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