Chapter 24
Three Months Later
Before he’d met Veracity, Rev thought a normal climax was a powerful, overwhelming thing. But over the past few months, Veracity had continued to teach him ways to prolong a release endlessly. He could float along in a state where his body vibrated like a tuning fork and his mind swam in waves of pleasure.
And when he was at that point, his Mistress would give him tasks to do. Help her weed her vegetable garden, paint her shed. Give her a “platonic” foot massage while she mused over new fantasies she had about him, and then asked him to tell her his.
She was respectful of his need to be in a different mindset for Sunday services, but this Sunday, after those services were over, she’d brought him home and gotten him worked up in just that kind of way before they went to Progeny for the evening. She drove.
She’d finally let him drive the Aston Martin a few times, but there was no question he was in an impaired state, one he didn’t want to have to explain to a police officer if they were stopped for erratic driving.
She’d made it worse by playing her hand over his thigh and straining cock until they reached the club.
Now here he was, in a private room, on his hands and knees, wrists held in cuffs connected by a short chain. Veracity teased his neck with her fingertips and breath as she dipped down to whisper in his ear.
“Who do you serve, Rev? In this room?”
“You, Mistress.”
She moved in front of him. She’d chosen to wear what she’d worn to church earlier in the day. Yes, she did respect his need to keep his mind on God during church, but if she ever wore this outfit again for a service, he’d have to work extra hard for that focus.
His Mistress, like God, appreciated effort and sacrifice.
The lavender skirt, silk gray blouse with a hint of white lace at the cleavage, the gloves…Lord above, watching her don the gloves did odd things to him, and when she ran them over his skin like she did now, the feel of the silky cloth made him shudder.
Her hat had a curling feather and that little net veil in front. This one reached her chin. When she’d let him kiss her, she’d kept it in between, so the rough mesh and softness of her lips both had been against his mouth.
She removed the hat, pulling the pin free. Her hair was styled in waves today, pinned against her head, a few soft curls wisping around her face.
She slid the hat along his back, the felt and feather tickling him. Then she set it aside, unzipped the skirt and shimmied out of it, leaving her in a slip. She opened her blouse but left it on, so it framed her high breasts and the snow-white bra that held the mouthwatering sight of them.
Her shin brushed his shoulders and head as she swung a leg over and straddled him, facing his backside. The dampness of her cunt marked him. She wasn’t wearing any panties, which made him wonder if she’d been wearing any during the services.
He might have to resort to some medieval methods to keep his focus on God. Like a hair shirt. Lined with thorns.
When he shared that, she chuckled, a throaty sound. “This is the modern era, Rev. Plenty of devices can make your cock behave. You remember that first night at Progeny, the cage you saw around a man’s cock? Chastity devices like that become very painful if your cock tries to rise up and draw your attention away from where it needs to be. It will curb that inclination with prejudice. And some of those devices come with a padlock only I can remove, once you’ve properly served God and are free to serve your Mistress.”
Lord help him. She’d warned him the more he learned of this world, the more intriguing he might find what had initially dismayed or unsettled him.
She pricked him with her hat pin. Here, there. Along his upper thigh. He clamped down on the very strong urge to jump as she applied it to his shaft, his exposed testicles.
Her thighs rubbed the lace of the garters against his side. She bent, her mouth on his balls, lips sucking at the base of his shaft. She moved one hand up his thigh, nails scraping, while the hat pin pressed deeper against one testicle. She’d removed the glove from that hand.
Now the sharp pin edge dragged across the perineum, followed by her damp mouth. He was shuddering with the effort to stay still, not knowing where that pricking sensation would come next. He kept pulling in his breath the way she’d taught, and Lord above, the feeling was intense.
At last, when his body was quivering, jerking like he was about to have a seizure, she rose. “Drop to your elbows, Rev. Knees spread, ass up.”
The position made his cock and balls feel even more exposed. Since he couldn’t see her behind him, he was braced for the pin stick. Instead, she rolled his testicles in her firm grasp and rubbed his shaft. He suppressed a groan as she kept doing it, until even all the methods she’d taught him were about to be useless. He’d have to beg her to stop, so he could hold back the climax until she said he could have one. She knew he didn’t like to do that.
But mercifully—and the word didn’t exactly mean that when applied to a Mistress—she stopped and came around to his front at last. She was sucking on the finger he expected she’d passed over the head of his cock to collect the small amount of thick fluid that had spurted from it.
She squatted, her slip smoothed tidily beneath her, and caressed his shoulder, his mouth, his brow. “Do you ever think of having me the way an animal would do it, Rev? From behind, your body covering me?”
“Sometimes, Mistress. Yes.” Especially now that she’d mentioned it. She liked that Shakti-Shiva pose, her straddling him in an upright position. Or, if they were in bed, she enjoyed having him upon her. It never felt like she held any less control, even as she celebrated his masculinity and strength that allowed him to bring them both pleasure in that position.
“How often? Often enough it makes you even harder to imagine it now?”
“Yes ma’am.”
A little hum came from between her moist lips. Her hand dropped to the cuffs. They were locked with small padlocks, unable to be removed except with the key she had hanging around her neck, strung on the chain with her pentacle.
She rarely did that, put him in restraints he couldn’t remove himself. Him obeying the hold she dictated was proof of his devotion to her, his willingness to submit.
He didn’t care much for restraints he couldn’t take off, but he’d found he did sometimes need that.
Like when the more administrative things the church demanded kicked his ass and made his head hurt, trying to read the documents that needed to be reviewed. Mrs. Byrd was helping him as much as she could, but at those times, he longingly thought of just being a janitor who could sing at church and do spontaneous ministering.
But God didn’t ask of a man what he couldn’t give, and right now he was doing what he was meant to do. When he was with Veracity, everything steadied. If it didn’t, she knew how to make it steady.
He didn’t ask for that from her. He much preferred to serve her in all things, but his Mistress decided what she would give, and she was as generous as the Lord Himself. And as strict when needed, to ease his heart, and calm his agitated mind.
That was one of the reasons they were here tonight, and she was pushing him so hard. They’d been sentenced this week, Witford and Tisha. Aggravated kidnapping. Eleven years each, eligible for parole in five. They could have received a much harsher sentence, but Veracity had used her connections to ask for leniency.
He also hadn’t asked for that, knowing he had no right to do so. But she’d done it anyway. It humbled him, that she’d done that for those who’d wronged her so deeply. She’d sat with him in the courtroom on sentencing day, the first time she’d seen them since it had happened. When Tisha turned around and saw her next to Rev, her face had frozen, but she’d looked defeated. Older. Veracity had stared at her, expressionless. Rev held her cold hand in his, warming it.
Rev hadn’t wanted to come, but had known he should. For Teena Joy. This was her sister, her nephew. He held onto that thought throughout it all.
When it was over, and he’d left the courtroom, Veracity’s hand in the crook of his elbow, he thought he would be okay. But then he found himself coming to a full stop in the parking lot, his body rigid with things he couldn’t explain.
Veracity turned to him and he reached out to her, grateful for letting him hold her, and for her holding him.
When she eased back, she searched his face, seeing the things he had no words to express. “We’re going to the club this weekend,” she’d said. “After church.”
His mind was brought firmly back into the present as Veracity shed the rest of her clothes. Blouse, slip, then garter belt and bra. All with her back to him. His gaze touched the tattoo on her shoulder, the black cat curved around the pentacle. The symbol of her faith, like the cross was for him.
His gaze slid down. While he always appreciated the sight of her gorgeous breasts, her backside had enough temptation to keep his mind occupied. He lingered on the heart shape of it, the lengths of her thighs.
Then she raised her arms to lift her unpinned hair off her neck, her chin bending toward her shoulder. His mouth went dry with the beauty of the pose, his head spinning at the miracle of knowing he belonged to her. And she to him.
She looked over her shoulder, a long measuring moment. Then she knelt, her back still facing him. “Come to me, Rev.”
He rose on his knees. It was just a few short movements to get there. He laid his hands reverently on her hips, the chain between the cuffs stretched across the curve of her ass. When he looked down, the head of his cock brushed her wet sex, and she shuddered.
“Mistress?”
“You have my permission, Rev. Come into me slow and easy.”
He would never do otherwise, unless she had a different direction for him. He eased in, the feel of it drawing forth another deep groan. The angle was tight, her muscles gripping him. She lifted her head up and back, her throat arching. Her breath drew in as he slid in, and in, and all the way home, his pelvis pressed against her buttocks.
“Cover me, Rev. Touch me as you desire.”
He guided the chain over her head and braced both hands on the floor beneath her. She went to her elbows, and he suppressed another reverent oath as her breasts filled his hands. He fondled the nipples, pinched and tugged on them how she liked as he pulled back and then slid in deep again.
Her hair fell forward, and he buried his face in it and the back of her neck, breath hot as he set his teeth there, bit, and earned a cry from her. Her hips pushed back against him, telling him the pace she wanted, the demand she wanted to feel. He could give her that. When she unleashed this part of him, hungry and male, and wanting to take everything she would give, he could lose himself in her. Lose control. It had worried him the first couple times, but now he understood it was a form of service as well.
His Mistress wanted all versions of him. Just as he wanted the same from her.
“Now, Rev,” she said softly.
All that energy he’d channeled and banked for hours before this, overflowed the river of arousal for her that never ended. The current was strong through them both, unable to be resisted a moment longer. She let herself go at the same time he did. She covered one of his hands as their lower bodies worked together. Her breast quivered in his palm, nipple stabbing into it as their movements pushed them forward, jerked them back, and then forward again.
His brain emptied out as his cock did, every worry of the week, the pain of the sentencing, all of it. She’d flogged him earlier, too, giving him a different kind of pain. She brought the one they’d used on him that night and had replenished the oils on it, a reminder of their connection to others, to those who would never betray them, never abandon them.
Just as they would never do that to one another.
When they finished, he had his arm tight across her chest, palm curved over her shoulder, his other hand braced on the floor below it because of the length of the chain connecting the cuffs. She had one hand hooked over his forearm, the other holding that chain, fingers tangled in the links.
They breathed deep and heavy together. She’d shed a few tears, and so had he. The release of that energy had brought its own catharsis.
Nothing needed to be said. They had one another, which made everything else bearable.
He eased out of her when she was ready, lifting his hands over her head and sitting back on his heels. She unlocked the padlocks and freed him from the cuffs, caressing his wrists. But before that, while her hands were still on them, he lifted his touch to her face to kiss her. He held there, a good long time.
When he at last rose, he went to the washroom, bringing back a damp towel to help clean her, then himself. After tidying up the room, he knelt, and she allowed him the pleasure of watching her put herself back together.
Veracity didn’t put on her clothes the way anyone he knew did. Each piece was donned with care to project a particular look, and she created it like an artist. At least that was how he felt about it.
She chose to leave off the hat. Turning toward him, she put her hands on her hips. “I know you’re getting comfortable with this world, Rev Leone, but you’re not walking through the club naked for other Mistresses to ogle. You better get dressed. But leave off the shirt.”
“It okay for them to ogle my chest?”
“Yes. Because I like to savor their envy.”
He grinned. “Yes’m.”
After he was dressed, she came to him, caressing his bare chest and side with her tantalizing touch. Even after sex, she was capable of restarting his engine and beginning a whole new journey in that direction. “Want to go hang with the others for a little while?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want, then yes.”
“There’s a reason I choose to ask a question rather than issue a command, Rev. Your opinion is important to me.”
He knew that, but for most things, it was one and the same for him. So he gave her the honest answer. “I do want that, Veracity. I like being around them, and I like how they look after you. I want that feeling, and I think you need it, which is all I need to want it, if that make sense to you.”
Her finger tapped his chest. “It does. It makes all the sense in the world.”
The honest response pleased Vera. But then most everything about Rev did. “Thank you, Rev.”
He kissed her hand and held it to his cheek. As he did, Vera put her other hand on his jaw. She could see his ragged edges. He still wasn’t a hundred percent, but he was working on it, and their session had helped. “I know you don’t want me to worry about you,” she said, “but I will do it when you need it, and you will let me. I can reinforce that order by shoving my hat pin in places you don’t want to think about.”
His chuckle made her laugh, too. When they reentered the public play areas and dance floor of the club, the music, communal energy and limitless erotic stimuli only added to the pleasure of what they’d just shared. Icing on the cake, to her way of thinking, and she was ready to lick it off her fingers. Or him.
She cut across the dance floor, turning under his arm and doing a little hip shaking with him. He was known here now, as her submissive. They received an enthusiastic reception and were drawn into a line dance, Rev holding his own with some dance moves that had female subs and Dommes alike eying the ripple of upper body muscles and flex of denim covered ass.
Another male sub matched his moves, shoulder to shoulder. Dex preferred men, but he knew Rev didn’t, so it was a friendly competition that ended with a high five as the dance ended and Rev turned back to her.
Though he seemed fine, Vera had kept her eye on his post-session state. Rev’s dancing had started out a little less gracefully than his norm, but getting playful with it had helped. They freestyle gyrated and twirled their way to the VIP staircase on the other side.
The others were already in the lounge. Neil was absent, so Abby and Ros sat together. Lawrence perched on the broad top of the booth on Abby’s opposite side, his leg pressed against her as she leaned into him. The two SEALs put out a similar energy, so Abby could draw on that feeling to ease the pang of missing her man and any anxieties.
Rev noticed Abby and Lawrence’s proximity. “When Neil is gone, does Ros…”
“Share Lawrence? Yes and no. She and Neil have an agreement that she only plays with a sub with him present, but when he’s gone, she can join in on Ros’s sessions, and sometimes Skye and Tiger’s. Not so much hands-on, but participating in ways that ease her Mistress craving.”
“Not with Mick and Cyn?”
Vera grinned. “Not Abby’s preferred play style. Attila the Hun would be triggered by a session with those two.”
Skye and Cyn sat together, Mick on the outside of the booth next to Cyn. Tiger was on a high bar stool behind the booth, close enough Skye could rest a hand on him as the group talked, because her body was turned toward his. His knees were splayed in his worn jeans, his tattooed arms crossed over his large chest.
Mick brought over two chairs, one for himself and one for Rev, so each man could sit next to his Mistress at the ends of the booth, while giving all the women a space in it.
Vera had barely gotten settled, Rev clasping the hand she rested on his knee, when a woman came hurrying over. She had earnest brown eyes and a bouncy blond ponytail bound with a pink bow. Her short denim skirt was paired with a white T-shirt with My Precious Pony on it. Canvas sneakers and white ankle socks completed the look.
“Rev, hi!” she said with girlish enthusiasm. “Would you be willing to sing…”
“Catalina,” Vera said.
Her quelling tone stopped the submissive short, snapping her gaze to Rev’s Mistress. “Apparently, you’ve forgotten protocol.”
Rev had parted his lips to speak, but Vera’s hand constricted on his knee. Her attention never left Catalina. “If you desire something from my submissive, you speak to me. Don’t you?”
The hapless woman found herself pinned by the stares of four Dommes. Tiger, who had the softest heart for the female submissives, gave her a sympathetic look. Lawrence and Mick remained impassive, though it took effort. None of them liked to see women punished, even if the women craved it in ways they recognized in themselves.
“Of course, Mistress. I apologize. I…uh…”
Unsurprisingly, her Master had picked up on her distress. He strode across the lounge to join her, putting a possessive hand on her shoulder. “Is there a problem, Catalina?”
“Yes, Sir. I asked Mistress Vera’s sub for something without asking her permission first.”
“Did you apologize?”
“I did.”
Master Bruno glanced at Vera. “Do you accept the apology, Mistress Vera?”
“I do. But you might reinforce the lesson to help her feel better about the faux pas. And ensure it’s not repeated.”
“Gladly.”
Vera shifted her gaze back to Catalina. “What did you want to ask him?”
Rev had come here enough with her to understand the situation, so he remained quiet, willing to follow her lead.
“I wanted to know if Rev is going upstairs tonight. He told me next time I was here he’d sing something for me. For us.” She blushed even deeper. “If his Mistress was okay with it.”
“I’m glad he remembered that part.” Vera glanced at Rev, who managed to hold back a smile, supporting her stern look. “When I feel it’s the right time for it, I’ll have him come and tell you.”
Catalina apologized again, then withdrew, her Master giving her ponytail a tug before he led her away with his firm grip still on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Mistress,” Rev told her. “It wasn’t much to ask.”
She slid her hand along his lower back, into the waistband of the jeans to tease the upper rise of his buttocks. “I know you want to give whenever something is asked, but you’re still spinning from our session, even if you’re not aware of it. I know when the vessel is almost empty. Give it time to refill. Then you’ll be able to give her what she’s wanting, without that weight upon you.”
He might not be aware of the further easing of his shoulders, but the subconscious relief told her the decision had been correct. Rev was a sub who would give until he had nothing left. Learning that his Mistress could say no on his behalf, leaning on that, and being okay with it, was another step in the journey a Domme and sub took together. She was glad the opportunity had presented itself.
As an added perk, Master Bruno would owe her for the excuse to discipline his pretty sub. It might have even been his intent, because there was less tolerance for childish impulsiveness in the VIP lounge than in the section of the club dedicated to Daddy Dom play. Catalina had been too in character to rein herself back.
“Watch out for groupies, Rev,” Cyn said. “Next thing you know, they’ll be throwing panties at you.”
Vera pressed her lips together at Rev’s sidelong look, which held the reminder of her rock star fantasy.
“Does anyone wear panties at Progeny?” Skye asked, using her Ryan Reynolds voice.
“I’m wearing mine,” Lawrence noted.
“The red lace with the bows on the side?” Mick asked. “You know those drive me wild.”
“Catalina look different from last time we saw her,” Rev noted to Vera.
That had been several weeks ago. She hadn’t been playing that night, just hanging out in the club coffee shop with friends, wearing fashionable jeans and a shirt with a wide neckline that slipped off her shoulder, revealing a blue teddy bear tattoo.
Vera explained the Daddy Dom relationship to him. “I guess that makes sense for some,” he said, after taking a few minutes to digest it. “Hard to be an adult all the time, especially when the world all the time be demanding it.”
With Catalina, that was an understatement. She was an assistant district attorney.
“What does Master Bruno do?” Rev asked. “If he’s okay with people knowing.”
“He’s an oil worker. When he’s not out on a rig in the Gulf, he volunteers for the raptor center, helping rehab the injured ones. He and Catalina have played together for about a year.”
“Are they…exclusive?”
“No. He’s gone too much for that, and Catalina needs what Progeny provides more often. So she has about two or three Daddy Doms. He’s her favorite, though, so when he’s here, she’s with him.”
“It don’t bother him, her being with others?”
“No. Think of it like a friendship. You don’t mind if a good friend has other friends, because you know each friend may provide your friend something different. And you’re not in competition with one another, not if the friendships are good, open-hearted ones. You’re just glad your friend finds what they need, and that you can be part of that.”
That said, she thought if Bruno’s schedule ever changed, he might decide he did want that exclusive claim. And Catalina would be totally on board with that.
“Brandy, you a fine girl,” Rev hummed. “What a good wife you would be…”
She smiled, not at all surprised he’d picked up on her thought and reflected it in the 1970s classic song.
The waitress had brought another round of drinks, and Ros was taking a sip of Abby’s virgin daquiri. Declaring it good, she teasingly tried to swipe it, and Abby slid it away with a mock glare. Skye was showing Cyn something on her phone, signing one-handed as she did. Tiger peered over her shoulder, his brow raised, and winced. He threw a warning glance at Mick. “Brace yourself, man,” he said. “They’re surfing the Stockroom.”
Mick leaned in, pressing against Cyn’s shoulder, ignoring the elbow she threw to his midriff. Instead, he rested a hand on the curve of her neck and shoulder, his thumb caressing her. “That is anatomically impossible.”
“We should test it out to be sure,” she said. His steel-blue eyes went even darker as Cyn stroked his brown clipped beard and firm lips. “I think you agree.”
“I prefer to leave you guessing.”
“I never guess. Not with you.”
He pressed a smile against her lips and nipped her with a flash of sharp teeth.
“Eww, get a room,” Skye’s recorded voice was the whine of a petulant eight-year-old. Tiger chuckled.
Vera noted Abby had closed her eyes, and Ros had an arm around her. She was stroking Abby’s shoulder and upper arm in a soothing manner. When Vera mouthed, “Is she okay?” she wasn’t surprised everyone caught it, and glanced in the same direction. When Abby was with them, they stayed attuned to sudden changes in her head space.
Ros signed with one hand. “We’ll head out soon.”
“You know I can tell when you’re doing that. Going away, going back, going away.” Abby’s eyes opened and she sent Rev a rueful smile. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “My normal. Gotta go now. Word salad time and no steak to go with it.”
Rev and Vera moved out of the booth so Ros and she could slide out. Lawrence offered his arm to both ladies and nodded to the other men, a silent, got this covered look. Ros put her free arm around Vera, and Vera looped hers around Abby, including Lawrence in the hug she gave them both. “I’m so glad you joined us tonight. Me and Rev can come by and stay the night if you like.”
“No. I’m good. Just need to get home.” Abby’s gaze was moving in that way it did, not settling on one particular thing, and not making eye contact, but she managed to shoot Vera a smile. “Almost med time. Then bed time. Med time, bed time. Neil’s home soon. I hope.”
Lawrence gave Vera a nod, suggesting that would be the case. Though the former SEAL claimed he didn’t get classified details, he always seemed to know when a mission was drawing to a close.
Vera sent her usual prayer to the Universe, that Neil came home unscathed to the beautiful woman he loved—and who loved him just as vehemently, enough to insist he continue to do the work he needed to do to be fully Neil.
“Who wants to know what Bastion is doing tonight?” Cyn asked, after Ros, Abby and Lawrence headed for the stairs.
“What or who?” Tiger asked.
Cyn bounced her eyebrows at him. “He’s showing our new account manager around his preferred club digs. Apparently Ren’s a switch.”
“How did Bastion find that out?” Vera asked.
“He added a line on the HR form you have new hires fill out,” Skye responded without batting an eye, using her crisp Helen Mirren voice. “W-9, social security number, are you into the BDSM scene?”
“Cyn put you up to that, didn’t she?” Vera made a fired gun motion toward the woman in question.
“Skye is my give-Vera-an-aneurysm apprentice,” Cyn said, unruffled. “She’s coming along well. I plan on introducing her to Emperor Palpatine soon.”
Vera shot Rev a severe look when he chuckled. “Don’t encourage her. Ever. That’s an order.”
“Hey.” Tiger drew their attention to the far side of the club. Vera let out a sigh of relief as Neil came through the foyer entrance into the club, no more than a few steps before Ros, Abby and Lawrence reached it. He had to have come right from the plane, because he looked tired and dusty, but his eyes were alive with purpose as he sought the woman he’d come for.
Abby was in his embrace in a heartbeat, and he held her close, his head buried in her neck as her arms twined around his broad shoulders.
“Must have been a hard one,” Tiger said, reading the signs.
“She’ll help him with that, like she always does.” It was Cyn who said that, and Mick nodded in agreement,
“Yeah. Just being where he is right now, he’s halfway to okay already.”
Cyn glanced at Mick, then put her hand over his on her shoulder, showing she wasn’t unmoved by his subtle admission, or Neil and Abby’s unexpected reunion.
When she turned back to the rest of them, though, she offered a typical Cyn crack. “Kind of rude, Neil making Lawrence wait for his own hug and kiss.”
“It’s a good thing you know MMA stuff,” Skye observed, still in the Mirren voice. “Otherwise someone would punch you in the face daily.”
“And most the time it would be one of us,” Vera added.
“Ros does it at least once a week, during our sparring,” Cyn said. “I still can’t figure out how. I should be able to wipe the mat with her.”
“Ninety percent of her fight skills are here,” Vera said, tapping her forehead. “Yours are here.” She moved the touch down. “Heart and gut. Still good, but different.”
“She’s right,” Mick agreed. “I keep telling you to work on that.”
“I keep telling you that if I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you, but you don’t listen to that, either.”
Lawrence and Ros returned to the table. Neil and Abby had disappeared, headed for home. When Vera glanced at Rev, she could tell he had something on his mind.
“I’d like to sing,” he murmured. “Something for you, while you with your family.”
“Okay.” She stroked his face. “I’d like that.”
He rose but leaned down to kiss her, drawing back to give her a long look. His expression showed wonder, gratitude, and love, and she wasn’t ashamed to say she literally basked in it, no matter that Cyn made goo-goo eyes at her after he headed off. Vera did throw a balled-up napkin at her, though.
When she told them Rev wanted to give them a song, the others enthusiastically followed her up to the Breathing Room. Once there, she saw Sy and Trey had joined him on stage. They’d seen him earlier and probably had been hoping he’d want to play a couple songs before or after their own scheduled sessions with a Domme. The Breathing Room was a great way for them to practice and perform at the same time.
Bruno and Catalina were here and she knew she’d give Rev the go ahead to take a request from her, at the proper time. But right now his attention was on Vera, and she wasn’t going to allow anything to change that focus. Especially when he said he wanted to sing something specifically for her.
As she settled at a table with the others, Rev turned squarely toward her, making it clear that was his intent. Then Trey did a hand over hand up the keyboard, giving him the stream of notes for the song’s intro. When Rev began to sing, her heart melted.
“Maybe I’m Amazed,” by Paul McCartney.
Sy came in on the drums, the instruments building with the strength of Rev’s voice. He spoke of his awe over how she pulled him out of time, how he needed her, what he felt for her, how she helped him sing his song. She felt the overlap, as she did in all his songs, that meeting of earth and the heavens.
She and God were the two things Rev needed most, and he would never hide that from her, never play games, never take away his love when she needed it most.
She saw the others watching her, and him, the final piece in place. Not that she’d ever been incomplete or not part of their group without a man, but that spot had been open and waiting, and she’d craved the right man to fill it.
She’d relied on herself and built her own foundation. Then Ros and the others had given her the home resting upon it. Because of that, tonight she could believe the man she wanted most was going to share that home with her.
It had taken a long time for her to believe in it, in a way that wouldn’t get knocked off its pedestal every time life shook it.
It was said the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but she didn’t believe that was always true. There was one thing that, once the soul embraced and understood its full nature, became inseparable from the soul. It could never be taken away.
Love.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her heart was speaking to the women she loved and their men, to every step in this journey, every soul that contributed to it and made it what it was. Made her who she was.
Most of all, she said it to Rev, getting lost in his brown eyes, his half smile, and the gift of his voice, the message and promise it offered to her, now and always.
“Thank you all.”
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