Daralyn’s hand was on his shoulder, and he touched her frequently. He noted the grip of her hand, the strength of it, varied from scene to scene, indications of her focus on one type of play versus another. And what specific aspects seemed to most absorb her.

  The way a sub reacted when a restraint was tightened, and his Dom whispered to him. Or how another Master’s eyes held his female sub’s gaze with such absolute control… The arch of her body at the strike of his whip, his hand over her throat, the tug at her collar.

  Rory realized it was the same for Daralyn as it was for him. It wasn’t so much the mechanics or tools holding their attention. It was what messages they drew out of the sub, out of the Dom, that grabbed them both.

  They had worked their way over to the curtain-backed dais where Des and Julie’s demo would be held. He found a spot just off the nearby paved path, pushing his chair halfway onto the grass, in case Daralyn wanted to sink down at his feet. He had a towel in his pack to protect her dress, but for now he put her on his lap, facing the stage. He liked that position, her back against his chest, his arms looped around her.

  By the time the curtain rustled and Des and Julie emerged, a couple dozen people were watching, sitting on the grass or utilizing an arranged group of folding chairs.

  Julie wore a sports bra and dark clingy shorts. Rory found himself grateful for that. Julie definitely wasn’t his sister, but she was family. It would be easier to watch and get lost in this if she wasn’t naked. Though if this ended up with Des bringing her to climax in front of everyone, that comfort zone was out the window.

  Julie positioned herself in the center of the dais, her eyes down. Rory could see her breath making her breasts rise and fall. She seemed calm and expectant both, focused on Des. He stepped up behind her and put a blindfold over her eyes, lacing it in back so it molded to her face. Then he ran his hands up and down her arms, a reminder of his presence.

  He trailed a rope across her shoulders, along her neck, her face. She nuzzled it, showing her pleasure at having it near her. He guided her arms behind her, boxed beneath her shoulder blades, and then he began to wrap the rope over them, holding them in place.

  It was like watching a ballet. In a matter of several moments, Des had a twisted braid of rope between her ample breasts, framed by a line of ropes above and below that went over and under to tie at her elbows and armpits. It held the boxed arms close to her back and lifted her posture, so her breasts were thrust out. Her nipples had hardened, showing her arousal at what he was doing, restraining her.

  Rory glanced at Daralyn. She was in the trance she’d seemed to be in for the first scene, only it was deepening. The more Des restrained Julie, the more absorbed Daralyn became. Not wanting to disrupt the flow of it, Rory ran a slow hand down her back, over her hip, over the curve of her buttock. All while he watched every change in her face.

  Daralyn’s gaze stayed locked on Des and Julie, but she moved back into him, pressing her body to his with an urgency that told him arousal and the environment were taking away her normal self-consciousness.

  Out of the many different clues he’d picked up about her childhood, she’d never once indicated her uncle or father had restrained her. So like oral sex, this might be entirely new territory, her reactions unfettered by the past.

  Des turned Julie in a graceful twirl, taking her down to her knees in a quick movement. A hand to the back of the neck pushed her forward, held her body in a C-curve on her knees. She had her thick hair in a ponytail, and he bound it in rope, attaching the end to one of the tall poles driven into the ground around the front edge of the small dais.

  It was only the first attachment point. When he was done, she was tied up with an elaborate design of ropes over her upper torso and spread thighs. Then, in another dramatic movement, he’d taken her off the ground, turned her so she was in a side stroke position, like in water. Her face and upper torso were angled toward the night sky, her hip and side of her thigh parallel to the stage. She was helpless, completely in his hands and ropes as he caressed her, all the while murmuring to her. When he tipped her head back, sipped from her mouth, she shuddered. Rory doubted she was aware of anything else.

  He didn’t think Daralyn was, either.

  How someone who’d had all control taken from her for so long could be stimulated by seeing the same was an intriguing puzzle. Was it because Julie projected no worry, no fear at all, being helpless in Des’s hands?

  In every movement Des made that Julie submitted to, melting into him, it reminded Rory of each time Daralyn had submitted to him, in ways large and small. A back and forth message that said, I trust you. I feel safe with you.

  A gift he wanted to give and receive, all at the same time.

  The grassy area had given the audience room to form a loose semi-circle around the dais, not crowd one another. He saw a variety of reactions, some like his and Daralyn’s. Other people he guessed liked doing the rope stuff, too, because they seemed to be carefully watching Des’s technique.

  He’d said he’d done this all over the country, suggesting he was a big deal for this kind of thing. If Rory hadn’t deduced it from that comment, he could do so merely from watching him. It was like looking at Thomas’s paintings, the artistry practically leaping off the canvas and grabbing the viewer by the throat. Such a creation made a person look at it, feel like there was something there worth seeing, even if they couldn’t describe why it was so absorbing.

  They were done. Des sketched a brief bow to the crowd, a signal the demo was over, and then began to unwrap Julie from the ropes, removing her blindfold.

  Some people wandered off, but others stayed, watching him do what Rory knew would be called aftercare. Des loosened the ropes with as much sensual attention as he’d put them on, taking his time, caressing Julie’s skin with the loosened twine, bending down to press his lips to the red marks he’d left there.

  When he was done removing all the bindings, he tilted her face toward him, kissed her mouth. Rory glimpsed Julie’s eyes, focused on her Dom, aware of nothing else. Floating and calm. He would have expected some part of her drama-loving soul to stay conscious of her audience. But Rory suspected Julie had been as wrapped up in her Master’s attention as securely as in his ropes.

  Des’s attention had a different shape from Thomas’s painting process. Rory had watched his brother completely lost in it, such that a gas explosion a hundred feet away would barely have registered. There was some of that all-encompassing focus to Des while doing the rope, but there was a vital difference as well. Not once had Rory felt he’d lost the intense connection with Julie, his awareness of her mental and physical state. He’d stayed locked into everything she’d been feeling, how she’d been reacting. Though nothing had seemed to go amiss during the demo, if it had, Rory had no doubt Des would have been a step ahead of it.

  Seeing the place such experience and time could take a Dom and sub, spawned something in Rory’s gut he could only call yearning. To be and do the same for Daralyn. To learn how to be that kind of Master for her.

  Daralyn had eased from his lap, sunk to her knees next to his chair, her hand fluttering down to rest on his leg. As he looked at her, that yearning sharpened and cut something open in him. It bled into his upper body, made it ache.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d turned away from the idea that he could be all that for someone. Not that he couldn’t be in love or be a good partner. But he’d wanted to be someone’s hero, the person they could believe would be there for them, no matter what.

  Maybe he’d thought being in a chair made that a pipe dream. But when she looked up at him, need and desire in her gaze, and sought the clasp of his hand, he saw that somewhere in her, she believed he could be that for her.

  It was a dream that could maybe come true for them both.

  After Des untied Julie fully, he’d picked her up and carried her back behind the curtain. Figuring they’d join the party after she emerged from that floating state, Rory took Daralyn exploring some more. A pavilion tent had been set up providing food and drinks. The tent also featured a performance dais, where they appeared to be setting up for another demo.

  “What do you think they’ll be doing?” Daralyn asked.

  “Food.” The answer came from a young woman moving past them. She was about their age and had brown curly hair, somewhat tamed by a silk scarf that picked up the blue hues in her tie-dyed skirt. A necklace of blue stones with a silver pentagram as a pendant broke up the solid tone of her sleeveless black tank. She was barefoot. Even so, from the brisk air about her, Rory thought she might be a volunteer helping out.

  “They’ll be doing an erotic food display,” she explained. “Ways to turn your submissive into a centerpiece for a meal. Or a dessert.” She beamed. “Most importantly, there will be cupcakes for everyone at the end.”

  She pointed to a wooden sign mounted next to the pavilion opening. “That tells you the demo schedule for the tent. You can find them next to any of the places where platforms are set up, so you can plan for what you’re interested in.” She smiled at them again. “I’m Chloe. I work with Marguerite at Tea Leaves, and I usually volunteer to help out at these things with my husband, Brendan. When we’re not playing ourselves. We take shifts so everyone can have fun. He’s around here somewhere. You’re Rory, aren’t you? Which makes you Daralyn.”

  At their surprised looks, she chuckled. “This event’s a pretty small one, so those of us helping know most the guests.” She twinkled at Rory. “Your names stuck in my brain. I was hoping to get the chance to say hello.”

  “Can’t imagine what made it easy to remember us,” Rory said with a wry smile.

  Chloe glanced at his chair and shrugged, easy with it in a way he liked. “Can’t deny that it did help with the name-to- face association, but that wasn’t what cinched it. You look like your brother. Not the same hair style or anything. It’s in the face, the way you hold yourself. Only you have the seriously sexy Dom vibe, whereas Thomas rocks the seriously sexy sub vibe.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it. “Whoops, got to run. Another batch of cupcakes have cooled enough to be frosted, and I am the frost minion. But I hope to see you guys later. If you stay late, things get really mellow and fun during the wee hours.” She winked. “And sometimes some really intense things happen, too, if that’s also something you’d like. Nice to meet you. Tell Thomas he still owes me that dance he promised me at my wedding reception. Full on tango.”

  “I’m better at it,” Rory said.

  Chloe laughed. “I bet. Talk to you guys soon.”

  As she hurried away, Daralyn looked at him. “Thomas agrees.”

  “Agrees with what?”

  “He says you used to be a way better dancer than him, before you joined the football team and decided you had to be cool.” A light smile flirted over her lips.

  Rory snorted. “I’m still a better dancer than him. Chloe only thinks I was joking. I’ll take you dancing one night.”

  Her eyes lit with a mix of anticipation and mild terror at the thought. Then her gaze traveled beyond him and she made a pleased noise. Following her glance, Rory saw Julie and Des headed in their direction.

  While more in tune with her surroundings, Julie still looked way more mellow than her usual self, walking with a dreamy tranquility in the curve of Des’s sure arm. Chloe, who’d headed in their direction, paused to give Julie a hug and Des a brief touch on his arm before she kept moving toward her cupcake frosting task.

  Then Julie saw them. Her eyes lit with joy, and she gripped Des’s arm, a non-verbal way of telling him she was all right, and hurried forward to hug Daralyn.

  “You both look great,” Julie said. “But no offense, Rory, Daralyn looks so incredible.”

  “None taken and I couldn’t agree more,” he responded. Daralyn did her shy, pleased smile as he tightened his grip on her hand. Could the girl do anything that didn’t squeeze his heart into pulp?

  “I have to take your picture tonight to send to Les,” Julie told Daralyn. “Proof of how awesome your personal shoppers are.”

  Rory offered Des a hand to shake. “That demo was incredible.”

  “Really,” Daralyn echoed, shooting a glance at Des before coming back to Julie. “It was…well, incredible. I couldn’t look away.”

  “She couldn’t.” Rory slid an arm around her waist, tugging her to lean against him as he stroked her hip. “She was pretty caught up in it.”

  He noticed Julie’s dreamy look. “What?”

  She gusted a happy sigh. “I love seeing the two of you together. Makes me feel all gooey.”

  Des sent Rory the male patented women look, but it was followed up by a glance toward Julie as full of feeling as what Rory felt for Daralyn. Proving it, Des circled Julie’s waist, much as Rory had Daralyn’s, and drew her to his lean hip. “I’ll take a picture of both of our gorgeous women to send to Les. She’ll like that.”

  “And one of Rory and Daralyn. So she can get gooey over them, too.”

  Des nodded with a smile, then looked toward Rory. “Would you like to try it? The rope stuff?”

  The question was directed solely to him. Tyler had pointed it out during the review of the rules. In this environment, Doms were asked what their subs might want. The subs weren’t asked directly. Rory had noted everything in their environment fit with that. Like whenever waitstaff had come by with food and drink, the offer had been, “Would you or your sub like one?”

  Daralyn seemed entirely at ease with that. Earlier in the day, when she’d expressed, in her roundabout way, that she wasn’t always thrilled when people made decisions for her, she’d also made a point of saying she didn’t have that problem with him.

  It came back to what lay between the two of them, no one else, not even someone in her past or what problems she had expressing her feelings.

  So yeah, he was interested in the rope stuff. But he did a check on Daralyn’s body language. An interesting kind of tension had gripped her, like how she reacted when he gripped her wrist or throat.

  During Des and Julie’s demo, Rory had watched Daralyn forget everything, get lost in it. How often did she get to let down every guard, relinquish every worry, and give herself to pure feeling?

  He kept a peripheral eye on her as he answered the rope artist. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I’m up for doing the whole elaborate suspension thing.”

  “I had something easy in mind. Ropework 101, an introduction to the possibilities. That stretch of grass on the west side of the house is a nice spot, with a breeze off the water.”

  Daralyn had pressed her lips together at the more specific suggestion, and her fingers curled against her thighs. It gave him all the go-ahead he needed.

  “Sounds good,” Rory said. “Long as you’re not going to need me to do a lot of maneuvering on the grass.” The lawn was trimmed short enough to push across without having to lift his casters, but it wasn’t ideal ground for smooth pivots and swift turns.

  “Nope. You’ll be pretty stationary.”

  “Lead the way, then.”

  On the way, they stopped at the dais where Julie and Des had done their demo, and Des came out from behind the curtain with a coil of blue rope. Then they headed toward the place he’d indicated.

  A stone bench, angled to view both the garden area and the water, was available near the spot. Des pressed Julie down on it. As he did, he brushed a knuckle along her cheek and murmured something. She gazed up at him, a slight smile on her face, and a lot of feeling in her eyes.

  When Des came toward them, Julie shifted her attention toward Rory and Daralyn, and her lively eyes narrowed. “What?”

  Rory affected her mannerisms, throwing up his hands. “You two just make me feel so gooey.”

  “Shut up.”

  Daralyn chuckled as Rory grinned. Des gave them an indulgent, patient look that Rory thought would work well on squabbling offspring, when and if he and Julie took that step. Then he squared off with Rory and Daralyn, and his manner shifted to a more serious mien. For Julie, too. Despite her usual effusiveness, she subsided into a quiet, unobtrusive observer, much as Rory suspected she did when watching theater rehearsals.

  As Rory locked the brakes on his chair, Daralyn shifted closer to his side. “Have her face you,” Des said.

  Daralyn obediently did so while Rory took her hands. “Breathe,” he told her, with a smile. A reminder it was all okay. Her color was high and eyes a little bright. Nervous but excited too, so that was all good.

  “State of mind is important,” Des said, moving around them. “Both of you take a breath. Focus on one another.” He stopped behind Daralyn, a couple feet back and to the side, so she couldn’t see him, but Rory had a direct view.

  “Daralyn,” Des continued, his even timbre suggesting, reassuringly, that he knew everything about what he was talking about, “there’s nothing more important than your Master’s direction, his will. And nothing is more important to him than your protection and well-being.”

  “Absolutely,” Rory said, meeting her eyes. The torch light turned them a fascinating mixture of pewter and green, with glints of gold.

  So now he took a breath, and Daralyn copied the gesture, showing she was following Des’s direction and focusing on Rory’s lead. It changed the atmosphere further. Their circle of the world evolved into something separate from everything outside of it.

  Des made a gesture toward Rory’s feet, nodded to Daralyn and pantomimed a lifting of his hands. Rory got it. “Kneel at my feet, Daralyn,” he said. “Still facing me.”

  When she did, his heart tilted in the usual way when she assumed that position. “Lift your hands up to me,” he said. “Palms down.”

  She did it almost exactly as Des had demonstrated, her wrists side by side, the fingers open like a bird’s wings. She kept her eyes lowered, her lips parted. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the wine-colored fabric of her dress. The skirt had floated down around her so she looked like a wild primrose.