if I can pull the blinders off her eyes long enough for her to really look.
There’s nothing I like better than the astonished look in a woman’s eyes when she looks in the mirror and discovers that she’s beautiful. And sometimes nothing more frustrating than getting there.
All of which is keeping my conversation with Eli this morning hammering a beat in the back of my head. I’ve spent the last two days thinking there can’t be a good reason, a tolerable reason, an attractive reason to want to be a Dom. And the last two decades using control as one of my primary life tools—and if I’m honest with myself, I know that I use it mostly for good.
Which means this can’t be about judging Eli’s choices any longer. I have to think about mine. If there are good reasons to take control, perhaps there are good reasons to surrender it too.
Mandy lifts the camis out of my hands. “I’ll take these back to the change rooms. You take care of him.”
I don’t have to turn around to know who she means. We only have one customer who puts that look of panic in my assistant’s eyes. I don’t bother to hide my amusement as I turn around and smile at the big man wearing a black tank top that shows off his gorgeous ink. “Scaring my staff again, Harlan?”
He chuckles and comes to stand beside me. “You think she’d be used to me by now.”
Mandy gives what she needs to receive—lots of care and feeding and very few field trips outside her comfort zone. However, I don’t say such things out loud, especially to excellent customers with impeccable observational skills of their own. “What brings you by my shop today?”
He grins and fingers the nearest piece of lace. “Scorpio’s birthday is in a couple of weeks. I might have bought everything in here that would suit her, though.”
He’s not wrong, but now that I’ve met the feisty woman who puts that look in his eyes, it’s not hard to venture beyond what hangs on my racks. “That’s enough time for a custom order, if you’re interested.”
The relief on his face would be funny if it weren’t so sincere. “That would be great.” He pauses and looks a little sheepish. “Do you have any ideas?”
I shake my head and take hold of his arm. “A dozen of them. Instead of lingerie, what about something for her to wear while she sings? Something sexy in leather, maybe with some decorative chains?”
His eyes light up. “She might even wear that without me spanking her first.”
I hear Mandy’s gasp before I see her trembling hands, reaching for the panties right behind us that match the rose cami.
Harlan winces, looking thoroughly apologetic.
Not his fault. Mandy skulks behind racks better than anyone I know. It comes with the territory of being short and matching the merchandise. I smile and hand Mandy a stack of rose-colored panties. “She’ll want the medium ones, but try to get her to take the large. She’ll hate us less if the wedding pictures don’t have panty lines.”
My assistant nods, easily distracted by a customer in need. And by her oversized desire to avoid thinking about a world where people get spanked and like it.
Harlan watches Mandy walk off. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see her behind you, but I should know better than to bring that kind of talk in here.”
For some reason, that makes me angry. “You’re welcome in here as exactly who you are, with whatever conversation you want to bring.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Sorry. I know I’ve created a brand here and Mandy fits it down to the ground, but some days I don’t. I like it when you come in. You remind me that the world is a big, interesting place. I don’t want you to dim down to match the merchandise.”
He smiles. “You do something important in here. You make women feel special, help them feel proud about how they look. That makes the world a bigger, more interesting place.”
All this from a guy who will go home and order Scorpio over his knees and turn her ass red. Or at least that’s her story. Probably his too—I’ve never actually asked.
Harlan is watching me, his head tilted. “You’ve got a question. Ask it.”
I do. “Why are you a Dom?”
He waits a long beat before he speaks again. “Are you asking the right guy?”
I know all about using pauses for effect. “Am I only allowed to ask one?”
He chuckles. “That’s not up to me.”
I’m not going there.
He leans back against one of my racks, which miraculously doesn’t roll and dump him on his ass. “Because I’m more like you than I am like Mandy.”
I stare, not at all sure how my assistant keeps ending up in
these conversations.
Harlan grins. “You work differently with customers than she does, right? She cajoles them. You stuff them down a funnel and make sure they come out the other end.”
I’ve never thought of it quite that way, but he’s not wrong. “Her way takes longer. I don’t have the patience.”
He shakes his head. “Bullshit. It’s not about time. You’d take as long as it needed to do it your way. It’s about control and arrogance.”
I can feel my eyebrows crawling up my forehead.
He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Mandy gives a customer what they want. You give them what they need. Which is arrogance on your part, but also responsibility.”
I squint, working it through. “Responsibility to get it right.”
He nods. “And to watch and listen and pay attention so that you do.”
His words are making crystal-clear sense, even if I wish they didn’t. And they’re driving home Eli’s point. “I’m good at that. I always have been.”
Harlan runs his hand down a mountain of panties, setting the lace to fluttering. “Yup. You might make a good Domme.”
I grimace.
He squeezes my shoulders. “Or you might be a sub who can really appreciate someone holding that kind of space for her. One who knows that being brave and heading into the uncomfortable unknown rewards both of you.”
My breath is stuck somewhere right under my throat. His words feel like jewels that I need to collect and hold and treasure—even if I eventually decide to throw them away.
I lean into his side, taking the comfort he’s been offering since he got here. And the steel. Riverbanks, if I want them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eli
Sometimes the band hits a practice session and everything gels, four people melding into one purpose. Those days are gold. This isn’t on track to be one of them.
Scorpio tosses her guitar down on a couch and heads for the pitcher of water on the bar. She glances at me, and I know she’s not checking in to see if I want something to drink. Of the four of us, Scorpio and I have the most experience with small-group music and all the ways it can crash and burn. She’s looking for a judgment call. Some days it’s better to just take a break and try again when everyone’s loaded up on carbs, sex, and sleep.
Or that’s what always worked for four cellists, anyhow.
I stand up from the keyboard and head toward a couch that’s reasonably free of instrument clutter. Break time. I’m not in the mood to bang my head against any more musical walls. I don’t think I was the problem on the last song, but I wasn’t fixing it, either.
Jackson stays behind his drums, socks on the ends of his sticks, practicing a rhythm that would tie most professional drummers in knots. He’s loaded with talent, and I suspect he’s even better on the hand drums he mostly plays outside these walls. I nod his way. “How’s the yoga studio gig going?” Some smart person hired him to play for a class or two. Last I heard, they were on their knees begging for as much of his time as they could get.
He grins and keeps his hands moving. “It’s good. I’m having to turn down hours now, and it leaves my nights free.”
Yoga people go to bed early. Which leaves Jackson time to explore this new side of his life. I think he’ll make a good Dom. He watches and he doesn’t miss things. He’s also doing very little besides watching, but that’s not my problem. Quint kicks his ass out onto the floor periodically, and some of the groupies are getting smart enough to throw some looks his way.
“So.” Scorpio puts a glass of ice water in my hand and takes the other end of my couch. “What’s up with the lady in red?”
I raise an eyebrow at Quint. “We’re sure Scorpio is a sub?”
He grins. It’s a question that gets asked at least once a practice. “Harlan says so.”
Scorpio ignores us. In this foursome, she’s the top and she knows it. “Ari says you know her from way back.”
Ari talks too much, although she wasn’t the only one quizzing Chloe two nights ago. “Our dads were stationed over in Europe together when we were teenagers. We were two lonely army brats.” Which doesn’t even begin to do what lived between us justice. I take a long swallow of cold water. “She was my first love.”
Scorpio’s eyes soften. “That’s really sweet.”
Quint snorts and drops into a chair near the couch. “Whatever. How does she feel about being your sub?”
Scorpio winces and tosses a cheese doodle at his head. “I was trying to be subtle, asshole.”
Both of them are about as subtle as rocket launchers. “She’s not kinky, or at least it’s not anything she’s ever explored.”
Quint shrugs. “That’s true of a lot of people before they walk through our doors.”
True enough, but I don’t think it applies here. Chloe walked in on business. “Even when we were teenagers, she totally owned who she was. If she was a sub, she’d know it by now.”
Scorpio snorts. “Some of us are slow learners, even when we look like we have it together.”
I smile at her. “You already knew kink, sweetheart. You just called it music.”
She chokes on a cheese doodle and curls over, coughing. “What?”
Quint chuckles and swats her between the shoulder blades. “Music is all about surrender. Good practice for a sub.”
He’s got half of it. “Good balance for a Dom, too.”
The look on his face says that part isn’t a surprise to him either. Smart man. Hard-ass he might be, but he’s a really smart, insightful one.
I helpfully swat Scorpio between the shoulder blades again. Can’t lose our lead singer to a cheese doodle. “Being a musician is all about surrender. Leading music requires latex pants.”
She eyes me skeptically. “I’m not a switch.”
Which is a good thing, because marshmallow heart or not, Harlan is a Dom down to his bones. “Most of us who like to play with power are switches in some sense. We have parts of our lives where we want control, and parts where we want to let go.” Which is a much more eloquent summary of the clunky conversation I tried to have with Chloe this morning.
“Huh.” Scorpio stares at me, considering. “So if that’s true, then maybe the amazingly together Chloe wants a place where she can let go too.”
So I’m hoping. I let my friends see the terror and the hope.
Scorpio reaches for another cheese doodle. “Ari’s ready to recruit her into the club of ladies in latex pants.”
Much as it pains me, I want Ari to try. A long time ago, Chloe wanted me to be everything I could be. It’s part of the reason I’m a Dom now, and I work hard to pay that forward. I just don’t think Chloe needs my particular brand of helping people become who they’re meant to be. “Maybe that’s where she belongs. But honestly, I think she’s vanilla.”
I have really good evidence that vanilla sex is still Chloe’s jam.
“Maybe.” Quint guzzles water from a beer mug. “Someone that confident and sure of herself who’s hardwired for kink, yeah, she’d know. But some people have flexible wiring.” He gives me a long look. “They need a reason to be kinky.”
He’s straying into dangerous territory. I know it can work—I’ve got a really good friend with a baby on the way because it did for him. But Leah blossomed as a sub. I don’t know that kink has anything to offer the woman I held in my arms last night.
The woman I want to hold again.
Quint and Scorpio exchange a glance that’s full of things I don’t want to hear. Thankfully, Jackson is just listening avidly. He’s a baby Dom, this world almost as new to him as it is to Chloe. Except he knew he wanted to be here, knew something inside him belonged in this tribe of people who play with power and control and surrender.
All that’s pulling Chloe through this door is me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chloe
Ari’s busy at the front desk with a group of people who are wearing less than the average lingerie
model, so I shoot her a wave and skirt around them. I have an open invitation to sit in the lounge and chat, and that gets me past her with a wave and a grin.
I don’t want to sit in the lounge tonight, but she’s not the person I’m here to lean on about that. We have a different relationship, a professional one, and I don’t want to get those wires crossed. I suspect we could both handle it, but my gut is leading me elsewhere and I’ve never ignored it. Not even when it gives me answers I hate.
I head straight for the bar, smiling at people I know and keeping my feet moving. Tonight isn’t about work.
Quint sees me coming long before I get there, and whatever he reads in my body language has him waiting with a glass of sparkling water, a bowl of chocolate nibbles, and a neutral face he probably thinks I can’t read. I slide onto a bar stool and take the water and a handful of chocolate. “I bet you win at poker all the time.”
His lips quirk. “I bet you don’t.”
He’d win that bet. Theater people suck at poker. We’re too used to wearing emotions on our sleeves, even if the emotions aren’t our own. “I’d like a tour of the dungeon.”
That makes him blink, which I suspect is about as much as I’m going to get out of his body language without his explicit intent. He pours a second glass of water and comes around the bar, taking a seat on the stool next to me. “Does Eli know you’re here?”
That’s got all the cards on the table fast. Which I think I wanted—there’s too much at stake here for me to play a subtle game. I’ve always been better at direct, anyhow. “He knows I’m coming to the club some evenings for work. He doesn’t know I’m asking for a tour.”
Quint raises an eyebrow. “Does he know you want one?”
Tricky question. “I don’t know.” I take a sip of my water. “I hear that a good Dom can read minds.”
He snorts. “A good Dom knows how to create the right mystique for subs who need that. You’re not one of them. Smoke and mirrors will never earn your trust.”
