Page & Quill

Rackham’s Roost, North Carolina

Six Months Later

“So, we’re getting married today and then holding our reception at the opening of Refuge tonight,” said Goody as she wandered into Gillian’s newly restored kitchen.

Ford had done a masterful job on the repair and renovation of the Page & Quill. He’d enlarged the owner’s suite and bath so that it suited both of them. The room was enormous and held their large bed, a desk for Ford, and a seating area. The bath was decadent without being wasteful—the shower was huge, and they both enjoyed sharing it at least once a day. Their private courtyard held a hot tub and seating area and they often wound down after the day out there before taking to the skies.

The kitchen, Gillian was quite sure, was every chef’s dream. An enormous six burner stove and grill with a large oven and then two wall ovens in the bank of handmade cabinetry sitting next to it. Ford had designed and commissioned a decorative tile piece for behind the stove that depicted a dragon rising above the flames like a phoenix. There were two prep sinks, a walk-in pantry that was larger than most people’s walk-in closet, and counter space that went on forever.

Gillian had never thought about soaring through the clouds as an erotic experience, but usually after she’d had a chance to stretch her wings and allow the night to swallow them up, they ended up making love either wherever they landed or rushing home in Ford’s new truck, ripping their clothes off as they entered their private little haven.

This weekend, the Page & Quill was closed to outsiders. Tristan had surprised everyone, including his bride-to-be, when he had installed Goody in the only other bedroom on the ground floor and then gone off to sleep on their boat, Raider’s Revenge. Ford had put in a long day finishing up the last details on both Bonham Farm—Ben and Paige’s new place—as well as the Club itself. But he had stayed true to himself and come home, dragged her into the shower with him, taken her to bed and fallen blissfully asleep.

Both Gillian and Paige had received their collars from Ford and Ben, respectively, last night when the four couples, plus Angie and Tony, and Daphne and Charlie, had done a final walk-through of Refuge, checked out some of the equipment and enjoyed a rehearsal-type dinner. Gillian knew some people would have thought it odd for the brides to be involved in preparing it, but Gillian found cooking soothing and it gave her and Goody a chance to test some new recipes.

Mostly though, she’d gloried in being with Ford. He’d never been far from her side and had run his hands over her almost continually. Gillian had never realized before becoming involved with the hunky dominant contractor how truly tactile she was. She practically purred and preened whenever he touched her, and she spent more time seated in his lap than anywhere else.

The six rooms upstairs had been filled with Gabe and Anne’s friends from London. Gillian was looking forward to seeing Sage Matthews again, as well as meeting her husband and the others that had formed Anne’s close-knit social circle. They’d been here for five days, and it had already been decided that the Outer Banks contingent would be joining those in London for New Year’s Eve.

“Yep,” Gillian said in response. “We’ll feed everyone here at the Page & Quill. Those who didn’t spend the night are headed down now. Are you sure this is what you want? I guess I always thought you’d want a big traditional wedding right out of the pages of Southern Living magazine.

“It’s funny; you’d think I would, being from a small town, but my upbringing was anything but traditional. These last few months have shown me that I much prefer our small, intimate group. I never had close girlfriends until I got involved with you lot. Honestly, though? I’ve never been happier or had more fun in my entire life.”

“I think your fiancé might have something to do with that.”

“And yours doesn’t?” teased Goody.

“He’d better not be having something to do with your happiness. If he is, I’m not fucking him hard enough.”

Ford’s hand smacked her ass with more than a little sting. “That’s neither funny nor appropriate.”

Gillian turned around, wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his. “Of course, it is, because both Goody and I know how far from the truth it is. Although the idea of fucking you longer, harder, and more often does have some appeal.”

Ford chuckled as he planted a deeply satisfying but brief kiss on her lips. “I’m going to make you eat those words.”

“If that’s the only thing you’re planning on me eating, I may have to rethink this whole wedding thing.”

Ford shook his head. “Aren’t you the sassy drakaina this morning? If you like, I can color your backside the same shade as your hair.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Seriously, take it easy on Tristan. You girls and your teasing are driving him to drink.”

“That’s not a long road,” Goody and Gillian quipped in unison.

Ford turned to Goody. “And you, miss, had better mind your Ps and Qs. I heard him saying you were going to have a date with the spanking horse if you weren’t careful.”

Goody giggled but said nothing in response. Ford did have a point. Tristan had been the most keyed up about the upcoming wedding, reception, and opening of the club, and thus had become the target of Anne, Paige, Gillian, and his own fiancé.

“What do you have planned for tonight at the club?” asked Gillian.

“I told you, it’s a surprise. But I will tell you it’s a variation of something I already know you enjoy.”

“Why is it the things you say to me that should scare the hell out of me, but only manage to kick my libido into overdrive?”

Ford chuckled, kissing her again. “Because you are a perverted nymphomaniac—thank God.” Gillian laughed and fingered her collar. “If you don’t like it, we can find something else.”

“No, not at all. I think it’s gorgeous; you spent far too much money on it, but it’s gorgeous.”

“Neither pearls nor obsidian are all that expensive.”

“Maybe not,” said Gillian, “but good rubies are.”

At some point, either by design or circumstance, each of the men who made up Steel Knights Investigations had incorporated pearls into the collars of the women they either did or shortly would call wife. Each of them was unique, but Gillian loved the feeling that they were connected in a very visceral way.

“Now get out of my way.” Gillian said, getting behind Ford and pushing him out into the main room of the Page & Quill. “I need to get this finished and if I ruin breakfast, Goody will kill me.”

“Not me,” said Goody. “That would be Anne. Who knew she could be such a tyrant about schedules?”

“Well, as she likes to point out, she was once Queen of England.”

“That has to be weird, don’t you think?”

“You’d think, but I don’t think it phases her one bit. I think she recognizes she was given a second chance at a life that this time she could design, and she has done exactly that.”

Gillian often felt she’d been given the same grace. Born into a male-dominant hierarchy that saw drakaina only as breeding vessels, she had found her own happily ever after amongst another group of oddballs and weirdos—and she loved them all.

***

The weddings had gone off without a hitch. Anne had outdone herself with both wedding gowns and the actual venues for the weddings themselves. Gillian had thought it the perfect place, as that was where she’d finally told Ford the truth about who she was, and they had fought their first battle together. Unlike Goody and Tristan, Ford and Gillian had gone with a far more bohemian style, exchanging their vows under an arbor Ford had crafted out of pieces of driftwood he had found along the shoreline. Once it was put together, he’d taken a torch to it in an effect known as shou sugi ban. It left the treated wood with scorch marks and brought out the natural grains of the wood. It was a stunning piece. They’d served a light lunch, and everyone had participated in a scavenger hunt that started at Bonham Farm, moved to Tristan and Goody’s stone beach cottage, and ended at Gabe and Anne’s place.

Following Ford and Gillian’s vow ceremony at Bonham Farm, the wedding guests moved from Bonham Farm to White Falcon Manor for Goody and Tristan’s vows. They had given a nod to their deep Southern roots and  said their vows in White Falcon Manor’s formal English garden overlooking the breathtaking Atlantic Ocean, beneath a beautifully constructed wedding pergola with white roses and ivy woven throughout. There had been a lovely cocktail party at the back of the house on the patio and lawns.

The entire wedding had been moved, via horse drawn carriages, to Refuge. Once there, the couples split off into Dom and sub and went to their respective dressing rooms. Anne, who had been responsible for most of the interior design, had opted for a gracious interior that belied the warehouse’s outer appearance. If Southern Living had ever designed a dungeon, the result would have been Refuge. It was just what the name implied—a place of solace from the rest of the world.

Once word of the club had leaked out, they’d been inundated with questions and applications. Tonight’s celebration was a kind of ‘soft opening,’ with the grand opening tomorrow night. Everyone involved had been excited for weeks as the construction grew to a close and staff was hired; word had spread quickly through the kink community, and they were expecting a capacity crowd.

The Doms had all decreed the uniform for the evening was corsets and thongs. When a chorus of protests had gone up, they’d relented and given the subs a choice: corsets and thongs, or nothing at all.

As Anne laced her into the corset, Gillian groused, “I have half a mind to go out there in nothing at all.”

Anne laughed. “Considering what he’s got in mind, that wouldn’t be your worst idea.”

“You know,” Gillian accused and had to gasp as Anne cinched her in.

“I do, and I think not only will you love it, but it may become a staple here at Refuge. Although we may want to find another supplier. I don’t know that Goody wants to be responsible.”

“Et tu?” said Gillian arching her brow at her friend.

“It was Ford’s idea and he wanted to make it special for you. He asked for my help, and I gave it to him. Don’t worry; he was telling you the truth. It’s a sinful variation of something you enjoy.”

“Okay, now I’m really curious.”

They couples came back together with Gabe and Ford taking everyone on a tour.

“JJ is going to be pea-green with envy,” said Sage.

“Do you think?” said Anne in a gleeful tone. “That was one of my goals.”

“Absolutely!”

They wound their way to one of the back play areas that had been set up specifically for wax or paint play. There was a large, comfortable bondage table covered in leather that had disposable covers stored away underneath it. A gracious antique sideboard with a soapstone top held all the instruments and things needed. Sitting on top was a candle, a wax warmer, and several wax pieces that a Dom could use to drip wax in lovely patterns all over his sub’s skin.

Ford had introduced Gillian to wax play and she found it sensual and incredibly arousing. She knew if Ford was feeling a little sadistic, he could ensure the wax was heated to where it wasn’t just a lovely warmth but could give the slightest hint of pain.

Ford was waiting.

He stripped Gillian out of her corset and thong, holding her steady as he did so. Helping her up onto the table, he positioned her on her back and pushed a wedge beneath her in order to tilt her ass and hips up. He then wrapped soft, padded cuffs around her legs, just above the knees and spread her wide. This was the part that often got to Gillian. It wasn’t that she was naked or exposed, but that it was easy to tell she was wildly aroused as her pussy wept her need. Ford then brought a waist cuff up and secured her middle before stretching her arms overhead and binding them.

“Comfy?” he crooned to her in that deep, delicious Dom voice that made her feel like she was bathing in warm, gooey fudge. “I love you, Gilly; I’m going to eat you up.”

Some of their friends, the ones Gillian was sure knew what was about to happen, laughed softly.

“I didn’t bind you as securely as Gabe had to bind Anne, but I think this will do. You are so much better behaved.”

Anne started to protest but was silenced by Gabe’s stern growl.

Ford glanced back over his shoulder, chuckling at Anne, before continuing, “You can make all the noise you want, but I want you to hold still for me.”

Gillian rolled her eyes. They both knew that holding still wasn’t her strong suit. She tugged at her restraints, but although they weren’t tight, they were secure.

“There will be no more of that. Every time you try to break free, it’ll cost you five over my knee when we’re done. Hit twenty-five and there will be no cock for your pussy tonight. Understand?” he said seductively as he stared down at her.

“Yes, Sir,” she purred.

“Can I get someone to cut the lighting in here while I light the candles?”

She could hear someone jumping up to do as he asked. So, he wanted her in the dark. Interesting.

She moaned as he took unscented oil in his hands, warming it before massaging it all over her body, paying particular attention to her belly, breasts and perfectly bare pubic area.

“So soft and silky. You have the most amazing skin,” he rumbled.

If her pussy had been weeping before, it was starting to gush. Everything he did, everything he said ramped up her arousal that much more. It was as if no matter what he did, she could feel it racing through her system from wherever he touched down to her core, making it tingle. She knew he’d tasked her with holding still so he’d have an excuse to spank her. They both enjoyed impact play and had found it incredibly effective in ending any discourse between them. But surely, he’d been joking about not plundering her pussy tonight.

Ford caressed her breasts, cupping and kneading them before twirling her tightly beaded nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned down to suckle each of her nipples as he allowed his fingers to slip between her legs to fondle and tug her clit. Gillian bit her bottom lip. He wasn’t doing anything that caused her pain, but he was a sadistic bastard, nonetheless. She was just on the cusp of coming when he moved away from her and she growled, making him chuckle.

“Temper, temper my red-haired beauty.”

“You said I could make noise,” she snarled, deciding whatever it was he had in mind was not something she wanted to do.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll indulge a bad attitude,” he returned.

“Fine,” she said in a huff. “That was mean.”

“Yes, but fun for me.”

He had his back turned and was blocking the sideboard. She could see him stirring the liquid wax with something before testing it on his inner arm. Interesting choice for his wax. Normally, more exotically perfumed waxes known for the aphrodisiac qualities were used, but whatever it was it was more subtle—buttery, sugary.

Ford returned with a small, ceramic jar holding, she was sure, the wax. He dipped a tongue depressor into it and then held it over her belly. There was the most luxurious splat as it landed and spread its warmth. Gillian gasped and then moaned as it hit. Ford leaned down and blew on the sticky substance, getting it to set before he used his lips and mouth to gently remove it from her body. Not wax, but caramel. Oh God he hadn’t been teasing when he said he was going to eat her up.

Ford spent more than an hour dribbling warm caramel all over her body only to either lick or suck it off her.  He allowed her to squirm, but only twice did he deem her as having incurred a penalty. He painted her body like an artist would paint a canvas, only his medium was caramel and he never allowed it to dry or harden. Gillian was beginning to fly in a way that didn’t need her dragon wings.

Heat and arousal poured through her as Ford used the caramel in the most deviant and delicious ways. Each lick, each suck, each bite moving her closer and closer to the edge. Finally, he cooled the caramel until it was barely warm and liquid before drizzling it over and around her clit. Before she could even register if it was burning her, he latched onto her clit and began to suck and nip at it as he penetrated her with two fingers, gently stroking in the same rhythm as he worked her little nub.

Ford ate her pussy as a man who had learned everything that would send her over the edge. As he began to curl his fingers upward, hitting the sweet spot deep inside, Gillian cried out and came, coating his fingers with her release. The climax had hit her hard, but she felt as if she had spread her dragon wings and was gliding back down to the surface.

She felt, more than saw, Ford releasing her from her bonds, lifting her from the table and wrapping her in one of the club’s cashmere blankets. He hauled her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest, and headed to the lounge to a round of quiet applause—or maybe it was loud, and she was just so far gone, it didn’t really reach her.

Right now, the only thing she could really hear was Ford, murmuring nonsensical words to her and the sound of his heart beating in his chest. He found a dark, secluded spot in the back of the lounge and held her close.

“When everyone else has gone to sleep?” she said in a hazy tone of voice.

“Yes?”

“I want to go fly above the clouds with you before you take me to bed.”

Ford chuckled. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do more… tonight or every night for the rest of my life.”