Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On the Rocks, Freedom
Shay
“Are you sure that after you fainted this morning, we should still be out on our date this evening?” I squeeze after D’Angelo into the red, velvet booth in the center of the On the Rocks bar.
D’Angelo wrinkles his nose at the brightly colored fruity mocktails that he places onto the table, before sprawling in the booth.
“I’m following Mike’s instructions. I’m not drinking alcohol.
What hell is this to be surrounded by the best whiskey in Virginia and to be drinking…
” He taps his highball glass of amber liquid.
“Peach Iced Tea Mocktail. Eden would love it, but please don’t tell anyone that I am drinking something like this or my Bond image will be destroyed.
See how seriously I’m taking the situation? ”
Deflection.
I know because I am a Prince in it.
D’Angelo is the King.
I cross my arms.
“You fainted,” I repeat.
D’Angelo frowns. “I blacked out.”
“Much more macho. Either way, do you know how much it freaked me out to have your cock in me one minute and then to have you passing out the next?”
D’Angelo taps his finger against the glass three times. “Really? Now you know how I feel. How many times do you pass out after I give you a mind-blowing orgasm? Drink up.”
He pushes a short, round cup toward me. When I touch it, I hiss. It’s so cold that the glass is clouded. It’s packed with crushed ice and bright green leaves.
I sniff it, suspiciously. “It smells like mint.”
D’Angelo grips me by the neck, dragging me closer to whisper into my ear. “These drinks are both traditional to Freedom. It’s a Virgin Mint Julep for my stolen virgin bride.”
I laugh.
I enjoy feeling this close to D’Angelo. I edge even closer until our warm thighs are touching.
“That ship sailed last night.” I lean over and take a sip of the drink; it’s sweet and refreshingly herbal. “It’s not as good as a beer. But that’s okay.”
D’Angelo smiles but he’s hiding a wince.
Did he hit his head when he fell to the marble floor last night? Or is he suffering from headaches? What is going on with him?
Does he understand how much I freaked out when he blacked out?
How much we all did. Well, apart from my brother, of course.
Eden was the one who took control, calling for Michael.
D’Angelo was only unconscious for a couple of seconds, but it felt like minutes. Hours. A bloody eternity.
My heart stopped, and until D’Angelo started breathing again, I thought that it would never start again.
If I lost this man, my captain and Sir, how could I survive?
Continue alone?
Eden doesn’t think how I feel is healthy.
He is trying to encourage me to keep up my hobbies away from Robyn and D’Angelo like my running, bike rides, and astronomy.
I never thought that it would be my twin encouraging me to have friendships with people like Everett to stop myself from becoming dependent.
But I’m not the same as Eden.
I feel like part of my soul belongs to D’Angelo and Robyn. I don’t want to be independent from them in the way that Eden is.
Will my brother understand this need?
Possibly, it’s dangerous. An obsession. A trauma response.
But if it’s what makes me feel fulfilled and safe for the first time in my life, should I deny it?
I glance at D’Angelo.
I love that he is only wearing a crisp white shirt and navy trousers, which is informal for him. I’ve matched his vibe with a long-sleeved scarlet shirt and black jeans.
This bar is a second home to D’Angelo. I want to know more about it.
Would he trust me to help him run his businesses?
I know that I’m dumb.
I wouldn’t be any good at the books; Eden could help him better. But I worked as a server at plenty of events for the elite. I want to take some of the pressure off D’Angelo’s shoulders like a full partner would.
Does he want that?
The bar is opulent. It also has an edge of kinky with red velvet stools and booths circling a dance floor with poles and cages. I should have known that it was owned by D’Angelo.
The walls are floor to ceiling mirrors. Chandeliers drip like shards of glittering ice. The far wall is a long obsidian counter, which is stocked with expensive bottles of alcohol. Bartenders in smart uniforms busy themselves behind the counter.
A glossy grand piano stands in the corner.
It’s too early for the bar to have opened yet. It’s empty of customers, apart from us.
D’Angelo takes a drink and then grimaces. “Peaches.”
“I thought that you liked my peach.”
“I do, biting it.”
I study the darkened shadows under D’Angelo’s eyes. He is putting too much effort into looking relaxed; a fine tremor is running down his arms.
He isn’t fooling me.
I have too much experience of Eden masking his pain.
My heart warms.
D’Angelo should still be resting in bed, where Robyn and I insisted on tucking him in, despite his protests, after Michael checked him out.
Calling the dom card doesn’t work when you’re sick and your partners are caring for you.
The problem is that I don’t bloody know what’s wrong with him.
It’s killing me.
Eden made D’Angelo soup, I massaged him, and Robyn read to him, until he fell asleep. I lay with him, carding my fingers through his hair to soothe him, while he suffered another nightmare.
Yet he still insisted when he woke up in the late afternoon on getting up, showering, and taking me out on our date.
This time, I couldn’t dodge the dom card.
“Why don’t we cancel?” I blurt.
D’Angelo grabs me by the chin, yanking me until our noses are touching. “Enough. I only married my beautiful wife last night. Today, I am romancing her.”
Romance?
I thought that I was to be the pet, fucktoy, and doll?
I was the bride who was there to open her legs, while Robyn was there to be married.
My heart shattered, although I hoped that no one noticed.
But now, D’Angelo is looking at me tenderly…like I’m Robyn.
I swallow.
The first time that D’Angelo brought me to this bar with him, we had still been hiding our relationship. I hadn’t been able to be open about either my bisexual or poly identity. I’d been desperate to kiss and claim D’Angelo publicly.
And now…?
I can.
My heart feels like chains have been broken and are falling away.
“Cucciolo…?” D’Angelo looks at me searchingly.
I don’t answer.
Instead, I break his grip on my chin because I’m strong too. I allow D’Angelo control over me because I submit — not because I’m weaker.
I kiss him, hard and filthy.
I ignore the whistle from the bartenders at the counter. I chuckle into the kiss, flooded with happiness, as D’Angelo flips off his staff. Then he drags me onto his lap, until I am straddling him.
He deepens the kiss.
I rest my hands on his shoulders, enjoying the taste of him. I am enjoying more that we are kissing in public, as equals.
Then I pull back, grinning. “Hmm, that was hot.”
D’Angelo appears stunned; it’s a good look on him.
I’m going to try and put that expression on his face more often.
He licks over his lips, chasing my taste. “What was that for?”
“Because I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”
“Possessive. I thought that was my line.”
I shrug. “Aren’t dates about learning new things about each other?” I adjust his collar. I also like to mark my territory.”
“As long as it’s with kisses like that, I may be able to deal with it.” He winds his arm around my waist, settling me more comfortably on his lap. “Did you enjoy what we did last night? Is there anything that you’d change?”
He always does this. Every scene he doesn’t just provide aftercare (although last night, he was the one who needed the care), but he checks in for days afterward, assessing if there is anything that I liked or didn’t.
Negotiation isn’t a one-time thing for our contracts; they’re constantly evolving.
“Apart from the bit where you collapsed and I thought that my ass was so tight that it had killed you?” I reply.
“Precisely.”
“I liked the way in that position our Robyn could watch everything that we did. It made her bloody wet. She enjoyed it, and it turned me on too. I loved even more that we could kiss, while you were…”
Why is this stuff harder to talk about than it is to do?
D’Angelo reaches to push a strand of hair back from my face. “And the suspenders and panties?”
My cheeks heat, but my cock instantly perks up.
Bloody hell, how does D’Angelo know how to reach inside me and find my darkest, deepest fantasies and make them real? We talk about them, but somehow, he knows how to make them intense and real.
He even picked the exact color to match my eyes.
That detail nearly undid me.
My expression softens. “I loved them, darlin’. Thank you, they were beautiful. You’re bloody sneaky at buying gifts.”
“I’m better than Robyn at it, although she’s learning my tricks. You looked stunning in them.”
My cheeks heat further. “I wouldn’t mind wearing more stuff like that. But only for you.”
“What about for a fetish event?”
I consider for a moment. “It’s okay if it’s a costume and I was with you. Then I’m still wearing it for you like a leash and…”
Collar.
Shit, I’ve almost said it.
I can’t make a demand like that.
Everett’s leather collar flashes into my mind and how proudly he wears it.
He once told me that it was his most prized possession, even more than his brilliant leather coat.
He added that he would give up everything he owned, rather than lose his collar.
He has nightmares and anxiety spirals over doing something wrong and his Mistress taking it back.
Yet he also said that he earned his collar.
I haven’t earned mine yet.
I bite my cheeks hard not to let the word spill out.
When D’Angelo pushes me off his lap, I let out a shocked gasp as my back hits the booth.
D’Angelo cages me, and I stare at him in shock. “What are you thinking about so hard?”
Damn doms’ ability to read minds.
“I was thinking…” I desperately search around for an answer that won’t wreck everything between us.
A collar is more serious than marriage.