Page 51 of At Her Pleasure
As Mick approached, Lawrence was already flipping up the top of a cooler. “What’s your preference?” the former SEAL asked, reaching in to grab it.
Thank God, so Mick wouldn’t have to bend over and dig one out himself. He glanced at the offerings. “Modelo with lime’s good.”
He thought the slow saunter, the casual slouch, was doing a good cover, but as Mick took the beer, Tiger held up his hand. “Don’t sit down yet.”
At Mick’s curious look, the big biker strode away from the grill and ducked under the gazebo’s screen curtain. As he plucked a couple throw cushions from an unoccupied chair, he tossed a comment to Cyn. She flipped him off, making the women chuckle. Cyn directed her next words toward Skye, probably about how rude her man was.
Tiger returned and dumped the two cushions in an open Adirondack chair, pointing Mick to it. His eyes twinkled. “You look like you could use the padding.”
He’d decided to just stand, knowing the dangers of sitting in his current state, but his legs weren’t cooperating.
“Thanks.” Mortification seemed pointless, especially when the badass biker who’d provided the cushions was a submissive, and aware of Cyn’s MO.
Mick gingerly lowered himself. Adirondacks were like the bucket seat of a sports car, which meant he wasn’t sure how he’d get up without help, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
“Thanks, man.”
Cyn still didn’t look his way, but from the light smile on her devilish lips, he expected she was aware of the exchange. If she and everyone else assumed his state had to do with their meet earlier in the day, that worked. He wished it was true himself.
“You gotta look to fellow subs for the soft stuff.” Tiger pointed his spatula at Cyn. “Not getting it from that one.”
Mick grunted. “I’m not looking for that from her.”
Esteem, not tenderness. Yet she’d given him both, with equally devastating effects.
“Good thing.” Tiger grunted. “She used to have Skye do her aftercare, for the subs that needed more of it.”
“Were you one of them?” He didn’t mean it offensively, though a simmering jealousy spurred the question. That reaction didn’t surprise Mick, though he knew it had no justification.
“Only once or twice. She’s not my kink. Not a criticism, man. I just don’t need blood and pain in my life.”
Mick made a no problem gesture. He got it. Every man here, including himself, had blood and pain in his life, either in his past, present or future. Yet they were all different. Whereas Tiger had no desire to seek more out, Mick craved a bloodthirsty Mistress who served up agony like Paula Deen did a full Southern breakfast.
Tiger flipped the meat on the grill. One patty was on the corner, away from the others, and he removed it with a separate spatula, sliding it into a container. “Cyn’s veggie burger,” he explained, at Mick’s curious glance. “She’s vegan.”
Add that to the list of questions he’d like to ask her. They hadn’t really done a friendly “catch up” on the last ten years yet. Other things had taken precedence.
He noted the other men’s positions. Neil’s long legs were stretched out, ankles crossed, but he’d angled the chair so he could see Abby’s every gesture, same as Lawrence with Ros. Men attentive to their women’s needs.
When Mick had briefly met Abby at the club, he’d noted she rarely made full eye contact, though she would look to that person’s left or right, pointedly enough to convey she was paying attention. Since he could recognize a Domme at fifty paces, he’d known right off it wasn’t a submissive thing. His background search filled in the dismaying missing piece.
Her attention frequently touched on Neil—also a Dom, another surprise—as if he was a compass. He was still an active SEAL, which meant the TRA women provided a serious-ass support network during his deployments, for all the challenges her schizophrenia provided.
Anyone who hungered to see that kind of connection work, despite everything stacked against them, couldn’t help but be affected by it.
Mick put the beer against his temple, cooling his skin. It steadied and reminded him to watch his body language. He was in the company of those with keen observational skills.
Case in point. He’d caught Cyn’s attention. Her raised brow was likely the closest she came to “Are you okay?”
He tipped the beer her way. Then he realized her glass was empty. That was probably what the look was about. He really was off his game if he’d thought she was mothering him.
With an inner smile, he got to the edge of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. Fortunately for him, the chair was heavy-assed, solid wood, so he didn’t topple it.
“Problem?” Lawrence asked.
“Just seeing if Cyn needs a refill.”
He noted their speculative looks as he moved in her direction. Ducking under the screen curtain, he leaned over her shoulder where it pressed against the green striped cushions of the love seat, and slid his fingers along the curve. She sat next to Vera.