Chapter 19

A Birthday Surprise

ROUSED FROM HER SLEEPbefore she was ready, Fiona pried open one still-drowsy eye. Instead of the bright sunlight that usually greeted her in the morning, a gloomy grayness seeped through the partially closed curtains. The distant rumble of thunder accompanied the patter of rain against the windowpanes. She rolled over determined to go back to sleep and continue her peaceful dream, but when she closed her eyes, the fading details slipped away like sand through her fingers.

She sat up, scanning the room for signs of Noah. Finding none, she threw back the covers. As the aroma of something tantalizing wafted in from the kitchen, she inhaled. Was that bacon? And pancakes? Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled in anticipation as she reached for Noah's shirt thrown over the back of a chair the night before. It wasn't warm from his body, but it smelled of him, even more delicious than what was coming from the kitchen. She did up the buttons, leaving two open at the throat, and rolled the too-long sleeves up past her wrists.

On the way out the door, Fiona glanced at the clock. Despite the soreness left behind from an enthusiastic hour-long session with him last night, she smiled and undid a couple more buttons, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. They didn't have time for a repeat of last night, but a mini-session was certainly doable. With that notion stirring and warming her body, she took off on bare feet to find him.

Out in the hall, she smiled again. She didn't have to let her nose lead the way; her ears could do it. She heard sizzling and the wonderful off-key sound of Noah whistling.

When she arrived in the doorway, she leaned against the jamb and simply took in the view. He was daring to fry bacon without a shirt, but it gave her a chance to admire his broad shoulders, lean waist, and the play of muscles in his back as he tended the stove. His pajama pants caught her attention next. Riding low on his hips, they revealed a pair of dimples on either side of his spine, right above the waistband. A sight to behold, he sent a shiver of desire coursing through her.

She must have made a noise—an involuntary sigh or a hungry moan—because he turned and looked at her. His eyes swept her face before gliding down her body. By the time they returned and locked with hers, a playful twinkle danced within them. A warm flush crept into her cheeks, not from any sense of embarrassment. But because she'd grown accustomed to his scrutiny and finally accepted that he genuinely liked what he saw.

"You're up," he said, stating the obvious.

"You sound disappointed."

As he moved toward her, he waved at a tray on the table, set with a plate, silverware, napkins, a glass of orange juice, and a solitary pink rose in a bud vase.

"I was going to serve you breakfast in bed." He pulled her into his arms, smiling down at her. "Happy Birthday, beautiful."

Tears welled up. At the incredibly sweet gesture, but also in surprise. Her birthday slipped by unnoticed year after year, and she hadn't even realized what day it was.

He brought a hand to her face, gently cradling it as his thumb whisked away the single droplet that had escaped onto her cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I spoiled your surprise."

"No, you didn't. It's surprise enough that I cooked. I think there's more to these tears you're not telling me."

"Oh, Noah. It's just that... Breakfast in bed is so sweet. And pink is my favorite color rose. How did you know?"

"You've mentioned pink roses before."

"Not that. My birthday. I never said..." Then she remembered. Her Rossi file, and she had one at the club. He would have access to both. It was an intrusion of the nasty business plaguing her world that she didn't want to think about this morning.

"I know a lot about you, pet, but not nearly enough." Whisper-soft, he brushed his lips over hers. "I'd better check the waffles before they burn."

"You made waffles?"

Back at the stove, he asked, "Blueberry walnut. Your favorite, right?"

Her heart turned over at his thoughtfulness. But surely that little tidbit wasn't in an investigative or BDSM folder.

"Right," she whispered.

She would have pinched herself but was afraid to wake up and discover this was all a dream.

Since she was up, they ate at the table—waffles, bacon, juice, and coffee. It was delicious, and her discovery about Noah for the day was that he could cook, he just chose not to very often. Which made the breakfast he prepared for her even more special.

Unfortunately, she had to work, so they couldn't linger over coffee. And her ploy with the buttons worked. Dessert was the mini-session she'd hoped for. The clock wasn't her friend, however. It left them rushing out the door with Fiona putting on her makeup in the car—never an easy task.

Noah got her there with two minutes to spare. Kai, who was on duty today and waiting for her at the drop-off point, gave her flushed cheeks a discerning look, but didn't say a word as he accompanied her inside and up to the clinic.

Her birthday surprises weren't over. Her co-workers had gone in on a cake and embarrassed her by singing. And when Noah let her into the condo after work, he gave her the rundown on how the rest of her evening would go.

"We have reservations for dinner at seven," he informed her, talking over the jingling of keys and the soft thud of his wallet and business card holder as he emptied his pockets onto the console table by the door. He unsnapped his weapon, holster and all, which he wore on his belt at the small of his back and placed it carefully next to the box. The gun was always present on his person unless locked inside his home with her. Even then, it was always close by.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Her gaze shifted from his 9 mm, which was how he referred to it, to his face. The look of concern was a reminder, like the gun, the bodyguard, and all the other uncommon instances throughout the day, that this might be her "new normal," but it wasn't her life. They'd never discussed what would happen when Jordan was behind bars and her need for Noah's protection went away.

"Fiona?"

"Hmm?" she responded vaguely, still bothered by her train of thought.

"You zoned out on me. Are you feeling all right? If not, I can change plans—"

"Oh no. Please, don't. I just needed to change gears from work to play."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm looking forward to dinner and an evening at the club with you." That could very well go away, too. They hadn't discussed commitment of any kind. And the four-letter L word only popped up in her head, never once in conversation.

"If you're certain. There's a gift on the bench in the closet. Put on everything in the bag and nothing else."

That snapped her out of her dismal headspace—thank goodness. Why ruin the evening with what-ifs that may or may not come to pass? Besides, the only one who'd ever gotten her a birthday gift was Lexie.

Excited, she hurried toward the hall, but he caught her arm and spun her to face him. "How about a thank-you kiss in advance?"

Fiona slid her hands up his chest and rose on her toes. "Breakfast and a rose this morning, now a gift, dinner out, and a night at the club. You're spoiling me." She wrapped her arms around his neck and, before she laid a hot one on him, whispered, "Thank you, Noah."

It wasn't often that she gave, and he received. He let it go on for thirty seconds, at most, before she found her back to the door, her hands pinned on either side of her head, and he'd taken over.

Fiona thought, and hoped, he'd strip her of her clothes and take her on the couch, the floor, the entryway—there were so many options—but he pulled away. His strained expression made it clear he'd rather have done anything else.

"We'll pick up where we left off later. We need to leave in an hour, or we'll lose our table."

"Okay," she replied, although it really wasn't. Dinner and the club they could do anytime, but how often did an unbelievably hot, uber-masculine dominant fuck her against a door?

"If you keep looking at me that way, we'll be late."

"Yeah," she agreed, but didn't budge.

"If we're late, I'm going to give you a different kind of birthday spanking than I originally had in mind."

"Okay," she repeated, his threat not the deterrent he thought it was.

He realized this and laughed, his mouth swooping down on hers again, hot, demanding, and over too darn fast.

With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the hall and smacked her bottom lightly to get her going.

"That's one, but there's thirty-three more where that came from."

She looked back at him with a pout. "You can't mean for that one to count."

His brows lifted. "Why not?"

"Weak sauce, sir."

Chuckling, he shooed her down the hall. "Go. Your present awaits."

"Oh yeah. I almost forgot." Grinning with eagerness, she practically ran down the hall, his muttered, "Fickle, kitty," echoing after her.

DINNER WAS FILET MIGNONat one of the best steakhouses in LA. Noah looked amazing in his heather-gray suit and burgundy tie, and, she had to admit, she looked good in the burgundy wrap dress he'd gifted her, the deep V neckline, pretty cap sleeves, and body-hugging silhouette very flattering. He'd included shoes, a matching lace bra, perfume—designer, which went for hundreds of dollars an ounce—and nothing else.

Specifically, no panties.

As such, that he allowed a bra surprised her. After she'd mentioned it often, he would know she felt too self-conscious in public without one. The club, yes. He revealed her almost DD cup tatas to all and sundry on the main floor. At a five-star restaurant, to bounce and flounce every which way, not happening.

Her heart turned over at the realization of how careful he was with her. He might spank her with a ruler, take her ass whenever he wanted, strip her to her panties on a Friday night with nearly 1000 club members in attendance, and walk the circuit with his hand in said panties, front or back, but activities of that sort he reserved for private times. She was certain he would never deliberately embarrass her.

As the car came to a stop, the sudden silence of the engine broke her train of thought. As did his hand, spearing into her hair and cupping the back of her head as he dragged her to him across the center console.

He angled her face to the moonlight coming in through his driver's side window. "You're quiet. What's going through your head?"

"I was thinking about how good you are to me, and this is hands down the best birthday I've had."

"Why do I get the feeling it's the first birthday you ever had?"

"Because it is. To sum it up, my mom sucked."

"Which is why you left home to make it on your own at seventeen. Full disclosure, kitten. I have a full background report on Fiona Marie Delacour from birth to today sitting in my inbox. I've put off reading it, thinking you'd prefer to tell me about your mother, but I can't put it off forever. There might be something in there I need to know to keep you safe."

"She wasn't abusive, unless neglect and disdain count. She shouldn't have been a mom. Truly. I was an accident when she was still in high school. My grandparents were strict Catholics and wouldn't consider alternatives."

"Why didn't they raise you?"

"I was her penance for being a bad girl."

"Oh, kitten..." he uttered softly with palpable sympathy.

"Yeah. When I was old enough to stay by myself, she got a little wild. She drank too much, ran with the wrong crowd, and she had a lot of men."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

"And she left you alone?"

"She blamed me for holding her back, and she wasn't nice about it. Back then, I was a little chunky too, and she never missed an opportunity to criticize."

"Words can hurt as much as fists, sometimes. So, you weren't accurate when you said she wasn't abusive. But look how far you've come. You not only finished college; you earned your master's degree to become a licensed occupational therapist."

"Looking back, I can't believe I did it, but every day I go to work and see my kids' faces light up, I'm thankful and proud that I did."

"Do you have any contact with your family?"

"I send my mother a birthday and Christmas card every year and keep her updated on how to contact me, but she never does."

Not one to pull his punches, Noah bit out, "You're right, kitten. Your mom sucks."

Unable to hold it back, a little laugh slipped out.

"What about your grandparents?"

"Both gone for several years now."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you felt comfortable opening up to me about it. Is there anything else in the file?"

"Nope. Just mommy dearest and lonely me."

"You're free of her, and, as long as I'm around, you'll never be lonely. Got that?"

"I do, Noah. Thank you."

"And you don't have to keep thanking me. Not for something I want too." His next kiss was on her lips and so tender it made her chest ache. "Let's head inside. I have a few more surprises."

"But you've done so much already."

"Believe me, pet. I'm going to enjoy them as much as you."

He flashed a grin then was out the door to come around and help her.

Inside, Noah broke their routine by taking her to the lounge before the playroom instead of after. She spotted Val, who waved at her then turned and said something to the group she was with. When they were close, everyone called, "Happy birthday, Fiona!"

She stood gape mouthed, taking in the smiling faces around the tables pushed together to accommodate the sizeable group of Noah's friends and their submissives, and, in the center, more pink roses and bottles of champagne on ice. To top it off, the entire lounge applauded and broke into the birthday song.

Instead of being happy and excited, a normal reaction to such an outpouring of good wishes, she turned to Noah, buried her face in his chest, and burst into tears.

His arms came around her.

"Is she all right?" someone asked.

"I think she's just a little overwhelmed," Noah responded, sounding amused rather than horrified. His expression was gentle, his smile soft when he tipped her face up to his. "Are you freaking out on me, pet?"

"Kind of. It's just..." She sniffled as she wiped her wet cheeks with her hands. "I've never had a birthday party before, either."

"Not even as a little girl?" Esme asked from beside them, horrified.

She shook her head. "My mother wasn't a fan," she replied, breathing deep as she tried to get herself together.

Noticing the sudden rigidity of Noah's body, she glanced up in time to see him subtly shaking his head in Keiran's direction. Catching the unspoken message, his friend dipped his head and whispered something to Esme. Though not as perceptive as Val, Esme sensed the shift in the atmosphere. Her lips curved into an apologetic smile, and she dropped the topic of birthday parties past.

Champagne corks popping served as a timely distraction. As glasses were poured and passed around, Fiona leaned into Noah and said for his ears alone. "I've moved on from all of that. You don't have to warn anyone off."

"This is a night for celebration, not sad thoughts. If you want to share with Esme some other time, it's up to you."

She settled against him, her arms around his waist. It was forward for a submissive, but she couldn't resist. He was unfailingly kind, staunchly protective, but the epitome of dominance at the best of times. The question of how destiny brought them together without her mucking it up kept repeating in her head.

Master Eric, beside her, passed them two fizzy glasses. Then he raised his own. "A birthday toast to Fiona. We're happy you came back to the fold, little one. Here's to many more birthdays celebrated with us at Decadence."

A round of here-heres, many mores, and to Fionas echoed through the group as she took the tiniest sip. Champagne was much too dry for her taste, but she wasn't about to be rude and turn it down.

Noah relieved her of her glass and set it on the table. Then he took her hand and left their friends celebrating without them.

"Where are we going, sir? Shouldn't we stay for a few minutes at least?"

"I need to work off some of my hostility on the dance floor."

Looking up, she noticed the tightness in his jaw and the lines of strain around his mouth.

"I'm sorry if I upset you. And after you went to so much trouble."

He stopped and frowned down at her. "I'm not angry with you, pet. It's your mother."

"Oh...well...yes..." Relieved, much of her own tension melted away. "She has a tendency to tick people off."

"An understatement, I'm sure," he muttered as, with his usual confidence, he led her onto the dance floor.

When he took her into his arms, her tension came roaring back. "If I stomp all over your toes, remember I warned you."

"Relax," he whispered, his warm breath brushing her ear. "All you have to do is follow my lead."

Having done that for several weeks, she couldn't see why now should be any different.

Fiona thought they'd grind to a slow song like most of the couples, but the soulful Hozier tune was faster paced than she expected. Noah fell into the rhythm easily, taking her along with him.

His hand splayed across her lower back molded her body to his, chest to chest, hip to hip, with one of his legs between hers. They swayed to the music, even grinding a little, but he also spun and dipped her, gently guiding her body through the motions with his own.

Following his lead was the easy part. Relaxing, not so much. Still, as he moved effortlessly around the floor, and she didn't smash his toes or lose her balance and topple everyone around them like bowling pins, she started to.

As the music transitioned to a slower, haunting melody, he seamlessly adapted to the altered tempo. Pressed so close it was difficult to distinguish where he ended and she began, they swayed and turned, completely lost in each other through a second and third song.

"My kitten is a natural," he remarked in a hushed tone.

"I'm not, but it's nice of you to say. You make this seem effortless."

He twirled them in a circle and dipped her low over his arm. When she was upright, her hair swirling around her and across his chest, she laughed, breathless with delight.

"That was fun. Can we do that again?"

His deep laughter surrounded her as he slid his hand over her thigh, pulled it high on his hip, and bent her so deep, if her hair didn't touch the floor, it came close. Noah held her there, gazing into her eyes for several pulse beats.

As she stared back, the lyrics penetrated.

Surrender to me...

Confess your desire...

I'll make you feel things you've never dreamed.

"Is this about—"

"Absolutely," he replied as he brought her upright then swayed with her, grinding a lot.

Her chest rose and fell faster, from the dancing and from his roaming hands that caressed her back, glided over her hips and bottom then came up under the hem of her dress to palm one cheek. It would have been scandalous behavior at a typical nightclub and might have gotten them escorted to the curb, but this was a special club where decadence and sex were on full display. The owners frowned on scenes in the bar and lounge, however. There were plenty of other places to play.

Noah's hand twisted in her hair, his tongue licking along her bottom lip. "You don't realize how beautiful you are. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are bright with excitement and passion, and your hair... It's so soft and the light strands shine like gold under the lights. I can't resist touching it. When I do, you get this mussed, just-fucked, sexy-as-hell look. I can't take my eyes off you."

His words sent a thrill through her, and she gave in to the passion of his lips. The world around them faded away as the kiss went on and on, through one tantalizing melody to another, until, in a sudden shift, the tempo went electric. Into it, the younger crowd around them cheered, but it didn't at all match their mood.

Noah actually glared at the DJ, not that he noticed, before he led her from the floor, grumbling, "Who can dance to that bubblegum crap?"

"You could," she exclaimed. "I really enjoyed that. Can we do it again soon?"

He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close as he steered her through the crowd. "Yes, but I'm giving a playlist to the DJ first. Are you ready for your next surprise?"

"Another one?"

"The birthday girl deserves the best, and I pulled some strings."

"I can't wait, sir."

He veered away from the lounge and headed for the dungeon doors.

"Shouldn't we excuse ourselves?" she asked.

Noah stopped and did a 180 with her, pointing to the empty champagne bottles turned upside down in the ice buckets on the tables being bussed. Everyone had gone, and her pink roses were nowhere in sight.

"Your flowers are most likely at the bar or in admin for safekeeping," he told her, reading her thoughts. "As for our friends, half were grinding on the dance floor along with us. The others are inside, undoubtedly making excellent use of a station."

"Oh. I didn't get to say thank you."

"We'll see them again at the end of the night, if not inside."

She made a face, thinking about seeing too much of them.

Noah laughed, again on track with what she was thinking. "It takes some getting used to, but it helps if you remember we're all in this together."

There were many polyamorous and nonmonogamous members, and she quipped, "With some enjoying more togetherness than others."

With a grin curving his lips, he murmured, "Touché," while effortlessly swinging open one of the heavy dungeon doors. "Speaking of which, I noticed Master Tristan is doing a shibari demo on the center stage tonight. He's doing a double suspension."

"Meaning?"

"He rigs two subs at once. His ties are creative and he always puts on a good show. We'll have to miss it though."

"We will?"

"Yep," he said, extending his arm for her to grasp as she slid off her shoes and passed them to the attendant. "Since it's a special occasion, I reserved a private room for us. It required cashing in a favor and some extra haggling, but for your birthday, it's worth it."

She clung to his hand at the top of the steps leading down into the playroom. "Which room, sir?"

"That's the surprise. Are you ready to go up?"

Fiona hesitated. "Can I freshen up first?"

"Of course, but don't you dare brush your hair."

"Never," she whispered, beaming up at him as she wondered what a just fucked after being fucked hairstyle would look like, and giddy because, very soon, she would find out.

He escorted her to the short hall leading to the locker rooms."I'll wait here."

"I'll hurry."

"No need. We're reserved for four hours."

Her eyes widened. The time blocks were usually only two, especially for the popular rooms.

"It was a huge favor and a lot of haggling."

Eager to know which fantasy world awaited her, she quickly made her way to the locker room, the anticipation building with each step. She took care of nature's call, which she'd learned early on as a submissive was crucial before getting into a scene. Nothing ticked a dom off more than having to untie, unwrap, unhook, or otherwise "un" only to have to do it up again after a potty break.

She touched up her makeup, her fingers itching to smooth her wildly tousled hair, but she resisted and returned her bag to her locker. They'd never reassigned it or changed the lock after she quit over a month ago. Master Eric must have suspected she'd be back.

Checking her appearance once more, she turned to leave but came face-to-face with a submissive—tall, willowy, with long hair in an unusually bright shade of orange, not red. Fiona had never actually met her before but knew her by reputation. Naomi often looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon. It wasn't a good look for her angular facial structure. Currently, she wore the same pinched and sour expression as she stared down her nose at her.

"Well, well. If it isn't the birthday girl."

"I was just leaving," Fiona murmured, sidestepping to get around her.

Naomi moved with her, though, blocking her exit.

"May I help you with something?"

"Like I need your help," she replied in a scathing tone. "I saw you dancing with Doc. You were jiggling everywhere, pressing your fat rolls up against him. It was disgusting. They have shots now for morbid obesity."

Fiona recoiled from her acerbic insults, as if she'd actually thrown acid in her face. Technically, to be considered morbidly obese, she would have had to be 100 pounds or more overweight. She carried an extra forty, down ten with all the stress she'd been under the past several weeks.

Where did this bitch, whom she'd never even met before, get off hurling insults at her? Especially when she was no beauty herself, and her caustic behavior alone made her ugly where it made a difference—inside.

"Get out of my way," Fiona demanded.

"Why? I saw Doc waiting. Are you planning a scene with him? Please say it won't be in the playroom. If it is, do us all a favor and keep your clothes on. All that jiggling and fat flapping will make everyone sick."

Suddenly, a thunderous bang reverberated through the room, and an angry voice ordered sternly, "That is quite enough."

Val, holding a half-laced-up corset to her chest stormed out of a dressing room and stalked toward Naomi.

"Oh look. It's twins," the other woman exclaimed. "But it's so much worse for you," she said with disdain as she gave Val a withering once-over. "Fat Fiona can lose weight. But you're old, and, as far as I know, there's no cure for that."

"What is your problem? Other than you're bitchy, need a professional to do something with that hair, and really need to eat a sandwich?" Val shot back. She suddenly held up her hand. "No, don't bother answering. I don't care, and I know Fiona doesn't. You need to leave now before I call my husband. You remember who he is, don't you?" She started to cross her arms then seemed to remember she was only half done up and leaned toward Naomi, rising on her toes to get in her face. "He's the man I sleep with every night after sucking and/or fucking him into such a good mood he will do whatever I ask, including kicking your scrawny butt to the curb." She pointed to the door and demanded in a voice that said she was at the end of her patience, "Go. Now."

Naomi seemed to suddenly grow a brain and quickly got out.

Fiona spun to face the half-dressed blonde, her knight in shimmery black satin. "That was amazing. You are my forever hero," she declared before throwing her arms around her.

Val patted her back in return. "Thanks, but I don't feel like a hero. She made me angry, and I sank to her level—nasty, name-calling, and skinny shaming. But I swear, Fiona, when she lit into you like that, I saw red."

Yet another loud bang echoed throughout the room, but it came from the other direction—the outer door. "Fiona. Are you all right?"

"That's Noah. I should go. I've been in here for a while."

But a while had long since passed for her dom. The door slammed hard against the wall as Noah came striding in.

He halted, seeing them standing close, their arms around one another, with Val still only half dressed. "What's wrong?"

"One of the other subs was out of sorts, sir," Val told him. "Between the two of us, we sorted her out." This wasn't completely a lie. "I need to finish getting dressed before Eric comes looking for me."

"He already did," a deep voice said from behind Noah. "Are you sick?"

"No. Why would you ask that?" Val exclaimed.

"Why would Doc be in the women's locker room, if not for that?" the master dom fired back.

The little blonde took the temperature in the room down a notch when she replied, "To fetch his submissive just like you are, master. I'll be out in two shakes."

When she whirled and returned to her dressing room, both men rounded on Fiona.

"How about you tell us what really happened," the master dom urged.

"You don't believe your wife, sir?"

"She has a tendency to downplay things she thinks will piss me off," he replied. "We're working on that."

Flaw elimination must be a chapter in the dominant's handbook.

"Fiona?"

When she looked at Noah, he arched a brow in question.

"Oh, right. Well, it's like Val said. We ran into another submissive, except she was a lot more than out of sorts. She was rude and aggressive, and I didn't play even a tiny role in sorting her out. Val was the one who put her in her place." She looked at Eric. "Your wife's tongue can be lethal. She's very impressive."

"She can be," he said with a gentle smile.

"She was also upset that she let Naomi get to her."

"Naomi, eh? Now I understand rude and aggressive. We've had trouble with her before."

"Wasn't she a favorite of Jordan's?" Noah asked.

From the way Eric's blond brows shot toward his hairline, that hadn't occurred to him. "Now that you mention it, I believe she was."

"That may be true," Fiona interjected, "but she seemed quite enamored by and jealous of you, Master Noah. In her eyes, I wasn't good enough for you."

"She actually said that to you?" he asked, his temper flaring.

"Not in so many words."

"What words did she use?"

She glanced down at her hands. "Hurtful ones I'd rather not repeat."

He took her into his arms. "Ah, kitten, I'm sorry you had to be subjected to that, when our night was going so well."

"Can't we turn it around? You mentioned a surprise."

"I did. And we have hours to erase this ugly scene from your mind." He glanced at Eric. "You'll see to Naomi's behavior, I trust."

"I will," he assured him. "She just earned herself a ride on the carousel."

Val emerged from the locker room, corset done up and looking stunning. Eric welcomed her into their circle with an arm around her shoulders. She'd heard the tail end of their conversation because she imparted some wisdom on her dom.

"Sentencing certain submissives to the carousel isn't the punishment you think it is, master."

"Who says?"

Val's eyes met hers.

"Don't look at me!" Fiona vehemently exclaimed. "I run from that scary wheel of torture. In fact, I avoid Saturday nights as a general rule."

Noah chuckled, his good mood gradually returning. Eric hadn't given up his line of questioning. "Do you have a better suggestion for Naomi? We can't let this slide."

"You mean other than a muzzle?" Val quipped, startling a laugh out of Fiona.

"I'm serious, sprite," her master insisted.

"I'm no authority with punishment. That's a dom's area of expertise. Who would be best to enforce the rules and provide a much-needed attitude adjustment, is the question?" She tapped a pink-tipped finger against her lips thoughtfully then smiled. It was a rather Grinchy smile, and Fiona knew the orange-haired bitch was in for it. "I think Master Tristan would be perfect. Ever since Patty, his rope submissive, moved back East to take care of her mother, he's been in a foul mood."

"But he won't hurt her, will he?" When Fiona blurted out her question, Noah gave her a curious look.

"After what she did, do you care so much?"

"I've been on the receiving end of revenge punishment, so yes, about this, I do."

His arm around her tightened, curling her into his chest. He kissed the top of her head before reassuring her. "Tristan is an experienced dom and a good man. Although he's strict, he'd never go too far, but he'll make certain she thinks before spewing cruel insults in the future."

"No one's asking her to not think her foul thoughts, but we're all tired of hearing them," Val chimed in.

"Tristan as an enforcer," Eric mused aloud. "That is an excellent idea."

"Yes, and, in that role, he'll have to interact with the submissives. He's been avoiding them for months like he might catch something. Maybe this will snap him out of his funk."

"You'll forgive my saying so, my friend," Noah drawled. "But your submissive is diabolical."

"Isn't she though?" the master dom said, beaming proudly. He dipped his head, and, like Noah had with her, kissed the top of her head, in Val's case, having to bend his neck considerably to do so. "Since she's come into my life, she's made the job of managing this kinky herd much easier."

"Why, thank you, master."

This time when he kissed her, Eric lifted her off her feet, likely so he wouldn't have to strain his neck to reach his diminutive wife. Noah led Fiona away, leaving the still newly married couple getting amorous in the hall.