by Frost, E J
I giggle. “I come from Syracuse. Winters there can be brutal.”
“Are you living with Logan in the City now?”
I nod. “I kind of moved in with him after he was injured over the summer.”
Luisa smiles, showing pearly teeth between lips a shade redder than her dress. “I was so happy to hear you were taking care of him. Did he make an unbearably grumpy patient?”
I giggle and from where she’s returned to sketching in the chair across from me, Brenna snorts.
“Yeth,” she says.
“What in heaven’s name happened to you, DirtyGurl?” Luisa asks.
“Broke m’ toof,” Brenna responds and then has to swipe at her lip with the back of her hand as a little drool escapes the gauze.
“Broke it?”
Brenna nods. “Iz all messed up in there. I gotta go back next week.”
“Oh, Bren,” I exclaim. “You have to come stay with us until you’re better. I’ll make you peanut butter and banana milkshakes.”
Brenna lifts a dark brow. “No seah feeds?”
“Chia seeds? No, I promise. Not a single one until you’re better.”
“Dewl.” She ducks her head like she’s going back to her sketching, but her digital pencil doesn’t move, and I can see a faint bloom to her cheeks. She’d never ask for help and always seems surprised when anyone tries to take care of her, which means to me she needs it more than most. I just wish she’d hook up with a decent Dom instead of Doms like Master Ten who only want her for a scene.
A few minutes later, as I’m reaching the mid-way point on Laurel’s crest and Luisa is telling us about a scene with Daddy that failed so epically, she slugged him in the face, Martyn appears and sets out fresh pots of tea. When he reaches Brenna, he puts a tall glass full of something pale and foamy at her elbow and pops a long, curly straw into the glass.
“Two bananas and one tablespoon of peanut butter,” he tells her with a pat on her colorful dreadlocks. “I’ll pack you another for the restaurant so you don’t have to miss the meal but you mustn’t try to chew anything if you’ve had dental surgery.”
Bren blinks up at him in surprise, then seizes the glass and takes a deep draw through the straw. “Fank you so muff.”
“You’re welcome.” Martyn whisks away again. Piper’s eyes follow him and the adoration and longing in them makes my heart ache.
Aggie leans across Luisa to whisper to me, “He’s such a daddy.”
I nod fervently and cast my eyes at Piper. Aggie glances at her, takes in the carefully cuddled teddy bear, and looks back at me.
“Project,” she mouths.
We haven’t had a project since we hooked Daddy’s friend Max up with our friend Cynnie with a sneaky game of Twister. We’re definitely overdue. I shield my thumbs-up against the side of Laurel’s head. Aggie giggles.
Luisa, who has been watching our furtive exchange, laughs. “Oh, you must keep Logan on his toes.”
“Me?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Never.”
The laughter around the circle makes me grin.
Chapter Four
Logan
I take out my handkerchief, hold it over the combatants’ interlocked hands, and drop it onto the table.
“Go, baba!” Aggie shouts.
The tendons in Warrin’s neck pop out as he strains against the pressure Mac immediately puts on his forearm. Mac doesn’t strain. He just looks intent, his eyes holding Warrin’s, but then I’ve never seen Mac sweat anything. I’ve rarely heard him raise his voice, even when we were under fire. If I’ve ever met anyone who fits one of my mother’s favorite sayings, “cool as a cucumber,” it’s Mac.
With nothing more than the slight rise of a vein in his forehead revealing his exertion, Mac steadily forces Warrin’s arm backwards toward the table.
“You don’t even look that strong,” Warrin grumbles, a flush spreading up his throat.
“Bet I could bench your girl there,” Mac responds coolly.
Warrin’s eyes flick to Aggie, who is clinging to Emily, Yumiko, Sammi, and Robyn in a circle of over-excited littles. Just that split-second of divided focus and Mac has him, slamming Warrin’s forearm to the table.
Warrin sits back, massaging his wrist and laughing at Mac’s subterfuge, while Aggie jumps into her daddy’s lap and peppers his cheeks with kisses. Mac watches them with a rueful smile; I can almost hear what he’s thinking. He’d rather have lost if it got him a lapful of adoring subbie as a consolation prize.
I slap Mac on the shoulder as I pick up my handkerchief. Since talking to Niall last night, I’ve been turning over ideas on how to gather my “family” around me, and I’ll be starting with Mac.
“Bring on that red-haired monster,” Mac says, rolling his shoulder.
A coin toss paired Niall with Javier for the first round of the battle royale. Although I had my doubts about Javier’s ability to play fair, he didn’t sabotage Niall that I could see and it didn’t affect Niall’s performance if he did. Although a longer bout than Mac’s speedy take-down of Warrin, Niall’s superior muscle mass eventually prevailed, and Javier conceded gracefully.
“Ready, old timer?” Niall asks, shouldering his way between Harry and Yumiko’s daddy, Bravo. Both men are ex-military and big bastards, but Niall towers over both of them.
Warrin lifts Aggie out of his lap and vacates the chair for Niall, who sits down with such emphasis, I’m surprised he doesn’t drive the chair several inches into the ground. We’ve returned to the inn after a raucous dinner. Martyn took all forty of us descending on him better than the wait staff at the Chinese restaurant. To be fair, we’re an unusual-looking bunch, between Emmy’s Victorian fairy outfit, Laurel’s scaly dress, Luisa and Vic’s 1940s swing costumes, Sammi’s cross-gendered version of Sailor Moon, Harry’s biker leathers, and the bright yellow Minion onesie Yumiko’s wearing. Although all of us are careful about not inflicting scenes on vanillas who don’t consent, a lot of our conversation was decidedly kinky and the many speeches unmistakably so.
It’s nice to be back in an environment where I don’t have to watch what I say or do for fear of offending the straights. It’s a reminder of how much Blunts is a home-away-from-home for me and Emily, and how much I owe the club for my happiness over the years. Enough to step up to the plate and make sure that the house submissives are getting what they need, whether or not I wear the title of Master of Training.
I glance around the group as Niall plants his elbow on the picnic table and catch the eyes of the club submissives who have come to celebrate with us: Austin, Brenna, Fleur, Cappa, Charlotte, Hunter, Justine, Lucy, Mally, and Shannie. I smile at each of them and receive grins of various shades back, including a lopsided and drooly version from Brenna. Cappa scoots around the group and leans against my side. I drape my arm across his shoulders and hand him the handkerchief to do the honors for the second round.
“Ready, gentlemen?”
Mac picks his position and clasps Niall’s hand.
“Ready, steady, go,” I say. Cappa drops the handkerchief.
Neither man moves. For all the strain that shows on their faces, they could still be waiting to start. But the muscles in their arms bunch. As the seconds tick by, their muscles ripple, veins popping, but still nothing shows in their faces. They hold eye contact to a few murmurs from the subbies watching.
“One minute,” Warrin announces. I didn’t realize he was timing and wonder if this is something they’ve arranged.
At the two-minute mark, little has changed. Their hands and eyes are still locked. Their muscles are still working. Each has a glimmer of sweat on their foreheads. After another thirty seconds, a bead of sweat rolls down Mac’s temple. Niall wiggles his eyebrows to avoid sweat dripping in his eyes and Mac chuckles but neither of them breaks form.
“Three minutes,” Warrin announces. The men unclasp hands and sit back.
“You concede?” Mac asks Niall.
“Nae, yeh?”
“Nope. Looks
like a tie, Lo. Niall will take the first half of the ceremony and I’ll take the second half.”
Ah-ha, that’s what they’ve been scheming about together all day. I can’t even complain that they didn’t make an effort because they clearly were both trying their hardest. They’re just very evenly matched. Nor is it any hardship to have them both officiate the ceremony. I only proposed the arm-wrestle battle to avoid hard feelings.
“A tie it is.” I shift away from Cappa to clap them each on the shoulder. “Congratulations, gentlemen. A match well-fought.”
Niall dips his head and wipes sweat off his face with a towel Vashi offers him. When Niall notices that Mac doesn’t have a subbie to serve him, he nods at Vashi and she fetches another towel for Mac, who thanks her gruffly.
Martyn appears with a glass of whiskey for each man, which gets him a round of applause.
“Can I interest you all in some games while you digest your dinners and before the scene begins?” Martin asks.
That gets enthusiastic interest from our three mad Hearts players: Emmy, Austin, and Hunter. They draw several others into the game and soon have two tables of Hearts going while Daisy organizes a game of lawn croquet for those who don’t want to play cards. Watching a still-groggy Brenna trying to aim with her mallet is almost as funny as watching Yumiko play in her Minion costume. I end up sitting at the picnic table with Mac and Harry after Niall gets dragged off to croquet.
“You two planned that,” I say quietly to Mac.
“No idea what you’re talking about, son,” Mac responds, his eyes tracking one of the littles, Sammi, as he steals Yumiko’s mallet and runs off waving it over his head.
“So, knowing he wanted the first half of the ceremony . . .”
“Old sailor’s intuition.” Mac chuckles. “I’m your oldest friend here. I should get the last word.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, just admire your Machiavellian machinations.”
“We’re going to split the vows, if that’s okay with you,” Mac says. “I’ll do Emmy’s. Niall’ll do yours.”
“You’re splitting that intuitively, huh?”
“Long months at sea.” Mac shrugs. “You develop a sixth sense.”
“Didn’t help this morning when I was chasing ghosts,” I point out.
Another chuckle out of Mac which Harry echoes. Mac doesn’t take his eyes off the croquet match, where Sammi’s daddy, Jack, has now intervened and restored the mallet to Yumiko, only to have the Minion-y little snatch Sammi’s sailor cap and run off in the other direction with it.
“I haven’t spent much time with littles,” Mac says, rubbing his chin. “They’re adorable.”
I nod. “Pure joy.”
Harry sighs. “I know a subbie or two I wish was more joyful.”
I’m not sure who he’s talking about, although I know he has some type of relationship with one of the house submissives, Pence. Since Pence still isn’t my favorite person after he bullied Emily, I made a point of telling Harry that Pence wasn’t invited this weekend. To his credit, Harry didn’t argue. In fact, I’ve seen very little of Pence since punishing him. But Pence isn’t the only house sub and I’m aware that some of the others are struggling.
“Anyone I know?” I ask.
Harry nods. “Not something to talk about this weekend, though. And mebbe if you bring more littles into the club, they’ll spread some of their joy.”
“That’s the plan,” I say. Renovations to turn one of the club’s dungeons into a nursery are underway. Once it’s done, I plan to have an age-play night for one of the Monday theme nights and then a “grand opening” where I invite all the littles and their caregivers to the club. I know that won’t cause any ripples with Harry and Javier and the more open-minded members, but I fully expect blow back from hard-liners like Ten and Karl. Even Nico, who helped with Pence’s punishment and is here this weekend, currently slapping down cards in the Hearts game, seems disconcerted by Emily’s littleness and might not appreciate a pack of littles taking over the club.
All the more reason to do it.
“Good,” says Harry. “Club’s become too entrenched. It needs shaking up.”
“Hope you’re not thinking I’m the man for that job,” I say. I don’t mind a little rebellion, or a rebellion of littles, but I’m not taking on the whole organization.
Harry grins.
“Fuck off,” I tell him.
“Still need to see this place,” Mac says.
Although Mac’s visited several times over the years, he’s never come to the club. While he was separated from his now ex-wife and observing a self-imposed vow of celibacy, it seemed cruel to take him to the club and shove everything he couldn’t enjoy under his nose.
“Give me a date and it’s the first place I’ll take you,” I respond.
Mac takes out his phone, opens it, and passes it across to me. “Started last week. Just waiting for my shit to arrive.”
I tilt the phone so I can read the displayed page. It’s a rental agreement for one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.
“You did it,” I say, slapping him on the back. “Finally.”
“Mm-hmm. I’m a full-time resident of the great State of New York.”
“This is fucking miles away from me,” I grumble, but truthfully, I’m just happy Mac will be in the same state.
“Forty minutes by train,” Mac says. “I checked. It has a garage for my bike. Nothing I found closer did. Quit yer bitching, son. We’re going to be in the same state, much less same hemisphere, for the first time in years. You’ll be sick of the sight of me in no time.”
He’s completely wrong about that, but I’d rather show him than tell him.
“Emily and I are home on Tuesday night. You’ll come for dinner?”
Mac holds his hands up. “If you’ll let me bring the food.”
“That’s a deal. How about you bring the food and I bring the submissives?”
Mac lifts his eyebrows. “Submissives plural?”
“Ink on your divorce is dry. Time to start meeting people.”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’ll bring the food and you bring your little girl. Anyone else shows up and I’ll paddle you.”
Harry chortles. “Don’t let him bully you, Mac. ‘Sides, I’ve got not one but two clubhouses of leather-wearing ladies who love nothing better than a hog-riding man. You’re meeting them first. I call dibs.”
“Dibs? You make me sound like a prize bull, boys. I’m not looking for a date. I’ve got to get my daughter squared away. Then I’ll think about getting back into the scene.”
Harry lets out a gusty sigh. “I’ll tell the leather-wearing ladies. They’ll be mighty disappointed.”
Mac laughs and shakes his head.
“Are you playing tonight?” I ask both of them.
Harry nods. “Already told the house subs to expect to feel the kiss of my flogger tonight and Hunter’s in my bed. Mac, you’re welcome—”
Mac holds up a hand. “Thank you for the offer but no. I’ll play but that’s all.”
“Plenty of unattached subbies to play with this weekend,” I say.
“I know one who’s sitting tonight out,” Harry says.
“No argument there.”
Brenna’s not fit to play as long as she’s still on whatever painkillers have her owl eyed. But I also expect not to have to argue with her about it. For all her sass, Brenna’s a smart and experienced submissive. She won’t play when she’s not safe.
I double-check with Brenna after she finishes playing croquet, anyway. Before I get three words out, she’s holding up a hand.
“Wuvvent gonna play tonight, srr. Cun mon’tor. Er jus’ crash.” She waves at her chipmunk cheek. “Feelin’ iz now.”
Having listened to gag-speak for years, I decipher her meaning. “Thank you for offering, but I think we’re okay for scene monitors. If it’s hurting, you should get some rest. And I expect you to stay with us after your second visit to the dentist.”
>
She winces. “You ‘erd.”
Eventually, the Blunts subbies will realize that I’ve had Emily wired since Pence bullied her. I’ll never let her be in another situation where I don’t know she needs her daddy until it’s too late. The primary transmitter’s in her collar, but I have backups in all of her bras.
“I did. And I’m not happy with you. You may not answer to me directly, but you know how I feel about the house subs. You should have told me you needed surgery so someone could be with you.”
Her chin lifts and I’m sure her jaw would be setting like a fucking mule if it wasn’t full of stitches and gauze. “Aussin wid me.”
“Austin’s a good choice, but not adequate given his other commitments. I mean it, Brenna. Next time you’re in a foreseeable situation where you need someone looking out for you, I expect a call.”
She grumbles and avoids my eyes but eventually nods. “Srr.”
“Good. Good night. I hope you feel better in the morning. If you need anything in the night, knock on our door. I don’t want to hear in the morning that someone had to run you to the emergency room.”
She scowls ferociously. “Iz five stitches. Nah dyin’.”
“You will be dying if I find out you began bleeding or something in the night and didn’t knock. Do I need to put a baby monitor in with you?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Iddle haz an akkident.”
I chuckle. I wouldn’t put it past her to smash a baby monitor out of spite. “Sleep well.”
She scowls at me again but turns on her heel and heads back into the inn. I follow her, not because I’m checking that she’s going to bed, but because it’s time to set up for the scene and I have bags of props to fetch. Brenna turns at the door of her room and lets out a garbled growl when she sees me following her. After an owl-eyed glare, she slams the door.
“I’ll make sure Javier’s available to oversee your crucifixion once you’re feeling better,” I tell the closed door before I head upstairs. I hear something thump against the door and grin to myself. Sounded like a shoe. Definitely would have been a baby monitor if I’d put one in there. I may still give one to Fleur or Cappa to put next to her bed. Brenna’s much too independent for her own good.
