Fleur de Nuit: Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1

by Cat Montmorency

  The difference between wanting and taking is the barest catch of a breath…

  Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1

  Decadent food, smoky music, dark delights—who could live in the French Quarter and not be tempted to partake? Moira D’Arcangelis, that’s who.

  Ever since her college boyfriend tried to add her to his list of murder victims, she’s lived a quiet life, which is code for no life at all. When her best friend Kara convinces—okay, drags—her to meet Adrian LaCroix, master of the local underground kink scene, his commanding presence and sexy Cajun accent bring her latent desires back to life.

  His offer to train her as a Domme is the key to regaining control of her life. Yet becoming Adrian’s protégé comes with complications. As he opens her body, mind, and soul, she begins to see Kara in a new light—right about the time a legendary Domme returns, intent on stealing Kara away.

  Moira has a fight on her hands. For Kara, and against a past that comes roaring back with a vengeance. She’ll need every trick Adrian can teach her to win the right to both life—and love.

  Warning: This book contains more seasoning than a New Orleans kitchen. It’s simmering over with sex. Boy/girl sex. Girl/girl sex. Girl/boy/girl sex. Sex toys, sex talk, sex clubs, dark and troubled sexual pasts…you get the picture. Could be too spicy for beginners, but hey, where there’s Cajun heat, there’s fire. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

  Fleur de Nuit

  Cat Montmorency

  Dedication

  To Tam, who told me I should,

  and to Jes, who believed in me first.

  Chapter One

  Moira stared at the same old men on her shelf, and wondered where she’d gone wrong. Not that the men in question were at all lacking. Watching Matthew McConaughey blow things up while looking for treasure was always a good time. Same with watching Richard Gere learn ballroom dancing. Or watching Antonio Banderas do anything.

  Her phone buzzed, putting the question of a movie on hold.

  Please tell me you’re not home right now.

  Moira snorted. It’s Friday. Where else would I be?

  Having fun? On a date, maybe?

  I do have a date. With Ben & Jerry, and maybe Antonio.

  THAT’S NOT A DATE, MOIRA.

  You could always come over. I have an extra spoon.

  Moira tossed her phone to the couch and went back to perusing her movies. Kara would likely spend the next ten minutes text-bombing her in an effort to drag her out, and then show up outside in twenty. Or she’d rant via text, and show up at four a.m. Either way, Moira could go back to looking for the night’s entertainment.

  Settling on a movie, she shoved the disc into the player and flopped back on the couch as her phone lit up again, this time with a call.

  “What if I brought over a guy for each of us?”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “Kara, I’m putting in a movie and cracking open a pint. I’m fine. Now go have fun.”

  “Moira…” Moira groaned at the whine. “I’m serious. When was the last time you had sex? It’s not natural.”

  “It’s perfectly natural, Kara. I don’t need a dick to be happy.”

  Kara went silent, and Moira could almost hear the dirty thoughts spinning in her friend’s head. “Moira, I’m not even going to touch that. But seriously. You need to get out. Please?”

  Moira let her head drop onto the back of the couch. “Kara, come on. I’m not changing out of my nice comfy clothes to put on something uncomfortable, simply so I can watch whatever poor sap you set me up with silently pine after you.”

  “But we never go out anymore!”

  “So come over here. Go out with Ben and Jerry and Antonio and me. I’m watching Desperado. And I have New York Super Fudge Chunk.”

  “God, you’re no fun. I’ll be there in ten.”

  Moira grinned. “I love you too.”

  She hung up and closed her eyes, listened to the sounds of zydeco music and laughter from her open windows and smiled. She loved that about the French Quarter. There was so much life. She didn’t need to go out in it, didn’t need the crowds and parties to feel alive. She was happy enough to sit there and listen, living vicariously through the sounds of New Orleans.

  And what did it matter if she wasn’t really happy? Happy enough was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

  A breeze drifted in from the balcony, bringing the smell of the night-blooming jasmine that grew below her window and the spices from the restaurant down the street. Moira smiled to herself, and let the night surround her.

  Two quick knocks on the door startled her out of her reverie. Moira sat back up in time to see Kara let herself in.

  “One of these days, Moira, I’m going to get you to come out with me if I have to drag you out of this apartment by your toes.”

  Moira shook her head. “I don’t need to go out. I’m fine.”

  Kara dropped down on the couch next to her in a slinky black dress that Moira would have killed to look as good in. Her tall frame had almost perfect curvy proportions, so Kara was no contest in the looks department. Still, Moira had never felt more than a tiny bit jealous, and that mostly of her height. She hated being short.

  “I’m not kidding, Moira. You don’t go out. You don’t meet people. You don’t have sex. When was the last time you even talked to someone new? And don’t blow me off, because I know you.”

  Moira glared at her best friend. “I don’t know, all right? Whenever you dragged me out last.”

  “Wrong.” Kara folded her arms. “It doesn’t count when you don’t say more than two words to the guy and then go home alone.”

  She remembered now. “Oh, him. What was his name? Jake?” Not like it mattered. “I didn’t blow him off. He was too busy salivating over you.”

  “Well, when you walk around with a neon sign that says Uninterested, of course he’s not going to be interested either! And don’t you dare start that bullshit about how I’m so much more attractive than you. The only difference is that I’m actually looking to enjoy myself.”

  Moira opened her mouth to respond, and thought better of it. Kara made no effort to hide the fact that she was happy to go home with anyone she thought might be a good fuck, girl or guy. And they all wanted to go home with her. Light green eyes, auburn hair and curves to die for. It didn’t hurt that she had the perfect personality too, not to mention the perfect life. Moira barely remembered a time when she’d been able to match her date for date. It seemed like so long ago, someone else’s life. Before. “It doesn’t matter, Kara. I’m fine the way I am. I don’t need a guy, and I don’t need to get drunk.”

  “I swear, if that fucking bastard Justin weren’t already in jail, I’d kill and castrate him myself. You used to be more fun than this.”

  Moira winced. She may have gotten past what her ex-boyfriend had done to her, but she still didn’t like hearing his name. Or talking about him. Or thinking about him. “He’s got nothing to do with me not wanting to go out.” Lies. He had everything to do with it, despite five years of therapy.

  “Sorry.”

  She waved off Kara’s apology. “I know. But I still don’t need a guy.”

  Kara gave an overdramatic moan. “If you’re going to swear off guys, I know plenty of perfectly lovely and ridiculously hot girls I can set you up with.”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but you know I’m not interested. Sex does not mean happiness.”

  Kara gave her a sly look. “No, but it certainly helps. Fine. I’ll leave it for now, but only if you promise to come out with me next weekend.”

  “Kara…”

  “Moira.”

  Sh
e made a face. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  “No thinking, just coming.”

  Moira glared, and Kara glared back with a grin. Moira broke away first. “Fine.”

  “Yay!” Kara lunged across the couch and tackled her. “And no pouting. You’ll have fun if I have to kill you. Now, where’s that ice cream you promised me?”

  Moira pouted anyway, but got up to get the ice cream. “Your version of fun just might.”

  Chapter Two

  Moira took a deep breath and let Kara pull her into the bar. Bar? Small club? The question was answered easily enough when they entered La Belle Dame. Renovated speakeasy, which meant it was a little of both.

  Friday night again, and as promised, she’d—reluctantly—allowed Kara to drag her out. Two seconds in, she’d already begun to miss her apartment and her weekend routine. Or lack thereof. “Kara…”

  “I know, you don’t like to drink anymore, but please trust me on this, okay?”

  Fuck. Well, why not? She sighed. “I let you get me all dressed up, right?” Besides, she’s right. I’ve missed going out with her.

  “Exactly.” Kara grinned again at the skimpy dress she’d convinced Moira to wear and pulled her through the crowd to a free table where she hailed a waitress. “Bottled water for my friend…” she winked at Moira, “…and the house lager for me.”

  “This is where you get that local stuff you love so much?”

  Kara nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off their waitress as she walked away. “You’d know that if you ever came out with me anymore. She’s cute. I haven’t seen her here before.”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m out with you now, okay? So try not to hit on our waitress.”

  She smiled. “You are. And here comes the reason you’re out.”

  “I thought the reason I was out was you…” Moira said as she turned, her words fading into nothing.

  “You thought it was me? I’m flattered.” The newcomer reached past her to take her friend’s hand and kiss it. “Kara, ma fille préférée, it’s good to see you. Introduce me to your amie?”

  Moira closed her mouth and tried not to gape. Of course Kara knew him. She didn’t think there was an attractive man within thirty miles her friend didn’t know. Or woman, for that matter. Except maybe their waitress, but she might’ve been new. But this man… Tall, slim, brown hair long enough to graze his strong, clean-shaven jaw. He practically oozed sex, even conservatively dressed in a tailored three-piece suit.

  “Adrian, I’d like you to meet my best friend in the entire world. Moira D’Arcangelis, Adrian Lacroix. Adrian is… I think I’ll let him tell you. It’s more fun that way.”

  Oh, this is a bad idea.

  Adrian took her hand and lifted it gently to his lips. Moira forced herself to breathe.

  “Enchanté, Mademoiselle D’Arcangelis.”

  At least he didn’t make any jokes about dark angels. Point in his favor.

  “And I see your drinks have arrived.” Moira glanced down to see a bottle of water slide in front of her. “No charge for these, Erin,” he said to their waitress.

  “Of course, Mr. Lacroix.”

  “Adrian’s the owner,” Kara said with a nudge.

  He smiled. “Among other things.”

  “I see.” He still held her hand, and Moira was finding it a little hard to think with the way his thumb made small circles on her skin.

  Clearly, it had been way too long.

  “I’m afraid I don’t see, ma chère. You’re here in a bar, with your friend, looking grosse jolie, if you’ll allow the compliment, and you’re drinking water?”

  Moira opened her mouth to answer, but the words stayed frozen in her throat.

  “Moira likes to be in control,” Kara said for her, before taking a sip of her drink. “God, Adrian. I still want your brewmaster’s number. He’s a genius.”

  Adrian laughed. “We shall see, ma chère Kara. Maybe someday.” He turned back to Moira with an appraising look. He still hadn’t released her hand. “So your friend likes control. Interesting. Would you ladies like to come with me?”

  Moira blinked at the sudden segue. “Come where?”

  Adrian smiled, and Kara laughed.

  “Trust me, Moira. We want to go with him. Lead on, Adrian.”

  Moira snatched at her water bottle awkwardly as Adrian walked away, still holding her hand. Kara simply giggled behind her. She’d clearly expected something like this.

  And why not go along with it?

  The voice she’d spent far too long trying to silence didn’t seem at all interested in being quiet tonight.

  “Relax, Moira.” Kara always knew when she was second-guessing herself. “You said you’d trust me.”

  “I swear, Kara…”

  “Ma chère fille. You have absolutely nothing to fear from me. Unless you wish to, of course, but as our chère Kara has said you prefer control, that’s exactly what I plan to give you.” They followed him into the lower level of the bar, where a live band played in what was obviously the main portion of the old speakeasy, since it was so much bigger than the space upstairs. He stopped at a dark wooden door at the far end of the room. “Will you trust your friend? If not, you’re welcome to return upstairs to your table.”

  Moira looked at Kara, who smiled and sipped at her lager. She needed an adventure, and Adrian seemed like a nice one. Kara had never intentionally steered her wrong—she’d always done that just fine on her own. What the hell?

  “I always trust Kara.”

  “But not yourself?” Adrian asked with a look that said he understood far more than she was sure she wanted him to. “I believe I can help with that. Come.”

  Moira wasn’t sure what she expected behind the simple door, but the large, well-lit entry room wasn’t it. She glanced back as the door clicked shut, but Adrian simply wound her arm through his and continued forward.

  “Bienvenue. Welcome to my home. I like having a back door into the bar.”

  Moira swallowed the pinch of fear she’d felt all evening and looked around. Hardwood floor, chandelier, sculpted crown molding, a large staircase opposite them that curled upward with an ornate bannister. Old. Classic French Quarter architecture. Beautiful.

  “Master Adrian.” The deep voice startled her, but not as much as the man it belonged to. As tall as Adrian, but twice as wide, shirtless, and wearing—was that a leather collar?

  “Ah, good, Devon. Inform Maître Ian that I have someone I’d like him to meet, and that we’ll be in the green room.”

  “I don’t—” Adrian pressed his finger to her lip as she watched Devon walk away.

  “Trust, Mademoiselle D’Arcangelis.”

  Kara was still watching Devon walk away. “Is he new, Adrian? He’s lovely.”

  “Yes, I thought you might appreciate him.” He smiled. “Venez.”

  He led them up the curving stairs, stopping outside another closed door in a hallway full of similar closed doors. “Kara, ma chère. Your brewmaster. I wouldn’t suggest keeping him waiting.”

  Kara squealed and lunged at Adrian. “I knew I loved you! Moira, I promise he’ll take good care of you.”

  “Bien sûr, I most certainly will. Get on with you now.”

  Moira swallowed as Kara kissed them both on the cheek, straightened her dress and opened the door. When Moira turned back to Adrian, he was looking at her sharply.

  “Um.”

  He smiled. “Indeed. Come have a talk with me.”

  She swallowed again, nervous. God, it’s been way too long. “Talk?”

  “Yes, pour parler. Vay-yay, as we say down the bayou. The art of conversation. Two people communicating with words. I’m sure, as a teacher, you’re familiar with the concept.”

  “How did you…?” She took a deep breath. “Kara, right?”

  “Of course. She cares about you a great deal, you know. She might’ve brought you up once or twice à la vay-yay.”

  He opened a door and ushered her int
o a comfortable office with a wooden desk, a leather chair on either side and a matching couch along one wall.

  “Sit wherever you like.”

  The chair would be safe. Moira took a chance and sat on the couch. Adrian’s mouth twitched in a small smile as he joined her.

  “Moira Elenor D’Arcangelis. Thirty-one and a high school history teacher. Rarely dates, lives for the job, as it were. Born in Lexington, Virginia, a good Southern town. I approve. Estranged from your father, your mother died seven years ago. And your best friend Kara Deschamps says you like control.”

  “I do prefer to be in control of my life, yes.”

  “Ma chère, you say that like someone who hasn’t been.”

  Moira stared at him, and he stared right back. “No. I haven’t much been.”

  “So you decided that cutting off contact with your abusive father and swearing off both alcohol and men in general was a good way to start?”

  She didn’t look away. “Seemed like the way to go. Besides, I didn’t swear off dating. It kind of swore off me.”

  Adrian’s gaze didn’t waver, either. “And why is that?”

  Moira smiled sadly. “You and Kara. So optimistic. Neither of you get it.”

  He didn’t answer with words, but cocked his head, encouraging her to go on.

  She hesitated, then shook her head, a short, sharp movement. “Happiness isn’t for us.”

  “Us?” The word came out softly, accompanied by a slightly raised eyebrow.

  She looked down at her hands, away from his piercing gaze. “People like me. The broken ones. We don’t get to be happy.” She picked at her dress and hurried on. “I realize that’s a harsh outlook, but it’s the truth. At least, for me it is.”

  Moira waited for the sympathy, the disbelief, the platitudes, but they didn’t come. Adrian didn’t answer. She could feel his eyes on her, and the disapproval of what she’d said, but she refused to look up and see. So she stared at her hands until she couldn’t take it anymore, and he finally spoke.

  “Tell me about Justin Surley.”

  A surge of anger and shame accompanied her ex’s name. “I don’t want— I can’t believe—”