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“She’s not one for having the spotlight on her,” Mack agreed.
“It’s her worst nightmare. It came damn close to her refusing to attend Wyatt’s funeral.” He twirled the bottle around on the cardboard coaster emblazoned with the Serenity logo. “Thought she’d be an embarrassment, take the mourners’ attention away from Wyatt. Partly truth,” he admitted, “but the main reason was she couldn’t handle the condolences.”
He wasn’t a fan of funerals himself, Mack thought. Grief was an emotion that razed a person down to the soul, burning away the old life so a new one could begin without the dead. Cathartic, healing, but when it came together in a room, it swelled and multiplied until it consumed all.
“I want to try something tonight,” Liam continued. “I’ve reserved a spot in the suspension area. How accurate are you with impact toys? Whips, floggers, tawses?”
“Can’t claim to cut the wings off a fly with a bullwhip, but I’m not going to put someone’s eye out either.”
“Hmm. You can be good cop tonight.”
“Roleplay?”
“More of a gentle mindfuck. Our girl’s yearning for gentle—we’re going to give her it, with a sprinkle of spice. Bondage, some sensation play, followed up with double penetration.” Liamscratched idly at his beard. “Are you ready for another taste of her, Mack?”
“Anytime.”
“Addictive, isn’t she?” Smiling, Liam held out his arm as Sierra set the bag down and situated herself against his side. “Hello, beautiful minx. Or have we switched to babygirl while you’ve been gone?”
She angled a glare his way. “I’ve been ten minutes, Sir.”
“Ten minutes too long.” When she huffed, he kissed her neck. “I thought cranky little girls were supposed to have a lighter disposition after a nap. It seems our Little is not in the mood for games, Mack. Whatever shall we do?”
Mack grinned, catching on. For whatever reason, Sierra was obviously in a mood and, as her Doms, it was their solemn duty to sway her attitude in a more positive direction. “A few things come to mind. Most of them are in that bag.”
“Great minds think alike.” Patting Sierra’s hip, Liam took another swallow of beer, leaving the barely touched bottle on the bar. “As luck would have it, we have the perfect reservation. Come along, moody minx. Let’s see if we can turn that frown into anO.”
“Eyebrows can’t form circles, Liam,” she said snippily.
What the hell was crawling up her ass this evening? She’d been fine up until this point, and the only time she’d been away from them was when she collected Liam’s play bag from the locker room. Literally no more than ten minutes, as she so kindly pointed out.
Liam clocked onto the attitude as well, a frown of his own making an appearance. A sliver of temper flashed in his eyes like a streak of lightening illuminating storm clouds, before it settled into resignation. “True. Your mouth can, however, when it’s stretched around my cock.”
Another huff. Was she goading her Dom into losing his patience?
“Mack, can you check the bag for me? There should be some sheepskin lined cuffs in there.” Standing, Liam ushered their girl to present herself. “I don’t know what stick you sat on tonight, Sierra, but pull it out and dispose of it. I’ve planned a fun evening, but if this attitude continues, those plans can change to include torturing whatever’s making you sour and prickly out of you.”
Her gaze dropped, instantly more respectful. “Sorry, Sir.”
Mack found the cuffs and passed them over. As Liam began the process of retuning Sierra’s mood from rebellious to submissive, Mack let his attention wander around the room, seeking potential sources of her distress.
It was early enough in the evening that most guests were either dining next door or still preparing to come out and play. He was learning that there were different cliques—those who preferred to enjoy themselves throughout the day before retiring to their cabins for the evening; the ones who emerged about this time for sustenance before enjoying themselves until early morning; and those who came out late in the evening like kinky vampires, sucking and feeding on each other until the very early hours, then sleeping the day away to start all over again.
Jonah was covering Liam’s night off. He seemed to be settling into his role well, although the nervous glances he kept shooting at his boss told Mack the guy still had a few confidence issues.
An older couple huddled together at the end of the bar, hands clasped as they leaned into each other while they talked. The woman giggled huskily, adoration in her eyes as she listened intently to what her partner was saying.
In one of the booths, a Domme sipped delicately at something pink and frothy while swiping a finger leisurely over an e-reader. Her red thigh-high boots were propped up on an unlikelyfootstool—the bare, welted back of a male sub whose face reflected the pain, pleasure, and ultimate high of being used in such a fashion.
Mack’s eyes ticked over to the locker room door as it swung open and three subs tumbled out, laughing hysterically. He recognized them all from the Nursery—two women and one male, all late twenties to early thirties—and his gaze narrowed in suspicion.
Had they been in there when Sierra collected the bag?
A glance at her told him everything he needed to know.
Her attention was on them the moment they stepped into the bar; misery washed over her features, her chin quivering before she hung her head. He watched her shift her weight, earning a reprimand from Liam in the form of a quick tap against her calf as he circled her ankle with a cuff.
Pieces were slotting together.
