Page 56 of Laurels and Liquor

“No cheating, baby. If you come without asking, Rhett has given me permission to punish you. And itwillbe a punishment, none of this spank and a tickle shit that you secretly love,” he says sternly.

I blink, jaw falling open in shock. The toy goes still again, but I hardly notice. I’ve never seen Mateo like this, but the primal part of my mind doesn’t object to the change in the slightest. His shoulders are tense, eyes black with hunger as they look at me from under a stern brow. There’s an air of violence to him, one that sets something in me ablaze, wanting to rise to the unspoken challenge. But the desire to please my alphas crashes down on that momentary recklessness, and I nod vigorously.

Mateo’s smile is a dangerous flash of teeth, making me shiver again. “That’s what I thought. My good little baby girl knows better than to try her luck.”

I whimper and tuck my chin, leaning toward him on instinct. I have the sudden urge to climb into his lap, to be cuddled and pet, but I still have enough self-preservation to not try it while he’s driving. Instead, I lean as far as I can over the center console and rest my head on his shoulder. He turns and kisses the top of my head, and I smile as my shoulders do a preening little wiggle. His laugh soothes the frayed edges of my nerves, and I let myself indulge in the closeness for the last few minutes of our ride.

When we pull into the gravel parking lot, I look at the building beyond the locked chain-link fence and frown thoughtfully. It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it might be, based on the types of projects Lex, Rhett, and Mateo have taken on in the past. The outside looks worn, but there aren’t any smashed or boarded-up windows. The marque is yellowed with age but still intact, though I have to wonder at how many of the remaining lightbulbs would still glow at night.

I slide out of the car, my shoes crunching a little on the loose stone as I look up. Rhett told me a bit of the history of The Magnolia Garden Theater last week, so I could have a frame of reference for what I could expect. Still, I have to stop and stare up at the building, in awe of its elegance, even in decay. The brick walls are covered in vines and dirt, but the potential is there. Mateo comes up beside me, fingers looping through mine as we just stand for a moment together in silence. For the first time, the reality of this situation hits me. This building ismine.I’m going to be in charge of the restoration and operation of this historic landmark.

I let Mateo lead me through the front, the plywood-patched doors propped open by a cinderblock. There are glass cases where posters would go inside the vestibule, a short flight of crumbling stairs leading up to a second set of doors and into the foyer. Once inside, the air is cool and musty, dust lingering in the beams of sunlight filtering through the dirty windows. The lobby is shrouded in plastic, but I can see the shapes of a ticket booth and turnstiles below.

“Let me give you the tour,” Mateo says in my ear, putting a hand to my lower back.

I nod, following his lead. Looking around, I recall what Rhett told me. The Magnolia Garden first opened in the early 1900s, and it was the first building in Everton to have electricity, to light up the stage for all manner of traveling shows and plays. Even now, as Mateo and I wander through the dusty interior, I can see the old-fashioned candle sconces on the walls, still covered in century-old wax, mixed with more “modern” fixtures. When silent movies came along, a new theater was built across town, so business here trickled off. This building still had some use as a venue for live-action entertainment, and based on the dressing rooms and lounges Mateo shows me, it was certainly a place for the wealthy to see and be seen.

But the final nail came when the Broadway-caliber theater popped up in the next town over. It was bigger, state-of-the-art, and only an hour away. So The Magnolia Garden closed its doors in the seventies, and hasn’t opened to the public since. It was empty for a long time, but the last couple of decades saw it passed around from developer to developer, each one making incremental progress on refurbishments but never getting much accomplished before the costs exceeded the projected profits. Then they would sell, starting the process all over again, until finally, two months ago, The St. Clair Foundation managed to rescue it. The building itself is on the corner of the block, a prime spot that is easy to find, but not on any major commuting routes. I’m sure if this hadn’t been declared a landmark, someone would have torn it down and turned it into a gas station or something a long time ago.

Mateo’s hands stay in contact with my skin the entire time, and while I’m aware of it, my mind is too busy taking everything in. Each room we enter is in some state of demolition or repair. But my imagination is in overdrive, each space setting off a chain reaction of ideas, plans, and possibilities. Mateo does his best to describe the necessary structural changes they have planned, but it hardly matters. The place isn’t in as bad of shape as I’d feared, and I can already see the skeletons of the event spaces in place. They just need to be completed. I also hadn’t expected to see signs of work yet, but there’s a certain buzz of activity around, a few workmen outside taking a lunch break, a few more unloading a truck, the sounds of machinery in the distance. A few crew members wave at Mateo as we pass, a gesture he returns with a grin, but I stick as close to his side as I can.

We finish the tour in the theater, which, unlike modern ones, doesn’t have the sloped floor and fixed seats. Instead, it’s flat, more like a ballroom with a stage at the end. The mezzanine has pillars and arches currently supported by scaffolding, but it offers a perfect view of the entire room. I stand in the center of the empty space and spin in a slow circle, letting my mind paint over the cracks and the dust until the gold leaf shines and the hardwood gleams. I can see it all, how we’d set up the space for a wedding ceremony, and then how it would transform into a reception space while guests mingle on the terrace beyond the door on the west wall. There’s a lounge space that could be converted into a kitchen in the rear, and we wouldn’t lose an inch of beauty.

“I take it you like it?” Mateo asks, sliding up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

“It’s so… I can’t believe you’ve done this,” I whisper, voice cracking slightly.

He kisses my cheek, and I can feel his smile against my skin. “You deserve the world, Lydia. This is just the beginning of the amazing things our pack is going to do together.”

I’m about to respond when, out of nowhere, the toy comes to life at nearly full speed, both ends buzzing hard enough to make my teeth rattle. Mateo’s arms keep me from collapsing to the floor, holding me up as the strength goes out from my legs. I bite my lip hard, whining and shaking. He purrs in my ear, one of his hands sliding down to cup my mound over my skirt.

“Oh, baby girl. Rhett’s playing with you hard now, isn’t he? Does it feel good?” Mateo breathes, pressing the toy and grinding his cock against my ass.

I nod, gasping as the inserted bulb pulses rapidly, and I swear it moves, almost like it’s rotating and stretching me in just the right way. I let Mateo walk us forward until we’re under the cover of the mezzanine, not that it does much to block us from view of anyone passing along to the opposite walkway. But at least I’m not convulsing out in the open.

“You want to come so bad, I’m sure. You’ve been worked up all day, and not able to do anything about it,” Mateo continues, the hand not pressed against my core, gathering up the fabric of my skirt until it can slip under.

I nod again, knees knocking together and eyes screwed tight. I fumble for my bag, trying to get to my phone. I’m barely hanging on, and I need to text Rhett.

“Ah, ah, ah, stay with me, baby girl. Stay. Right. Here.”

Mateo punctuates those last three words by pushing against the toy hard, fucking it somehow even deeper. I whimper, slumping back against him, mind at war. I told Rhett I’d play by his rules, but Mateo is right here, his purring growl against my back and hands all over me. But I don’t want to disappoint Rhett. Not when I promised him I’d be his good girl. I’m momentarily distracted as I feel something against my ear, and I open my eyes at Mateo’s touch, and then something rubbery slips into my ear for a moment.

“Hello, little one.”

Rhett’s voice nearly makes me sob, and I cover my mouth with one hand to muffle the sound, and I adjust the earpiece with my other.

“Mateo is taking the lead, but I’m going to be right here. I can hear you, so don’t forget our words and our rules,” Rhett says calmly, a balm that washes over me like spring rain.

“Yes, sir. Red to stop, yellow to slow down. And I’ll ask before I come,” I answer, reiterating the rules from earlier on instinct.

Rhett hums in pleasure, and my stomach does a limp little flip-flop. He’s about to say something else, but Mateo takes the earpiece away before I can hear. And he laughs when I let out a noise of indignation. But my irritation slips away as the hand under my skirt slips between my legs. Mateo groans low in his throat, fingers tracing the toy through the fabric of my panties.

“You must be so uncomfortable with your panties soaked like this, baby girl,” he coos, fingers slipping below the waistband and peeling them away.

I shiver as cool air hits my soaked thighs and lips, but once my panties hit my ankles, I kick them off carelessly, panting even as the toy slows down. It’s not vibrating as hard, but I can still definitely feel the inner bulb rotating in slow circles inside of me. I try to rock in time with the motion, but Mateo presses me against the wall face first, pinning me and shielding me with his body. I have enough room to arch back into him, but I have no choice but to go still.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, making a mess all over yourself for your alphas,” Mateo purrs in my ear, quiet enough not to carry through the empty room.

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