Lesson In Honesty (Club Serenity #3)

Chapter Five

Sierra

I t was awkward being stuck at a table with a stranger.

It was worse being stuck with said stranger when they both remembered him making her orgasm just the night before, all over his hand.

Add in Liam’s bombshell and she was ready to hide.

Apparently he’d listened to her cues, to what her body and heart wanted, and kickstarted the next stage of their life off in grand style, inviting Maverick for drinks and a pleasant evening chat.

She was notoriously bad at chatting.

Drawing wet circles on the tabletop with her glass of coke, she kept her gaze lowered, focusing on the ribbons of moisture left on the polished surface. No matter how hard she didn’t look at him, her body still hummed lightly in his proximity, much like it did when Liam was near.

“Liam didn’t tell me you were such an avid conversationalist.” Wry amusement simmered under Mack’s words. “It must be difficult to be so painfully shy.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it when she realized her throat was too tight to speak.

“You know, I can’t tell whether Liam wants to spank you or strangle me,” he confessed in a conspiratorial whisper. “That glare he keeps shooting over here is ridiculously difficult to interpret.”

Oh, it was probably aimed at her. Liam got frustrated sometimes when her tongue froze. He was likely thinking about spanking her with one hand, choking her with the other, and using his cock to encourage her to use her voice.

“Maybe if I do the talking for a while, he won’t throw that glass in his hand at my head. Think you can nod every now and then like I’m saying something witty enough to hold your attention?”

Her lips twitched of their own volition. She gave him a tiny nod, making sure not to make any eye contact at all—if she fell into that magnetic gaze again, she’d be trapped there in its thrall.

Liam had beautiful eyes. The gray shifted in shades as his emotions flared and cooled, and she’d learned how to read them; Mack’s eyes weren’t gray or blue, but a delicate balance of the two, and she didn’t have a clue where to begin deciphering them.

“Liam doesn’t seem like the kind of Dom to keep secrets, so I’m assuming you know he’s asked me if I’d like to… join you in a temporary capacity. I understand you lost someone important; before you make a decision, I’d like to assure you that I have no intention of trying to imitate or replace him in your life.”

Thank God for small mercies, she thought. Never again did she want to be with anyone who resembled Wyatt in personality or spirit. The little pieces of him she missed were few and far between—she could live without them.

“All I can be is myself, and it’s up to you to form your own opinions on whether who I am satisfies whatever fantasies you have about… all of this.” He swirled his hand above the table in a circle, his gesture clear. “Say no and I walk away, no hard feelings.”

Sierra glanced at him, surprised. “What if it’s not no?”

“That’s up to you and Liam. We obviously have the chemistry for some scorching hot sex, but I get the feeling fucking you blind isn’t the only reason Liam invited me into your relationship. I think you need some fun, Sierra, something to take your mind off whatever’s putting that sadness in your eyes.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Give me a chance to be your distraction.”

He already was, and they’d only been sitting together for like thirty minutes or so. He had the kind of voice that brought subs to their knees without ever needing to raise it; the kind that cruised over her skin, low and rhythmic, soothing like a lullaby.

Deep, not quite as rumbly as Atticus, but resonant enough to pluck at her wacky hormones like skilled fingertips on guitar strings.

“Can you look at me, pixie?”

Pixie . He’d called her that last night. She’d liked it, almost as much as being Liam’s minx. Not quite as much as being his babygirl though. “Why do you call me that?”

“Well, if you look at me, I’ll tell you.”

Damn it. Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the tabletop to meet his striking eyes, too intrigued by his thought process to ignore him. There was kindness in him—that was what struck her first. A great depth of it, like a thick vein of gold running through rock. Strength as well, not just the heft of dominance, but strength of character.

Kindness, strength, warmth.

For a long time, she’d believed blue eyes couldn’t convey warmth. Blue in itself was a cold color, pretty in its many shades, but cold nonetheless. She’d been proven wrong with Jasper—fuck, the sadist’s eyes were an icy blue, sharp and cutting, yet when he looked at Anarchy, it seemed as though the sun was trapped beneath that ice, beaming rays of love so hot the frozen cage didn’t stand a chance.

Maybe it was the gray in Mack’s eyes that tempered the blue.

Maybe it was just the man.

“To me, you are a pixie. Small and dainty, with those huge eyes and pert little nose. I’m sure Liam hasn’t neglected to tell you how beautiful you are; he doesn’t strike me as a stupid man. Whether you believe him or not is a different matter entirely, isn’t it?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful, Sierra. In my opinion, it’s the imperfections in a person that elevate them from pretty to beautiful, beautiful to gorgeous.” He reached out and claimed her hand in his big one. “Gorgeous to stunning. When I saw you kneeling in front of the barstool, I felt a connection without even seeing your face. I wanted to know who the hell was fucking lucky enough to have you kneeling for him, if you truly belonged to him.”

Sierra’s gaze drifted over to Liam, smiling quietly when she saw him serving a sleepy-eyed male sub two bottles of water. Yes, she truly belonged to him, and she was forever grateful he loved her. “You know I do.”

“Yeah, he made that very clear. So is the fact you both miss having an additional element.” When her gaze arrowed back to him in shock, Mack lifted his shoulder. “Some people are built for one-on-one love, others like to share it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think while you and Liam are happy and love each other, having someone else included deepens the connection between you.”

She turned her hand over in his, palm meeting palm. Hers were callused in odd places from all her stitching and sewing, faint white lines on her fingers where she’d accidentally cut and jabbed herself over the years.

Mack’s were strong, gentle, and only slightly roughened. Not a man who did paperwork all day, she mused, but not one who relied solely on his hands to do a job. Cowboy definitely wasn’t his career choice, which was a shame when his physical appearance suited that profession nicely.

“W-What are you hoping will happen?” Displeased when her voice came out shaky and weak, Sierra frowned and cleared her throat. “Did Liam tell you about Wyatt?”

Sympathy creased into lines at the corners of his eyes. “A little. Barely anything, actually. I think he’s waiting to see if you want me in your dynamic before he starts spilling secrets and history. I don’t need to know about him, Sierra. Some memories aren’t worth dredging up.”

Well, that gave her some leeway. Of course, if he stuck around, if Liam gave him permission to do more than just finger her in front of a crowd, Mack would need to know what her life had been like in the Wyatt years before Liam came along. He’d have to know, and understand, that she was not like other women when sex came into the equation.

“Truthfully, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how this will play out. Liam holds the reins and, for a chance to be with you, I’ll let him steer things wherever he wants.” Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles in slow, sensual sweeps, Mack kept her eyes in thrall. “All you have to do is say yes—if you want this.”

This was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? Chemistry aside—shockingly good chemistry, she admitted—it was her heart and her pesky emotions at stake. She wasn’t sure she’d survive more grief, and Liam deserved better than picking up the pieces a second time.

But part of her was already wondering what it would be like to feel the energy of three humming around her again. Not with the occasionally discordant notes Wyatt had thrown into the mix with his stroppy, sometimes cruel attitude, but a smooth, harmonic flow of three people coming together in sync, thriving instead of simply existing.

Sierra didn’t look to Liam for guidance now—she knew he wouldn’t lead her to a decision. This date she found herself on with Mack, for lack of a better term, was her Daddy’s way of giving her the opportunity to weigh up a potential new partner without any pressure.

He wanted her to make the choice on her own.

She really wasn’t good at that, she mused. There was too much deliberation over what was the right thing to do, too many options and variables for what was wrong and right. She’d found out the hard way, with every decision she’d ever made with Wyatt, that her instincts for self-preservation were terrible .

Yet Mack’s touch made her feel special, as though she deserved a gentle touch and kind words. There wasn’t that ewww, ick vibe she’d so often felt from Wyatt, like he believed his skin coming into contact with hers might transfer her cooties to him.

Even now, despite the fact her conversation skills were barely passable and she was taking forever to answer a simple yes or no question, Mack just watched her with a faint half-smile on his attractive face, as if she could argue with herself for hours and he’d find her thought processes fascinating the whole time.

Digging deep for whatever courage she could muster, Sierra exhaled slowly, considering what she wanted to know before she changed the path of her life again. The usual details like his age, profession, the minutia of his existence didn’t factor into her choice; Liam would already have that data, he was too thorough not to do his homework.

“H-How do you feel about Littles?” she asked slowly.

His smile grew. “I admit, I haven’t had the pleasure of interacting with any personally. My perception, however, is that they’re a lot of fun, a lot of trouble, and live life to their fullest. Little kids in adult bodies, which is fine with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you like kids?”

Now his smile turned wistful. “I do. I’d like some of my own, one day. With the right woman. When I have a family, I’m not interested in being a part-time dad or absent husband. Family should be an all-in affair.”

Tears stung her eyes until they watered, but she refused to let them fall. Now wasn’t the time to sink into that quagmire. Because anything she said might lead to questions she wasn’t ready to answer, she nodded in agreement as her throat tightened. “I, um… What kinks are you into?”

His head cocked slightly to one side; he was probably wondering why she wasn’t jumping on the baby train conversation. Well, if he stayed around long enough, he’d find out all her failures and secrets, wouldn’t he?

“Hmmm, that’s a broad question,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since I indulged. Anything using my hands is usually a favorite—spanking, tickling, the occasional sensual massage for a tired, well-deserving sub. My whip skills aren’t up to scratch anymore, but I enjoy floggers, paddles, the tawse.” He itched his index finger on his jaw. “Extreme kinks like watersports, bloodsports, scat…” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “ Really not up my alley.”

They were in solid agreement on that.

“Anal and bondage are probably my favorites,” he continued with a slight hum in his tone. “I know they’re not exotic or as flashy as some kinks, but then I prefer a good fuck rather than sexual gymnastics. My knees just don’t bend the same way anymore.”

Sierra bit her lip before she laughed. “You’re not that old.”

“Old enough to wonder where the hell half my life has gone.”

“The same way as your knees,” she quipped, then slapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

Mack roared with laughter, leaning back as his sense of humor made itself known to the room. “Speak without thinking more often, pixie. That’s some wit you’ve got there.”

She blinked. If she’d made that crack at Wyatt, depending what mood he was in, the likelihood was she’d have triggered his temper. Even in the latter end of the relationship, in the final few weeks of his life when everything seemed to be settling and flowing normally, there’d been that edge of derision simmering under the surface.

It had been entwined in him.

“Yes,” she said impulsively, shrinking down into her seat when the rich, raucous laughter stopped abruptly and those fluid gray-blue eyes landed on her again, darkening and heating in the same breath.

“Repeat that, please.”

Oh God, that was the tone. Squeezing her thighs together as those three words thrummed between her legs, it wasn’t the words themselves causing mischief; it was the utterly dominant command. “I… yes?”

The arching eyebrow was a bad sign, she was sure.

“Yes… Sir?” Shit, that didn’t sound right. “Yes, please?”

“All of the above.” Grinning, he shot her a wink. “Relax, pixie. Just wanted to make sure I’d heard you right the first time. I’d ask if you’re sure, but four yes es probably answers the question. Are you usually this brave?”

Sierra shook her head. Quite the opposite, actually; her middle name should’ve been coward. Any opportunity to avoid the things that hurt her—criticism, rejection, heartbreak—she grabbed with both hands.

“I think you are,” he disagreed, checking his watch. “We’re a little ahead of schedule but I’m guessing Liam won’t mind.” He lifted his hand, twitched it a couple times, before lowering it to snag his beer. “From the bits and pieces of information Liam’s supplied, I gather you’ve had a rough time over the last few years.”

Five, she thought sadly. Five years since Avalon was blown to hell along with three men, and everything in her life changed. Some stuff for the better, some for the worse. Where the hell had all that time gone?

“Being extraordinarily serious isn’t my aim in life,” Mack continued. “Not trying to be morbid, but death is a sneaky bitch, creeping in and decimating every trace of joy and happiness. All it takes is a blink, a heartbeat, and nothing’s the same ever again.” He sipped his beer, pondering his next words. “I realize joviality probably isn’t what you need in a Dom, Daddy or otherwise, but I figure Liam’s going to balance that out. A good Daddy, bad Daddy situation.”

Despite the ache in her chest from half a decade of grief, Sierra managed a soft laugh. “He has strict down to a science.”

“Yeah, I bet he does. I’ll follow his lead, adhere to his rules and your hard limits. I’m pretty damn psyched you’re trusting me enough to let me in, so in return, I give you my word in all its best intentions that breaking your heart or hurting you isn’t my goal.”

Hands landed on her shoulders as though they belonged there; a panicked upward glance told her they did. “What is your goal, precisely?”

Mack shrugged and took another swallow of beer like Liam’s appearance didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Having fun, letting loose for a few weeks with two people whose company I find enjoyable. Exploring a new dynamic, finding my footing in the lifestyle again. Being the best Dom I can be for the pixie in the time we have, and hopefully earn myself a place beside you that I deserve.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sierra?”

“Yes, Sir.” Oh, she loved it when he massaged her shoulders.

“Your thoughts?”

Because every brain cell was directing attention toward his thumbs working the knots in her muscles as he spoke, she answered without much internal debate. “He’s funny. Not mean. Treats me like I’m normal.” Her back twisted when he pressed a sore spot. “You already picked him out for me.”

“Yes, I did. A damn good choice.” Liam kissed the top of her head. “All right, Maverick. I’ve got the early shift tomorrow, eleven until seven; Jonah’s taking over for the evening shift. Sierra will be ready at eight a.m.—stick to public play areas. No heavy scenes, no sex. If you haven’t driven each other crazy by the time I’m done, we’ll try a scene.”

“But Daddy,” Sierra whined, sliding into her Little headspace with no effort, “I got work to finish ‘morrow. Lots of poorly stuffies to fix.” Maybe it was her imagination, but it came out like, Wots of poorwy stuffies to fix . “I has to make them better.”

“You’re taking the weekend off, babygirl.”

Her brow slammed into an angry furrow. “Am not.”

“You are, or I’m tying you to the bed for the day.”

She almost choked on her gasp of outrage. “Bad Daddy!”

“There’s two options, Sierra. Have a fun day with Mack or spend the day being bored, restrained, with a butt plug for company.” An edge of steel underlined his next, single word. “Choose.”

Instinctively, she looked to Mack for support, but the Dom was tactfully not returning her stare, his mouth flickering with a barely restrained smile. Maybe she needed to rethink her yes if he wasn’t going to be a useful ally.

She blew a raspberry at him.

“Choose, minx, or I’ll do it for you.” Though Liam bent close to her ear, he didn’t bother whispering. “I found a new plug in the club’s arsenal. It’s got bobbles, little girl. An hour with that up your ass and you’ll be crying for an orgasm, laying in a puddle of your own juices, and I’ll still make you wait until my shift is done before you get any relief.”

“ Sadist ,” she hissed. “Sadist Daddy!”

“It vibrates too.”

Sierra stomped her foot under the table. Bobbles and vibration? She was doomed to hours of torture. Knowing Liam wouldn’t leave her alone, tied up and helpless, meant he’d draft someone to babysit her—with orders to let her suffer through her punishment.

The likely choice for draftee was now Mack, and she was sure he wouldn’t be swayed by her arsenal of pleas, begging, or threats.

Damn it.

Outnumbered.

Pouting, she huffed dramatically. Daring Liam was akin to yanking on the proverbial tiger’s tail—it never ended well. “Me and my stuffies will co’perate under d’ress.”

“A smart yet disappointing choice,” he commented, sighing heavily. “Oh well, I’m sure I’ll find another use for the plug sometime soon.” Sliding his thumb down the side of her neck, hitting every sensitive erogenous zone under the skin, he bent and rubbed his beard against her cheek. “I need to get back to work, minx. Shift’s nearly over, so I’ll leave you with Mack. Behave, babygirl.”

When he gave her shoulders one last squeeze and strolled back to the bar, Sierra’s scowl deepened. Like she’d be able to do anything but behave with that infernal plug hanging over her head, waiting to drop like a carnal guillotine blade.

Maybe it was time for her weekly check in with her girls at Avalon—Anarchy and Alicia in particular—and to beg for advice on what brats and Littles did to their Daddy Doms for revenge.

Mack

Insanity.

How else could he describe the day so far? It turned out Sierra was a lot of fun to be around whether she was Little or not, but apparently it was dangerous to let her spend two hours on the phone with a woman called Archie, and another named Lisha.

From what he gathered from the whispers, the three of them were conspiring to create mischief, with Liam at the center of whatever chaos they were plotting. The voices coming through the phone speakers had been markedly different—Archie’s was normal, melodic, with an undertone of the devil; Lisha’s was one hundred percent Little—but the glee in both was identical.

Trouble was brewing, and the pixie was heading it.

After she said goodbye, Sierra turned into a toddler amped up on sugar, bouncing around the cabin until Mack finally caved and took her hyperactive ass down to the Nursery to burn off some of that energy.

Accomplishing that was no easy feat, he discovered. Forty-five minutes on the jungle gym, twenty in the sand pit, and finally a slowing down period of nearly an hour of coloring rendered her exhausted enough to settle down for a snack, a glass of water, and eventually a nap.

Christ, he felt like he needed one himself.

When she woke, he planned to escort her over to the bar, check in with Liam, then have lunch in the restaurant while getting to know her more. What she’d already told him, what he’d unearthed himself, was fascinating.

He liked it when things caught his attention, made him think, encouraged him to dig and explore for the tiny kernels of gold buried in every mystery.

Keeping one eye on Sierra as she chased dreams in the quaintly named Napping Nook —a cozy corner stacked with blankets, pillows, and a few stuffies—Mack sipped from his glass of orange juice, because of course, no alcohol was allowed in the Nursery.

He answered his phone absently when it vibrated in his pocket, lowering his voice so he didn’t disturb Sierra or the three other Littles curling, sprawling, and snoring around her. “Morehead.”

“Are you all shagged out yet?”

“One day, Tristan, you’ll learn the art of vocal eloquence.” Shaking his head, Mack suppressed a smile. “What are you doing calling me on a Saturday afternoon? Did last night’s hotties not want to stay the weekend?”

Laughter, rich and self-deprecating, was his answer. “Oh, they did. Unfortunately for us all, two of them needed to report for duty at eleven a.m. and the other one thought she better get back to her husband before she forgot all about him.”

“Let me guess, the first two were police officers?”

“With what I did to them? Fuck no, I’d have been arrested in the first ten minutes. Even better, my friend, than women in blue.” There was the quick rasp of a lighter, the slow inhale from a cigarette. “Flight attendants, my boy. One blonde, one brunette, and the black-haired beauty of a housewife made three.”

“What, no redhead?”

“Too much spice. Those I prefer to handle one-on-one.”

Mack knew Tristan’s preferences all too well. Their days and nights of partying over fifteen years ago, drinking themselves into oblivion and picking up whatever willing girls would have them, had shown him his best friend had no exclusions when it came to the opposite sex.

He himself had grown out of the endless party routine, choosing to settle down by focusing his lust into a beast on a chain, and allowing his fledgling business to take flight to distract him from carnal pleasures.

That decision paid off in spades, but Tris hadn’t needed to establish himself. The family name did that for him, generations of wealth behind him, with an unlimited bank account to see him and his children, his children’s children, untouched by poverty.

Unless Tristan did something stupid like buy himself a country.

“Since when do you fuck married women?” Mack asked.

“When they’re thirty-seven, have hair like silk and a husband that can’t satisfy her needs on demand. Melinda,” he purred as though she were right in front of him. “High sex drive, no inhibitions, a pussy tighter than a closed fist. Perfection.”

“Mm-hmm. We both know if she left said husband and crawled into your bed naked, with a bucket list of sexual adventures clutched in her hand, there’d be a Tristan-shaped hole in the nearest wall.”

“Do you want to give me nightmares? Ugh.” The disgusted sound he made summed up Tristan’s view on love and commitment; fucking his way around the globe, swapping women like trading cards at a convention, was definitely his style. “Anyway, being roasted wasn’t the reason I’m calling. Why the hell haven’t you scored yet? It’s a kink club, Mack; sex is pretty much guaranteed.”

“It’s not a pool you just cannonball into, Tris.”

“Sure it is. Head first, feet first, cock first—whatever your preference.” Tristan heaved a disgusted sigh. “At least tell me you’ve got your eye on someone, even if you’re being a boring prick sitting at the bar with a glass of scotch.”

Amused, Mack tilted his glass to the side, studying the juice. He couldn’t even pretend the tart liquid was anything close to resembling hard liquor. “I wish I could.”

“Fuck, did you turn into a priest in the week since I last saw you?”

“No. You’re the one who resorts to dressing up to snag women, Tristan. I’m just more selective about where I put my dick.” In his opinion, his dick had a much more refined taste in women than Tristan’s. “I possibly did a… thing.”

“Define thing .”

It was no good trying to define anything with Tristan’s often close-minded attitude toward love and attraction. In his world, if a female moved, breathed, possessed at least two brain cells to rub together, she was fair game.

His motto was essentially dick first, heart never .

Mack preferred to find some hint of attraction, mutual or not, before bringing his equipment into the equation; in this instance, Sierra caught his attention on all fronts—something that had never happened to him before.

“Maverick,” Tristan cajoled in a sing-song voice. “Tell your friend what thing you’ve gotten yourself tangled in.”

“I met a couple.”

“A couple of what?” Eagerness replaced cajoling. “Hot subs? Two beautiful, voluptuous lesbians? Shit, no, that wouldn’t work. They’re bi, right? Bisexual, bicurious?”

“A couple, Tris. One man, one woman. Committed to each other.”

“Uh-huh, and how do you fit into the committed equation?”

It didn’t feel right divulging a past that didn’t belong to him. Mack felt privileged to be privy to it, but Tristan held no right to the information. Sierra and Liam deserved to have their privacy. “I’m joining them as their third.”

“Wait a minute, wait a hot damn minute. Are you telling me I paid through the fucking nose to get you a cabin there, and instead of waking up your inner Dom from his ridiculously long hibernation, you’ve chosen to become a walking, talking dildo for some couple?” Tristan snorted derisively. “At least tell me the sub’s barely legal and her Dom is too old to get it up.”

“Liam’s about my age, and Sierra’s a few years younger.”

“Idiot. All my years of tutelage gone to waste,” he muttered. “That settles it, I’m coming out there and knocking your head into the closest wall until you regain some of that sense you’re renowned for, brother. It’s the humane thing to do.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Come on, Mack. You’re better than being someone’s third , for fuck’s sake. When we talked about you going there for a vacation, you were ready to get back on the horse, find your own sub—even if it was just for the month. Goddamn it, Mack, you were eager to start learning the ropes again.” Vehement in his response, Tristan’s earnestness lessened some of Mack’s irritation. “For argument’s sake, let’s say you hit it off with this couple. Maybe he gives you some control over his sub, but chances are it’ll be very limited. No independent thought processes or acting outside his rules. After all that, at the end of the four weeks, what are you coming home with? Damn sure won’t be the girl.”

No, he wouldn’t. Sierra’s love for Liam trumped all else as far as Mack could see, and in all honesty, he wouldn’t want to be the reason anything happened to their relationship. If being their third was all they offered, he’d take it because sometimes life wasn’t about getting the girl.

Making friends and memories were often all anyone came away with at the end.

“Maybe not,” Mack admitted slowly, taking a sip of tartness, “but I’m starting to think this is what I need right now. An opportunity to destress and play without the full responsibility of caring for a sub. Or worse, having to learn a new sub’s limits and likes every night. I like the idea of sharing the weight, relearning my own skills without added pressure.”

“Hmmpf.”

“I’m not you, Tris; it’s why we get on so well as friends. I think things through; you’re impulsive. My roots come from the dirt; yours are fertilized in so much money, your blood’s green. I like the closeness and connection of sex with one woman, and you—”

“I’m a self-confessed, unapologetic womanizer.”

“Precisely.”

“Don’t rush to disagree.” Tristan ended a robust laugh with a defeated sigh. “Fine, you’re a big boy now, all grown up and capable of making your own decisions. Blah, blah, blah. So, what’s the girl like?”

That was a question and then some, Mack thought. His gaze roamed over her, enjoying her every bit as much asleep as when she was awake. “Not your type.”

A snort. “ Every woman’s my type.”

“She’s sweet, for starters. Soft and sweet. Compassionate, shy. She’s a Little, just finding her feet, so it’s like watching a fawn trying to stand. Testing herself, exploring her limits. When she has a tantrum, she’s fucking adorable.” Mack’s mouth curved into a smile. “The feeling I get when she trusts me is like a shot of whiskey hitting my stomach, the heat spreading out through my veins. She’s special.”

“I think all that mountain air is messing with you.”

“Maybe it woke me up to what I’ve been missing,” Mack corrected. “It’s fucking cold up here when it wants to be. Beautiful, but by God, it’s brutal. I’ve spent so long being a businessman, I forgot what it’s like to be around people without being a boss.”

“Wait until a shitload of money lands in your account and you can do what the fuck you want, when you want. Honest to Christ, Mack, I’ve never known anyone bust their ass the way you have since college. I know selling is a sore point with you, but you deserve the freedom that’s going to come from all the goddamn labor you’ve put in.”

That didn’t fill Mack with the joy it should. Sure, the pace he’d set over the last decade and change was brutal; he’d pushed himself and his team to the limit as ideas sprang to the forefront of his brain, but they’d created something ultimately more satisfactory. Through the hundreds of hours of living in each other’s laps, the three a.m. pizza runs, the stress and strains of balancing everything around product development and deadlines, they’d had fun .

The team was as much his family as his parents, his brother, his three sisters.

Once news of the sale broke, Mack imagined his relations would crawl out of the woodwork, hands held out, expecting pieces of the pie his blood, sweat, and tears had made. Not that they’d get so much as a crumb; he’d offered them all the chance to be part of the team, to grow the business from the ground up, and been laughed at every time.

He loved them, but he rewarded those who earned it, not those who demanded it because they thought they were entitled.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m scheduled for a massage in ten minutes and I really need a shower before my masseuse arrives. She likes a clean slate to work with and, right now, clean is far from—”

“I neither want or need to know,” Mack interjected, shuddering at just how unclean his friend was in this moment in time. “Go, shower off last night so you score with your massage therapist, Tristan.”

“ Masseuse .”

“You do know that most masseuses don’t actually like that term, right? They prefer to be called a massage therapist.”

“ I prefer to be called Master, my Master, but it’s usually hard for her to say anything with my dick down her throat.” Cackling, Tristan ended the call.

“Jesus, Tris, you are the dick sometimes.” Setting his phone down, Mack chugged the rest of his orange juice, the slightly sour aftertaste stinging his tastebuds. “Best friends or not, you can be a giant dick.”

The thing was, Tristan knew exactly what he was—as he’d said, he was a self-confessed and absolutely unapologetic womanizer. He didn’t think twice about changing the women in his evenings as often as the condoms; he’d been known to fuck a woman in a club bathroom, take a swing on the dancefloor with another as a cleanser, then select three or four buxom beauties to take home for the night.

The beauty of him was—and it baffled Mack how the playboy pulled it off so consistently—none of the women got their feathers ruffled by his fuck ‘em and leave ‘em routine, or his refusal to do any woman twice, no matter how well they connected.

In bed or out.

“You look like you could use something stronger than juice,” a woman commented, sliding into the seat beside him. Her thick as molasses accent was familiar; when he turned his head, he recognized the Mistress who’d been part of the first trio on stage last night. “Are you wishing the day away or just hoping to get away from the little monsters before they wake up?”

Pushing his empty glass to the side, Mack turned more comfortably in his chair. “Neither, actually. Musing over weird conversations with weirder friends. Ever wonder how some people wiggle into your life and end up rooted there?”

“All the damn time.” Grin flashing, she offered her hand. “Mistress Violet.”

“Maverick Morehead—Mack,” he added pointedly.

Violet purred. “Hmm, I remember you putting on one hell of a show last night with the delightful Sierra; I’m actually slightly jealous.” She laughed when his eyebrow quirked in question. “Straight as an arrow most of the time, except when I like to dabble out of curiosity.” Her gaze slid over to the Little pile, softening when it landed on Sierra. “She rouses a great deal of curiosity in me.”

“I think she has that effect on people.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her velvet tone turning to steel. “In too many cases, it’s a negative kind of curiousness. A cruel one. So many thoughts of what is she? Why is she like that? Why doesn’t she do something about it? A lot of tongues that can’t keep themselves silent. How are you with your tongue, Mack?”

For ten long seconds, he actually thought she was asking him how he was with his tongue , as in stamina, aptitude, flexibility in—or on—certain areas. Luckily, he caught himself before he gave her a very inappropriate answer. “I know how to hold it, Violet.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to have to hurt you.” The side eye she slipped his way was ominous. “She might not be mine, but she is what I consider a friend. Liam, too.”

“Friends are good.” Judging by the way this encounter was unfolding, he’d be better off with Violet as a friend instead of an enemy. God knew he didn’t want that molten brown stare lasering into his brain with any animosity; she’d fry every cell in there. “How blunt do you want me to be? I’m not an asshole, I’m not here to hurt anyone. Whatever my agreement is with Liam and the pixie, it’s none of your business.”

Now she faced him fully. “Is that as blunt as you get?”

“Without being unforgivingly rude,” he stated.

“And you’re not an asshole,” she repeated slowly. Patting his arm, she sighed lightly. “Yes, you’re right, it has nothing to do with me. As Sierra’s new friend, however, I feel protective toward her.”

“Maybe she instills that feeling in everyone who gets close to her.”

“Maybe.”

When the heap of sleeping Littles began to stir, Mack kept one eye on Sierra. She was a fucking sneak; if he lost track of her and she got into trouble, he doubted it would put him in Liam’s good graces.

“Another juice, sir?” The ‘bar’ tender of the Nursery gave him a fluttery smile. With her blonde hair pulled back in a long braid and big, bluebell-colored eyes, she might have piqued his interest if they’d met before last night.

“No, thanks.”

Her bottom lip poked out. “No worries. Mistress V?”

“Thank you, Mindy, I’ll wait for something stronger later on.”

“Of course, Mistress V.”

“This getting waited on hand and foot takes some getting used to,” Mack said quietly as Mindy walked off to talk to someone further down the line. “Does Ledston hire staff to light fires and bring breakfast to the cabins? Turn on coffeemakers?”

Violet blinked. “Ah…”

“Because when I woke up this morning, the fire was lit, there was breakfast waiting for me under a dome, and the coffee was ready.”

“Well,” she replied in a faux-sarcastic tone, “that must have been truly terrible for you. I’m assuming you opted for the full service when you booked your stay?”

Oh, what the hell had Tristan done? Mack’s mouth almost dropped open when he realized he didn’t have the first inkling of what preferences his friend had put down on the booking sheet. Dropping his forehead into his palm, he muttered, “Ask my friend, Tristan, who actually is an asshole. The biggest, hairiest fucking asshole alive.”

“I can’t say I’m familiar with that level of assholiness. What’s he done?”

He groaned until the sound reverberated in his throat and chest. “On the kind, nice friend side, he got me here. Booked and paid for the entire thing because he was worried for me.” Now he was having serious doubts about the fucker’s intentions. “On the asshole prankster flip of the coin, it’s dawning on me he could’ve set all manner of shit up and not told me.”

Violet laughed. “Oh my. Perhaps you should check at reception and see what’s on your file. From memory, full service includes much more than what you’ve already experienced.”

His head jerked up. “What? Like what?”

He could tell by the look on her face she was trying not to laugh again. Pressing her fingers to her curving lips, she tried to appear thoughtful while composing herself. “Well, I believe massages are part of the package—male or female therapists on call twenty-four-seven.”

Oh yeah, Tris would get a fucking kick out of that, he thought dourly. A surprise visit from a masseuse—sorry, male massage therapist—and being told to strip? Tristan’s sense of humor ran along those lines like a train cruising down the track.

“Evander made sure we have a complete medical team on staff. Personal physician visits can be arranged for anything from a hangnail to a heart attack.” Eyes brimming with laughter, Violet tapped a finger on her lip. “Then there’s the alternative health and welfare team—they’re more holistic and believe in the power of natural healing. Herbal teas, reiki, enemas…”

Now he almost catapulted off his chair. “You’re shitting me!”

“Evander wanted Serenity to be an experience for all its members.” Spreading her hands wide, she shrugged her shoulders. “That means catering to all walks of life. For what a membership costs, he can afford to hire the best in every sector.”

“ Enemas? ” he hissed. “ Voluntary enemas?”

“What’s the matter, Mack? Never had something thick and firm shoved up your tight ass before?” Biting her lip now, she snickered.

“No, and I’m not starting with a tube and a gallon of warm fucking water!”

“Shame. Aside from the health benefits of a regular colonic, I find it amazingly sexy to watch.” A twitch of her eyebrow suggested she was imagining bad things, possibly with him in the starring role.

“Shit. Don’t tell me you like torturing young, virile men?”

Another, throatier laugh. Evidently delighted with him instead of taking offence at his blurted question, she cupped his cheek and smiled at him with an innocence she didn’t possess. “Virile, yes. Young, I have a limit on. Men, most definitely. I don’t play with or fuck anyone under the age of twenty-five, and then it’s only if they’re mature and responsible enough to comprehend what they’re getting into when they sign up for this.” She swept her hand down her body in an elegant gesture. “I’m not a cougar. I have specific needs and wants in my partners that the younger men haven’t acquired. I appreciate the stamina, though.”

“Quality over quantity?”

“Skill over speed. Technique is always a bonus; sex that lasts an hour might sound fun, unless you’re on the receiving end of an endless, monotonous, missionary fuck.” She smiled, catlike, and hummed in her throat. “Creativity goes a long way, Mack. I think the longer you spend with Sierra, the more you’ll discover that yourself. Like how to keep track of her when she’s making a beeline for the door, as an example.”

What? Whipping his head around, Mack cursed and bolted after Sierra as she giggled sleepily, tottering her way toward the doors leading to the bitterly cold elements outside. Dressed only in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt that was clearly too big for her, she’d freeze before she made it halfway to wherever she was going.

He nearly mowed down another Little as the boy waddled in front of him, thumb tucked in his mouth, eyes half closed. Mack caught enough of a glance at his face to recognize him from the Little sleep pile before he dodged him midstride, then leaped like a clumsy ballet dancer over the heap of unoccupied beanbags blocking his path.

He landed awkwardly, then his next step set his foot on a discarded toy—something with wheels, he thought as his boot skated along on top of it and almost sent him sprawling on his back.

Somehow, blessed by whatever miracle, he regained his balance before he ended up like roadkill.

Oblivious to the carnage behind her, Sierra toddled along. If she’d had a blanket in her hand, it would’ve been dragging in her wake.

He snatched her up as she reached to push against the door, spinning her around as he fought to catch his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run ; his forays in the gym when he had time didn’t prepare his lungs for bursts of speed.

He made a mental note to find a treadmill.

“Where do you think you’re going, pixie?”

“Want Daddy cuddles.”

“I bet.” Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gave her his best sympathetic-slash-stern frown. “Daddy Liam’s working, pixie, remember? He can’t cuddle you right now. Why don’t you save them all up for later?”

Ah, fuck, that was the wrong thing to say to a tired, barely-awake Little. His gut twisted as her bottom lip began to tremble, her eyes wide and sad and, oh fucking hell, shiny with tears.

“Daddy cuddles?”

He’d handled his team on the cusp of a mental breakdown at deadline time, he reminded himself. Tired, fractious adults pumped up on various forms of caffeine, propping their reddened eyes open with cocktail sticks to stay awake, while tempers snapped and raged.

One Little couldn’t compete.

Until a tear rolled down her cheek and she knuckled it away.

Well, he’d wanted a challenge, right? He’d known Daddy skills might be needed at some point, even though he possessed none. He’d just hoped they wouldn’t be required quite this soon.

Never mind. This was the commitment he’d signed up for, so it was time to put on his Daddy pants and do his best.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I could do with a hug myself. Do you think you might be able to help me out? I can’t recall the last time someone gave me cuddles.”

Sierra sniffled, her expression fading from borderline hysterical to simply unhappy. “You can’t?”

Mack shook his head. “I really can’t.”

“O-Okay.” She lifted her arms, then wrapped them around his shoulders, her entire body curling into him as she rubbed her damp cheek against his. “I gives you cuddles when you needs them.”

Christ, he’d love to know how deep her soul went. The depth of her sweetness and compassion was unrivaled, to his knowledge. While she missed her Daddy, she still offered comfort he hadn’t known he needed until now.

Taking advantage of the moment, he eased her closer, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh scent of cinnamon and oranges. Arms tightening around her, he rocked in place, simply breathing her in and appreciating everything she gave freely.

“Thank you, pixie.”