by Lilia Moon
It’s a moment that doesn’t feel gray at all.
Chapter Seven
Mattie
I watch Milo walk off toward the hot-chocolate cart, one small girl holding each of his hands. It’s impossible not to smile. They’re the definition of cute, and it’s making things in me that are already yearning melt into goo.
Ari plunks down beside me on the bench. “Think we should let him be alone with them?”
I grin. “Evie was pretty clear. We’re supposed to stay right here.” And if I read the man holding her hand right, two little girls are about to be awarded the honor of carrying us back two hot chocolates. Which isn’t something I want to interfere with, because hot chocolate rocks—and knowing someone trusts you with something important rocks even more.
Ari’s hand settles on my knee. “So tell me why I’m here watching you and Milo dance around each other.”
We aren’t dancing. Exactly. “His eyes got all soft when I told him we were bringing the girls to the park today, so I invited him to join us.”
She drums her fingers slowly on my knee and makes a face. “They’ll be back with those hot chocolates any minute, so I’m just going to stick my nose straight into this. He’s a Dom, and a good one, and he clearly likes little kids and is really good with them. Plus, you think he’s totally hot. So what’s getting in the way?”
She’s always been able to cut to the heart of things faster than anyone I know. “He’s not the right Dom for me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “He did okay with you yesterday.”
He did better than okay. Which is why I’m suddenly not at all sure of myself. “That wasn’t even a scene. It was three minutes of Kool-Aid painting in the lounge. He barely even touched me.”
Ari snorts. “Right. Like that matters.”
It does, but not in any way that would change what she’s really trying to say. “I’m not the only one who thinks this wouldn’t work. He does too.” I can see his interest—and his shrinking away. Doms aren’t the only ones who watch carefully.
“Yeah.” Ari nods slowly. “I thought that was because of the baby thing until I saw him at Gabby and Daniel’s party.”
A lot of people surprised me that night. “I’m used to seeing Milo in leathers, holding a wrench and gazing lovingly at a spanking bench. I guess I never figured him for wanting kids.”
“Someone might say the same thing about you if they only ever saw you at the club.”
Someone new, maybe. All the Fettered regulars know I’m baby hungry. I haven’t made a secret of it. I watch as Milo bends down in the distance. Both girls are absolutely glued to whatever he’s saying, and it squeezes something deep in my heart. “Maybe I’m just looking for something that doesn’t actually exist.”
“You’re not alone in that camp,” she says quietly. “But before you decide the two of you aren’t right together, take another look. Because at least some of the big pieces are there, girlfriend.”
It’s the touch of pain in her voice that catches me. As far as I know, she’s only played with one guy in the last year who was even remotely capable of being top to her bottom, and he lives in L.A. I reach for her hand and wrap her fingers in mine, just like Milo did with Evie’s tiny hand. “Okay, I’ll look. Tell me what you know about what kind of Dom he is.”
“No.” Said firmly, but with a smile. “You tell me what you see.”
Damn. Ari can really pull out the switch thing sometimes. “He’s not my usual type. He’s quiet. Doesn’t play in public much. If the rumors are right, his favorite kink is edging. I’ve heard he’s good with impact tools, but I haven’t seen him use them in ages.” And that’s the crux of what keeps me backing away. I need impact play. It clears me. Chases all of the pollution out of my life and lets me feel like me.
I shrug in Ari’s direction. “Being held on the edge of orgasm for hours just isn’t my thing.”
She smiles a little. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
I can feel frustration rising, trying to choke me. I want her to be right, but I’m no starry-eyed newbie. “We’re different people with really different kinks. I don’t see how they’d slot together in a way that would satisfy either of us.” And I need to be a submissive. A well satisfied one. I can’t give that up, not even for babies. It would tear up too much of the bedrock of who I am.
The woman beside me is quiet for so long I think maybe she’s done talking. Then she leans in to me and puts her head on my shoulder. “He’s a good Dom, Mattie. A really good one. He’s never been out on the floor much because he’s not an exhibitionist at all, so a lot of people don’t know just how good he is.”
I sit up and look at her, because I need to be really sure about this next part. “You’ve scened with him?”
“A long time ago.” She smiles and lets me see the truth. “Not anymore. I love him dearly, but as a brother. He’s not the one who’s supposed to be my Dom, but maybe he can be yours. He needs someone who can really see him, and you’re good at that.”
I am. Which is why I’m feeling so sad. “I don’t see it, sweetie. I just don’t.”
She raises a mittened hand to my cheek. “Look one more time. For me, okay? You want something that’s hard to find. You might need to be a little open-minded about how you get it.” She holds up her other palm to forestall my objections. “I’m not saying to let go of what you need. Just open yourself up to it maybe coming in a shape that’s different than what you think you’re looking for.”
Ari’s a total romantic, but she’s also the most clear-eyed person I know. She’s not pushing this because she’s seeing pink hearts everywhere. She’s pushing because she thinks it might work. I breathe and give the tugging sensation he somehow tattooed onto my chest a little oxygen. “You think I should play with him.”
She grins, and there’s a wicked sparkle in her eyes. “Hell, yeah.”
I know trouble when I see it. “He’s not sure.”
Ari shrugs. “So issue him an invitation. One that doesn’t involve cute kids and hot chocolate.”
Not all Doms tolerate that, but Milo’s not that kind of hard-ass. Or any kind—which still feels like a big, neon problem, but Ari’s making a strong case for giving this a chance anyhow.
And the guy walking toward me, herding two small, proud girls bearing cups of hot chocolate with whipped cream mounded to the sky, is quietly, persistently making me want to agree with her.
Chapter Eight
Milo
Harlan plunks a fruity drink down on the bar beside me and picks up one of the small rectangles of sheet metal I’m shaping. “I fixed the cuff Doxy raised hell about. What’s this?”
The man starts every conversation with more than one thing, which makes him a great manager and a distracting friend. “Doxy doesn’t raise hell about anything. And this is sheet metal. And pliers.” I eyeball the glass he set down. “What’s that?”
“Quint’s latest concoction. He’s experimenting.”
All his experiments lately are pink—and since I don’t want to think about why, I need to change the conversation to something that’s less likely to involve memories of Mattie’s half-naked breasts or the way she leaned into my fingers.
Trust is the most seductive thing there is.
Harlan picks up two of my wavy sheets of metal and tries to slide them together, which doesn’t work because I’m not designing them to do that. “Want to talk about it?”
Unfortunately, he’s not talking about the silver stuff in his hands. “No.”
He tries again to slide two shapes that aren’t meant to be together into communion. The symbolism annoys me. It’s just two stupid pieces of metal. He flicks his eyes toward mine. “If I were staying quiet about whatever you’re staying quiet about, would you harass me until I talked?”
“I don’t harass you.”
He snorts. “No, you just watch, and your eyes say that you know something, and it bugs us all until we beg you to share your wisdom.”<
br />
The Doms in this place beg exactly never. “I see things. I rarely tell you unless you ask.”
A second snort alerts me to a new conversation crasher.
Damon pulls up a stool on the other side of the bar, forming a cozy little triangle. “Does this have anything to do with either of the subs who are wearing obscure Japanese calligraphy this morning?”
This is why I don’t scene in public. People see things, and then they jump to uncomfortable conclusions. Sometimes they’re even right. “As far as I know, both Mattie and Ari are fine.” They were when I left them, anyhow, replete with hot chocolate and small-girl cuddles.
Damon takes a swig of my drink, and there’s a glint in his eye I don’t like. “You’ll have a chance to see for yourself. Mattie just arrived. She needs to measure things for the reception next weekend.”
There are too damn many parties happening in this place. “I suppose that means we have to move the spanking benches again.” Which means I’ll be on bolt-tightening duty. I didn’t design them to be portable.
Damon’s lips quirk. “This one’s lounge only. One of Doxy’s friends is turning fifty and they’re throwing her a surprise party. Ari’s letting them loose in her dress-up clothes, and Quint’s going to wear his baddest leathers and serve them risqué drinks.”
That might at least get rid of some of the tsunami of pink. “Why are we doing this, again?” I’m being unreasonably cranky, and I know it. The parties are good for community relations, and even better for our members who have friends who want a few hours on the wild side without moving there. Doxy gets to share a small part of who she is with her friends and everyone wins. “Never mind. Ignore me, I’m in a pissy mood.”
My boss raises an eyebrow. “You can go hide in my office if you want to avoid Mattie that badly.”
It isn’t her I want to avoid—it’s the mess inside me that she stirs up. I take a deep breath, because whatever I am, I’ve never been a Dom who shies away from looking straight at my own shit. “I’m not sure what to do with her, or with me, but I’ll get it figured out.” I need to do that fast—I can hear her voice, chattering happily with Ari in the front entry. It sends small, disruptive pulses into my ribs.
Harlan lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t clam up. That’s for idiots.”
Says the guy who would know. I look at him and Damon. “Keep an eye on her, okay? I haven’t got my head on straight as far as she’s concerned, and if she wobbles, I want someone watching.”
They both look insulted. Which they should, because I’ve just asked two firefighters to say something if they see flames. Watching subs is what we do. “Never mind. Once again, ignore me.”
Damon slugs the rest of my drink, but he looks amused. I don’t get to figure out about what, because that’s the moment Ari and Mattie dance into the room and every eye in the lounge turns to watch whatever performance they’re about to put on.
Ari’s wearing something short and skimpy that shows off her pink graffiti and doesn’t look nearly warm enough for February. Mattie looks like she works for a fancy event-planning company, which is good, because that’s what Emily pays her for. Scorpio, who I didn’t expect, is trailing the two of them and looking like she just fell off a punk-rock stage. Fortunately, Emily pays her for her brains, not the way she dresses.
The queen of logistics is in the house. Today’s measurements must be serious.
Scorpio surveys the room, blows a kiss at her guy, and nods her head at me. “Got a couple tape measures we can borrow?”
I’m always the guy with the tools, but no way has the best wedding-logistics person in the city arrived without everything she needs. I reach under my stool for my toolbox, but I keep an eye on the woman with the spiky black hair. Ari and Mattie and Sam might be the resident brats, but Scorpio’s no slouch in the department of getting Doms to do her bidding. She just has different tactics.
Scorpio sticks her head together with Ari and shrugs a casual shoulder at Mattie. “Grab the tape measures, will you? We’ll figure out table layout and then we can worry about where to put the food.”
Mattie shoots Scorpio a subtle but very skeptical look and heads my way. She holds my eyes the whole way over, making clear this isn’t club dynamics. She’s here to work. She leans against the bar by my stool and smiles wryly. “Next time I’ll bring my own tape measure.”
I shrug, still not sure what to do with her, but glad she’s in my space. “Next time Ari and Scorpio might not be trying to drag other agendas into your work hours.”
She tips her chin down a little. Letting the dynamic shift. “We subs stick together. They’re just trying to help.”
“Do you want their help?” I hate not knowing where I want this to go—but nothing in me knows how to leave a sub hanging. And if I did, the two guys an arm’s-length away would do more than just glower. I shoot them dirty looks. They’re not helping.
Mattie’s keeping her gaze down, her body language open. This isn’t club hours, but she knows what she’s doing. Asking for permission to speak.
As a sub.
Harlan and Damon are already taking a hike, but nobody in this room is missing anything that’s going on right now. They’re all pros at reading body language, just like the two of us on center stage.
My body’s already falling into Dom lines, getting ready to support her with the way I hold myself, the way I breathe, the emotions I let show on my face. It’s what she needs, and I’ve honed my skills at giving subs what they need for so long that I can’t honestly tell whether I still want this or whether it’s just all that I know how to do.
But even a Dom in existential crisis knows better than to drop that shit on a sub. “Go ahead. Ask what you want.”
Her eyes lift and meet mine, and I feel like I’m looking at my own confusion.
Chapter Nine
Mattie
This is so wrong. I’m standing here in work clothes, waiting for a tape measure so that I can figure out how to get enough tables in here for Doxy’s party without cannibalizing the dance floor too much—and all I can think about is the man in front of me.
The one who’s just given me an opening.
I keep my chin down and reach for my courage. “Will you play with me sometime?” Not exactly subtle, but he doesn’t mind being asked. I’ve known that for a long time. I just never expected I’d be the one asking—or that his answer would matter.
He’s silent for a long time. Too long. And then his finger slides under my chin and gently tips it up. “I’m not the Dom you need, Mattie. We both know that.”
I feel the sadness settle in under the remnants of the symbol he painted on my chest. “Are you sure?”
His eyes flare with surprise.
I know why. I know that I should walk away. I’ve just asked a Dom to play with me and he’s said no and that’s absolutely the end of the conversation. But he painted hope right over my heart and something in me isn’t willing to let that go. Partly because of what Ari said—I have needs that have gotten more complicated and maybe I need to take a closer look before I assume someone isn’t a fit. And partly because of a vague impression that’s turning into something else as I stand here with his fingers under my chin.
I’m not the only one with unmet needs.
I don’t know what that means, because the man in front of me is about the farthest thing from an open book as you can get. Until Gabby’s party, he was just the guy in leathers with a wrench in his hand, the one who kept our equipment comfortable and noticed things other Doms sometimes missed.
It never occurred to me to wonder if he’s completely fulfilled. Not until I saw him with two small girls and softness in his eyes. And now I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even happy.
I know I’m standing here way too long. There are no words flowing between us. Just questions. Doubts. Two seasoned BDSM veterans who know better than to try to work with mismatched kinks—and who kind of want to anyhow.
Or at least I do. He sai
d no.
He said no—and his fingers are still under my chin saying something different.
I lean in to them for a moment, and then I do what I should have done when I first came over here. I hold out my hand, palm up, and give him the most put-together smile I can dig up on short notice. “Your tape measures. Please.”
He nods slowly and reaches for his toolbox. “There are three in here. Just stick them back in when you’re done with them.” He slides off his stool. “It was good to see you, Mattie.”
He means it. Despite all the confusion and despite the fact that he said no.
I’m not a sub who knows how to deal with this. I like my Doms hardcore, straightforward, even a little over the top. I clear my throat and step into my brat persona, because she can always find something to say. “Are you sure you want to trust us with this? I’m not sure Ari’s done with her pranks.”
He laughs and pushes the toolbox in my direction. “Not a problem. I know where Quint put all the leftover Kool-Aid paint.”
We sound so normal. Club Dom and long-time sub, sharing a chuckle over an inside joke that isn’t going to get old any time soon.
But that’s not what it feels like.
He barely makes it through the door into the dungeon when two bodies flank me—and they’re both glaring daggers at his back. I sigh and try to lean in to both of them at once. “He said no. That’s allowed, you both know that.”
Scorpio scowls so loudly Milo can probably hear it in the dungeon. “You’re amazing and he’s totally into you. Why would he say no?”
I try to remember just how new she is to all of this. She talked a good game for years, but she’s still a newbie to the walking part. “BDSM matches are more complicated. You need chemistry and good overlap in your kinks. We don’t have it, and he knows that.”
