Lesson In Honesty (Club Serenity #3)

Chapter Seven

Sierra

Hiding her nerves from Tabitha zapped her energy faster than a quickie with Liam, she thought as she carefully cleaned each separate gash in the woman’s flesh. Some of them were shallow, little more than scratches really, but there were three that were deep, gouged by broken glass.

Because Tabitha was stuck in a frozen silence, probably still in shock from agreeing to a scene, Sierra chatted away like she did with her stuffies, waffling on about whatever came to mind. Her hands did their own thing, tending the wounds.

“These need stitching, Tabitha.” She could only procrastinate for so long before addressing the issue. Not that she was a doctor, of course. “Violet can take you upstairs to the medical office. The real one, not the play area.”

“Huh?”

“Stitches. The doctor needs to stitch your—” Sierra yelped when Tabitha went from docile to defensive in a heartbeat, snatching her hand away and snarling. “O-kay, then, that’s a no.”

“They’re fine. They don’t hurt.”

“They’re bleeding.”

“They’re fine.” As if to prove it, Tabitha clenched her fists.

Rolling her eyes, Sierra plucked a gauze pad from the kit and folded it into a strip. Technically, she had the sewing skills to do the job herself, but the idea of doing it without an anesthetic squicked her out. Plus, she wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it, not when Tabitha’s eyes turned to ice at the mention of anything medical.

“Will you at least let me bandage it so blood doesn’t drip everywhere?” Sierra glanced around and grimaced. “Everywhere else.”

Sullenly, Tabitha thrust it at her. “There’s not enough to blow out of proportion. It’s almost stopped now.”

“Yes, this red stuff dripping down your fingers is just a figment of your imagination. I’ve got a donkey stuffie waiting to have his tail sewn back on that’s less stubborn than you.” Unable to stop the sarcasm spilling from her mouth, she flattened out the offensive hand on the counter, wiped away fresh blood for the umpteenth time, and gently set the gauze where it was needed. “Are you always blind to how badly you’re hurt?”

“I’ve had worse.” Those blue eyes turned distant. “There’s always worse.”

“I guess in your career, you meet a lot of bad guys. But that wasn’t what you meant, was it?” Selecting a bandage, Sierra painstakingly wrapped the gauze. “I remember you and your brothers coming to see us after Wyatt died, you know. It’s one of those vague, dreamlike memories where it doesn’t seem real because grief shadows everything.”

“Dominic caused a lot of pain.” Tabitha lifted her gaze to meet Sierra’s. Hard now, so cold it was a wonder the remaining glass in the room didn’t crack. “I gave it back to him tenfold when I killed him. He died humiliated in front of an army of mercs, choking on his cock and bleeding out from the hole I left in his crotch.”

A shiver ran down Sierra’s spine. “I heard.”

Though her face was pale as water, there was a smidgen of color left in her lips when she smiled. “Caera, though… I’d never really felt anything toward my siblings before her. They were rough, tough assholes raised the same sadistic way as me. But she… that dainty, shy flower who grew up far away from the mansion… mmmn, Fairfax training has claws. Caera showed hers when she taught that cunt Rita who was boss.”

Frowning, Sierra risked her limb by reaching out and pressing her fingers to Tabitha’s throat. She felt the pulse beating, thick and fast. A little dampness on the skin. “Protecting what mattered most to her.”

“The kid.”

Sierra winced as the word rekindled that longing inside her, rousing it from where it slumbered like a hibernating dragon. Touching her palm to her empty, barren belly, she nodded. “Children are precious, Tabitha.”

“Some are.”

Before she could think of something to combat that, the door opened and heels clicked on the marble floor.

Watching Violet in the mirror, Sierra kept herself between Tabitha and the Domme. The tension rocketed again, sending the hairs on the back of her neck to full attention.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the disaster zone with a sharp click-click of those incredibly high heels, Violet set her hands on her hips, assessing the damage silently. With a soft tsk that summed up her feelings on the matter, she continued over to the counter.

Tabitha went rigid.

“Excuse me, Sierra.” With a gentle nudge, Violet shifted her effortlessly aside and deftly assumed her place before Tabitha could bolt. Caging the sub in with her hands on the counter, Violet forged a strong visual link with her. “I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk since the formal introduction meeting, Tabitha. Grit speaks highly of you.”

A derisive scoff was all she got in return.

“Very succinct.” Unfazed, Violet maintained eye contact. “Now, is this all your blood splattered around the room, or should I be concerned about Sierra too?”

What the hell was happening right now? Sierra blinked, knocked off balance by the smooth, unarguable way Violet was taking over. More, it was surprising that Tabitha wasn’t mouthing off with smartass comments, pumping herself up into her menacing persona.

It had to be the eye contact, she mused. Tabitha had a good, intimidating stare, especially when she used the full force of those icy blues, but Violet’s emanated a powerful, calm dominance that was unrivaled.

“I-It’s mine.”

“Well, Liam will be pleased. Grit, not so much.” Straightening, Violet sighed and held her hand out, palm up. “Show me.”

Obedient as a puppy, her body language conflicted, Tabitha did as she was told without a whimper of complaint. She vibrated as Violet inspected the bandage, twisting her hand around, prodding lightly at the padding with her thumb.

“This is very neat work. Yours?” Violet directed the question Sierra’s way without looking at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I suppose I can let Grit decide if it warrants further attention, then.” The Mistress kept hold of Tabitha’s hand. “I’m here in a mediatory capacity. As the Domme taking responsibility for everyone in this room right now, I need to make sure you’re comfortable going back out there to your Doms.”

Oh boy. That meant the guys were ready to scene, and she wasn’t convinced Tabitha was prepared to do anything but take a nap. Her new friend was exhausted, even if she wouldn’t admit it; the slump of her shoulders, the hollowness in her eyes and cheeks, spoke of fatigue so deep it went beyond her bones.

Now, she dropped her eyes, breaking the intense battle of wills. “I’m not afraid of Grit. Kicking his ass with one hand isn’t a problem.”

Violet released the hand she held captive, then stroked her fingertips over Tabitha’s forehead. “I’m hearing the bravado, sweetheart, but I ain’t feeling it. Do you need some more time? A shoulder to cry on where no one can see?”

The quiver of those colorless lips made Sierra’s eyes well with tears. What was it about Dommes that sucked the venom from wounds and offered relief? Maybe they couldn’t fully purge the toxins, but with just words and simple gestures, they took the pain away.

“I’ll go tell them she’s not ready to play,” Sierra murmured, forcing the words through a tight throat.

“That might be a wise decision,” Violet agreed in a soothing tone, rubbing the backs of her fingers over Tabitha’s bloodless cheek. She was a very tactile woman, using touch to connect.

“No.” Head jerking up, Tabitha wet her dry lips. “No, I want this over with.”

“God bless stubborn subs. Are you sure?”

“No, no, no, said the rabbit to the bee. There’s nowhere left to run to, nowhere left to flee.” Trembling, Tabitha sucked in a breath and slid off the counter, stiffening when the Mistress’s arm curled around her waist for support. “The rabbit didn’t want to hide away, but she knew the same shit would come back to bite her another day.”

“Time to get you back to Grit, sweetheart.” Violet tipped her head at the door. “Would you mind, please, Sierra?”

The Doms were waiting outside when she hurried over and yanked the door open. Meeting Liam’s eyes, she shook her head subtly.

No one was more shocked than her—although Violet was probably a close second—when Tabitha stepped over the threshold and… camouflaged herself. It was an amazing feat to witness, actually, but a dangerous party trick.

Inch by inch, Tabitha’s spine straightened, her shoulders lifted, and a mask dropped down to conceal her exhaustion. While she couldn’t quite erase the signs borne from fear, stress, and pain, the woman standing here now wasn’t the same one who’d been sitting on the counter thirty seconds ago.

“Little tiger,” Grit said, stepping forward to steal her from Violet. His arms folded around her, tucking her close to his body as he hugged her tightly. “Christ, this has blown well out of proportion, baby. How bad are you hurt?”

Sierra’s mouth dropped open when her friend waved her bandaged hand casually and replied, “It’s nothing. I caused all this fuss for nothing, okay?”

Tempted to poke her, wondering if Tabitha somehow transformed herself into an android of some sort, she scurried over to Liam and nestled into his side instead.

“I don’t know why everyone looks so serious,” Tabitha continued, glancing around. A tiny flush of heat warmed her cheekbones when she realized how much attention was on her from the bar patrons now she’d emerged from the restroom. “It’s obvious I’ve managed to make a fool of myself in front of the whole damn club. I’ll get over it.”

“That’s not the issue here and you know it, baby.” Grit grasped her face in his hands. “We can call it a night, go home and get some rest. Try again another time.”

“No.”

“Tabby Cat—”

“It won’t be any easier another time . We’ve done that song and dance, Grit.”

“My way worked last time, didn’t it? Slow and fucking steady.”

“I’m telling you, that won’t work now. When I was using sex as a weapon like Dominic taught me, I never gave my ass to anyone. It’s only ever been taken from me, Grit. Can you see the difference?” She took his wrists, leaning into him. “I love you, and that is the only reason I am giving you one shot at this. Here. Now. Because I know you love me too and,” she paused when her voice cracked, “y-you won’t mean to hurt me. Not like the others.”

“Fuck.” Closing his eyes, Grit pressed his lips to her forehead.

It was akin to watching a ping-pong match, Sierra thought. The words were the ball, the opposing battle of wills were the paddles.

Her heart went out to Grit; he had a truly difficult choice to make. As the Dom, he needed to weigh up the cost to his sub, whichever direction he chose. There was the risk of damaging her physically, emotionally, psychologically if the scene went sideways. But what were the consequences if he refused her?

The trust would falter, Sierra calculated. Tabitha was putting a hell of a lot of trust in him, so that would suffer. Her self-confidence, her ability to ask for something she wanted or needed would certainly take a nasty hit.

It took courage to demand a certain kind of intimacy when she understood it came with pain; a deeper level of bravery when she’d suffered so badly at the hands of others.

Liam shifted slightly when Grit opened his eyes again, reaching down to take Sierra’s damp hand in his. Warm breath skated over her ear when he bent and murmured, “She’s going to need you, minx. We won’t get her through this without you.”

Well hell, if she didn’t have performance anxiety before, she sure did now. As it suddenly occurred to her how much responsibility she was carrying, how entrenched her role in this had become, she felt her knees buckle.

Now was not the time to wuss out, she admonished herself sternly. No one made her volunteer herself or the guys for a joint scene—she’d done it because a friend needed solid support at a difficult time.

Shaking off the stupid weak moment, Sierra composed herself, shoved her Little back before she could slide into position, and nodded. “This is what family does for each other. Our family, at least. I won’t let her down, Liam.”

“Never thought you would.”

The next thing she knew, she and Liam were heading for the exit, pausing long enough to snag the long jacket he’d started making her wear if she left a building—any building. Grateful for it tonight, she let him bundle her into it, then followed him out to the maze of LED-lit pathways.

A quick glance over her shoulder told her Grit was of the same bundle-‘em-up mind; he was carefully wrapping Tabitha in a puffy jacket that came to her knees.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Liam.”

Gray eyes shadowed by the dark peered down at her. “Why?”

“Hiding your reservations about Tabitha isn’t one of your strong suits,” she said quietly. “She’s the daughter of the man who killed Wyatt, she lost her childhood to psychopathic parents, and the rest of her life until now has consisted of murdering people. She was sent here to kill Elias, who you like a lot.”

His responding growly-sigh reduced her thighs to pudding. “Eavesdropping again, minx?”

Feigning innocence beautifully, because of course she couldn’t help but hear things accidentally on purpose, she touched her hand to her throat. “Not at all, Sir. We don’t just talk about how awe-inspiring we find your big egos on girl night, you know.”

Liam’s hand guided her along an unfamiliar path. “Our egos are crushed.”

“That was a euphemism for your cocks,” she giggled.

“My cock is no use to you if it’s flat packed.” When she laughed, he tugged her closer to his side, shortening his longer stride so they walked in unison. “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t heard you laugh in years. I like you here, Sierra. I like what this place is doing to you, to us. Landing us in this situation isn’t something you’d have done in Phoenix.”

That put a slight hitch in her stride. Mulling it over, she discovered he was right. However much she loved the girls at Avalon, they were all stronger, more confident, more established than she imagined herself to be. Aside from Caera, she felt like the baby of the family.

Here, she felt more… mature. Hell, maybe she was, now she was away from the ones who loved and coddled her. Not that she’d ever complain—not when they were the first people to accept and love her as she was—but things were different here.

The hierarchy was completely topsy-turvy. Established with Elias and Evander at the top, but then everyone else was still organizing themselves into a pecking order.

She heard a soft sob from behind them, one she’d often made herself when she was trying to hide her crying from Wyatt. He’d never really stayed long after sex, in the pre-Liam years, and she’d learned to smother her self-loathing and disgust to its quietest point until he left her apartment.

“It’s not for you this time,” Liam told her, his arm pushing her forward when she tried to stop and turn. “This is the build-up to the scene, minx. Tabitha needs to lean on Grit now and put what happened between them earlier behind them. He’ll comfort her, coax her into the right headspace. He’s a good Dom, you know that.”

Yes, she did. Maybe not one she’d have personally picked for an assassin, but then she wasn’t a matchmaker. Her own track record of choosing Doms for herself was zero; Wyatt was a complete failure, Liam had scooped her up like a stray puppy and claimed her for his own, and Mack simply fell into their laps as though he’d been there for years.

“He’s not going to hurt her accidentally, is he? I kinda, maybe, told her he wouldn’t.”

“Don’t ever promise something you can’t guarantee, minx. Luckily, we thought ahead.”

“Oh?”

The gravel crunching under their feet suddenly turned to solid concrete. He led her up the steps to a pair of wide sliding doors perfectly decorated with ornate swirls of black metal. “We cheated.”

Sierra blinked against the light when he slid open one of the doors. How exactly did one cheat at anal sex? Tentatively, mindful of the couple behind them, she asked that very question.

“I’m not spoiling the surprise,” he replied with a slight reprimand in his tone. His expression, however, when he looked at her was a mixture of mild sadism, mischievousness, and anticipation. “Although I should warn you, Mack thinks you might benefit from copying off the same cheat sheet.”

Oh, that was just cryptic.

What had she gotten herself in to with these guys?

Mack

They were taking their sweet time, he thought as he paced around the area he’d spent the last thirty minutes setting up and tweaking. Either the chick with crazy blue eyes was giving them one hell of a fight, or they’d decided not to go through with the wackiest idea on the planet and gone home to bed instead.

Wouldn’t that be awkward, being forgotten about on the first official date?

No, they wouldn’t do that. Liam and Grit had already been to drop off a few supplies and run through the proposed plan of action—Mack approved, although he doubted everything would go as smoothly as they hoped, not if Grit’s sub was as volatile as stated.

Resisting the urge to check his watch again, he realized he was nervous. Nervous , for fuck’s sake, as though he was a teenager about to dip his wick for the first time.

Christ, nothing that happened here tonight could be as bad as literally soaking his boxers with cum when his date accidentally stroked his seventeen-year-old dick as she lowered his zipper.

The humiliation… no, that was the wrong word. Even mortification didn’t truly sum up how his lack of self-control made him feel. He’d been neon red for two whole days, unable to keep replaying the incident over and over in his head.

It wasn’t until his mom asked if he had a fever and threatened to take him to the doctor that he realized he was drawing attention to himself. Recovering from the ordeal took time, but it helped that the cause of it turned out to be the nicest goddamn girl in history who kept the secret of his epic failure to herself.

Luckily, stamina and the ability to control his orgasm were no longer an issue.

Smoothing his hand over the nearest ‘table’ he and the Stable Master had constructed from hay bales and a padded hip booster, it wasn’t hard to imagine Sierra laid prostrate on the cushioned length, her hips and ass raised so all her delectable bits were on full display.

Master Merrick, the Stable Master on relief duty, had been instrumental in ensuring the two makeshift contraptions were sturdy enough to hold the weight of an anxious submissive, stable enough to stay standing during a thorough fuck.

From further down the barn, Mack heard Liam’s voice. “Merrick.”

They hadn’t forgotten him, then. Score one for him.

“Evening, Liam. Everything’s ready.”

Shit, where did he stand? How did he stand? Was he supposed to be acting casual, concerned, attentive? Should he be out in the open like some overexcited deviant, or loitering in the shadows? No, that just screamed pervert.

Before Mack could move, Liam stepped into the stall with Sierra a half-step behind. Gray eyes bright with approval, he aimed for Mack, nudging their girl ahead of him. “Good job, Mack.”

“I like to help.”

Liam smiled wryly. “You might rue that decision in about ten minutes.”

Before he could ask why, the white-blonde ice princess he’d seen earlier stalked in. Emanating aggression and back the fuck off vibes with every step, it was obvious being here was her personal version of hell and she was willing to fight.

Judging by her body language and the set of her features, she wasn’t a stranger to combat—he’d met MMA instructors who weren’t as intense in the middle of a training session.

Grit stepped in after her, pulling the sliding stall door shut with a gentle rumble of wheels along the track. The bottom half of the door was wooden, while the top portion was straight metal bars; he reached through and snicked the latch into position.

Good idea, because now she looked like she wanted to bolt.

Mack frowned. The girl could’ve had one hell of an acting career if she hid her fear this well; the soft snap of the lock flipped a switch in her. The aggressive stance expanded as a defense, like a dog raising its hackles in warning, but underneath, she was trembling.

Her eyes landed on the haybale tables, widening in shock before the pupils dilated with fear. She inched back, a hand creeping toward her throat, then yelped when she bumped into her Dom.

“Ssssh, little tiger. Take a breath. We’ve been here before, remember?” Grit’s arms looped around her, tugging her against him before she panicked and hurt herself. “Look around, Tabby. No one’s going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you. Watch Sierra,” he ordered softly, rubbing his short beard against the side of her throat. “Does she look scared? Is she frightened?”

Tabitha’s head moved from side to side in tiny shakes.

“Sierra, sweetheart, does my sub have anything to be afraid of here?”

The redhead’s response was immediate and confident. “No, Master Grit. She is perfectly safe here with all of us.”

Good answer, Mack thought. Dispersing the responsibility over the four of them, including Tabitha in a familial capacity rather than singling her out.

“We haven’t played with anyone else before,” Grit continued, stealthily trailing his hands down the front of her shirt and unfastening the buttons. “Sex is still an emotionally painful event for you, so I know we’re pushing several limits at once. Tell me your safeword, little tiger.”

She shifted uneasily, then stiffened when the edges of her shirt blossomed open to reveal the lowcut bra beneath. “Rory.”

Clever guy. Grit was evidently an expert at divulging private information without giving the game away—he was talking to his sub and briefing everyone else at the same time.

“Tonight, you follow orders from Mack and Liam as well as me. We’re trying a mirror scene—do you know what that is, Tabby?” When she swallowed audibly, Grit glanced at Sierra.

“I don’t know, Master Grit.”

“A mirror scene is when two—or three—Doms play with their own subs in tandem with each other,” Liam explained quietly, forcing Tabitha’s gaze to lift and find him. “I’m not going to touch you, Tabitha, and neither is Mack. Grit won’t lay a hand on Sierra. This isn’t about swapping partners or fucking anyone else’s sub. Got it?”

She nodded slowly.

“No, pet. Time to start using your voice so we know you have one and can trust you’ll use it.” Bit by bit, his voice was lowering until it dropped an octave; Sierra shivered, her eyes half-closing as it affected her. “Do you understand the rules I’m setting out?”

The poor woman looked as though she was about to keel over, Mack mused. He silently urged her to speak up, to find the backbone she’d walked in with moments ago. He’d always been a sucker for the underdog, and right now, she was outnumbered and floundering.

“Y-Yes, Master Liam.”

“Good girl. Listen carefully,” he advised, cradling Sierra’s nape in his hand and kneading gently. “Any one of the three of us can give you an order. Both of you are expected to obey. Both of you are being trusted to use your safeword if and when necessary.” His tone darkened. “Don’t think we can’t tell when you’re at your limit. There will be punishment if you don’t safe out at that point.”

Tabitha muttered something.

Liam chuckled, arching a brow. “Might as well say that louder, pet.”

Her bottom lip quivered, but she pinned him with those wide blue eyes. “I said, isn’t getting fucked up the ass punishment enough? Sir .”

Mack took a slight step forward, drawing her attention to him before she started spitting fire. If Liam really did have a sadist streak, he was probably the wrong Dom to backchat. Hell, any Dom was the wrong Dom, but challenging a sadist was never the smart choice. “Tabitha, right?”

Ah, now she was gearing up for a fight again. “Yes.”

“I’m Mack. Not a Master, so you can just call me Sir if needed. We don’t know each other, so obeying me is likely going to be hard for you. Or at the very least, more difficult than listening to either of these two.” He cocked his head, trying to figure her out. “An anal virgin isn’t usually terrified the way you are—apprehensive, but not,” he paused, circling a finger in her direction, “eaten up by a chill that goes down to your bones.”

She blinked and sank back into Grit’s embrace, seeking reassurance she was immediately given.

“A survivor, then,” he mused aloud. “Raped as well as sodomized?”

He heard Liam’s soft growl, Sierra’s shocked gasp.

Grit’s eyes hardened to stone.

Tabitha just nodded, warily assessing him as he studied her.

“Easy to see why you think anal is a punishment,” he told her gently, ignoring the tension rising from her Dom. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“I-I guess.”

“Why do you think anal hurts so much? No, don’t go for the obvious nothing’s meant to go up there answer. There are hundreds of nerves in the human body, with a high concentration of them located in the anus. That means when some fucking jackass decides to stick his cock up there without warning—or consent,” he added in a sympathetic tone, “those nerves react, sending out pain signals.”

Her expression shifted; he could tell she was trying to block his words out.

“When the nerves are teased and titillated, the muscles given time to stretch, they react a lot differently, Tabitha. They hum instead of scream, give pleasure instead of pain.” He sighed when she turned her face away. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“There is no pleasure,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

“Oh, there is. You’ll find that out soon enough. The problem is,” he said after a small pause, risking Grit’s wrath, “you’re wired to the pain, sweetie. This fear that’s got your pulse racing faster than a Thoroughbred in the Derby isn’t because of your Dom or this situation. You hear anal or ass fucking, or any of the other wonderfully colorful terminology, and it hits your switch.”

“Watch your step,” Grit snapped.

He was, very fucking carefully. Maybe if Tabitha wasn’t giving him a suspicious side eye, he’d have shut up, but there was a wary curiosity he couldn’t ignore. “It’s going to be painful, no matter how gentle Grit is, because you’re bracing for pain. Up here,” he murmured, tapping a finger to his temple, “is your worst enemy. Are you going to let it win?”

She shook her head. “No.”

That was too demure, too submissive. “Are you sure? Sounds like it’s already won.”

Oh, she didn’t like that. “No, it hasn’t.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I think it has. Give it up, guys, she’s beat.”

“I am not!” More conviction, good.

“Tell me then. Are you gonna let your brain win?”

“ No .”

Perfect. She put herself right where he wanted her of her own volition. With a snap of his fingers, he pointed to a spot two feet in front of him. “Good. Turn it off, find your headspace, and strip.”

Fuck . It was written all over her face. So was refusal, he noted, that instinctive knee-jerk reaction to being given a command she didn’t like. She held his gaze before movement to his right caught her attention, and Sierra stepped into the spot he’d indicated and did exactly what he’d asked.

The pixie undressed quickly, neatly folding her clothes and setting them in a pile to the side. When she was naked, she turned and held out her hand silently until Tabitha closed her eyes, blew out a shaky breath, and accepted it.

The little blonde was slower to strip, her fingers shaking as she finished unbuttoning her shirt. It fluttered to the floor as she kicked off her heels, then froze.

“It’s okay, Tabby,” he heard Sierra whisper. “I’ve got you.”

The skirt, bra, and thong were removed a lot faster thanks to her assistance.

Grit walked around to join Liam, the pair of them standing like sentinels as Sierra tugged her friend to stand beside her. Like a good girl, she presented herself with her feet hip-width apart, her hands linked behind her back, and her head up. Eyes cast down to the floor.

Tabitha faltered slightly, adopting a less graceful stance. Her hand tentatively reached out for Sierra’s before she curled it into a fist and snatched it back.

“Beautiful,” he crooned, glancing at the other Doms to indicate they should take control. “Relax, Tabitha. We’re not a firing squad. Might want to exhale before you pass out.”

He saw her expel the breath from the corner of his eye, but his attention was on Liam. The asshole gestured to the girls with a flick of his wrist, smirking all the while. Beside him, Grit’s jaw tensed, but he jerked his chin in agreement.

Apparently, they were letting him lead.

Straightening to his full height, he meandered slowly around the subs, reading them. They were so different—Sierra was calm, patiently awaiting orders, while subtly trembling with what he hoped was simply nervous excitement. Tabitha, however, was far from calm, openly shaking, and holding on to her self-control by the skin of her teeth.

On his second pass around, Mack leaned in close to Sierra. “Take her hand, pixie. She needs a lifeline, give it to her.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

Trusting her to offer comfort, he stepped over to the small table Merrick had fashioned out of a couple of boxes and a quarter sheet of plyboard. Picking up a set of four sheepskin cuffs, he tossed them at Grit. The second pair went to Liam.

It was interesting being a voyeur. His fingers itched to touch the soft skin on Sierra’s forearms as the cuffs wrapped around her wrists, yet it was intriguing to see how gentle both Doms were with their women.

How similar their styles were as they slipped the sheepskin-lined leather bands around each limb, tightening them in tandem, then checking the fit.

They knelt almost in sync to cuff their subs’ ankles, although the rhythm was spoiled slightly when Tabitha reflexively tried to kick hers off and nearly kneed Grit in the face.

Mack took a page from Liam’s book and growled. “Enough, Tabitha.”

Sierra squeezed her friend’s hand gently.

Liam rose, kissing her sweetly before moving behind her.

Grit did the same, pressing his forehead to Tabitha’s as he whispered something only she could hear. When her shoulders sagged, he rested his cheek against hers for a long few seconds, then took his position at her rear.

“All right, ladies, I need a color from you. The system is simple—green for good, yellow for need a minute, red for not going to happen. Pixie?”

“Green, Sir.” A swift, positive response.

“Tabitha?”

She sucked on her lip. “Green, sir.”

“Okay then, make yourselves comfortable on the benches.” When Tabitha stepped back, Mack walked over to the one closest to her, running his hands all over the edges, down the sides. “There are no chains, no ropes, no straps. Master Merrick and I made these ourselves, sweetie. No one’s going to restrain you.”

“Okay.” Breathing a bit fast for his liking, she let Grit guide her over to it.

Liam patted him on the shoulder. “This is your night with Sierra, Mack. Voyeur time is over, I’ll take over as referee.”

She probably wasn’t going to thank her Daddy for that graciousness once he took his clothes off, Mack thought. Tabitha’s history of abuse gave her a valid reason to be anxious, but Sierra was about to have a shock of her own.