Page 1 of Binding Their Hearts

Chapter one

Henry

Alice, squeezing closer, jostled Henry as a sequin-gowned diva wove through the crowd behind them.

Her fingertips a pleasant pressure, Alice used his arm for leverage and stretched upward, presumably in search of more height than the low slingback heels he’d placed on her feet provided. “Emma’s gonna have a fire code violation on her hands if this doesn’t thin out.”

“People will drift upstairs once Silke makes her—” Speech, he’d been about to say, before the statuesque blonde mounted a table and gave a piercing whistle. The salon crowd came to respectful attention.

“Listen up, darlings—and you’d best have a drink in hand, because we’re about to toast me and my ever-faithful Lacey”—Silke laid one hand atop the younger woman’s head, possibly for balance—“the love of my life, the keeper of my heart—”

“The eager receiver of your lashings,” the submissive in question teased, then hissed as Silke tightened her grip on a hank of hair and tugged. The silver formal collar around Lacey’s throat flashed; the cords in her neck stood out in a delicious play of edge and shadow.

“Yes, and that, and a dozen other things I won’t describe now, but you all should come by Room 307 later to witness.”

Jay arrived with drinks as Silke extolled the miracle of finding her One True Partner and recounted the year since Lacey’s collaring, the milestone they meant to celebrate tonight—and the relationship Henry’s portrait of her and her pet commemorated.

“Hibiscus ginger punch.” Jay spoke under his breath as he passed around champagne flutes with the mocktails. “Getting to the drinks table was crazy.” He fluffed hair out of his eyes with a quick breath before Alice reached up and combed the dark strands back with her fingers. They would fall forward again in a moment; they always did on his delightfully shaggy boy. “Oh, and some woman’s in love with the close-up knotwork piece. Elliott was talking to her when I went by.”

“Was he? Excellent.” His agent knew how to work a room, particularly one at the club. The more innocuous—not innocent, never that—paintings he set aside for gallery shows, but the less veiled passions stood on easels along the windowed wall tonight, the closed curtains sealing the club in its cocoon of kink-positive drama and revels. Only eleven pieces on display, but Claire’s sitting over the summer had produced three of those thus far in addition to the actual commission. More would come from the quick side sketches he’d made.

“—complete without thanks to the talented Master Henry.” Silke raised her glass in salute, and he responded in kind. “If you haven’t seen the absolutely fabulous portrait of me and Lacey yet, I don’t even know you. Marvel, and then come tell me how wonderful we look so my pet can bask in the glow of adoration. Some of you, and you know who you are”—she stabbed a finger at various points around the room—“scoffed when I said I’d found my forever pet. And it’s true, I had my wild days—”

Wild years, more like, but Silke’s habit of taking new partners every weekend was nothing uncommon when submissives were plentiful and novelty exciting. A fresh puzzle to unravel behind every set of earnest, pleading eyes. He’d done the same himself until Jay’s brown depths drowned him in need and desire. And love. An incalculable treasure, that.

“—time to settle down. It’s quite fashionable.” Silke tapped a finger against her mouth and feigned a mischievous, conspiratorial smile. “Even Henry seems to have gone and gotten himself a permanent roster.”

Lifting his chin, he allowed a lazy grin to cross his lips as the crowd chuckled. The interminable attention would be the worst part of the evening. But Silke had wanted an unveiling for her portrait to celebrate their collaring anniversary, and he couldn’t very well not attend. Besides, the pieces he would sell tonight and the commissions the portrait would drum up could come in quite handy, given that he intended to buy his lovers a true home on a far grander scale than the current condo.

Silke finished holding court, cries of Cheers! and Salut! and Slainte! echoing around the room before the crowd downed their nonalcoholic beverage of choice. No alcohol in the club, no exceptions but for the bottle of scotch in Victor’s office. Club members played clear-headed or not at all. The ginger made the punch Jay had selected pleasingly tart on Henry’s tongue. “Delightful choice, my boy. Well done.”

Jay squared his shoulders, standing taller as he gave a happy wriggle, his lanky, muscled body concealed by entirely too much clothing. They’d correct that the instant they arrived home.

Acquaintances and newcomers alike approached, brimming with compliments and questions about the art. Henry dampened his arousal, settling into the welcoming attitude the evening required.

At the first gap, Alice pressed a kiss against his jawline and whispered, “Jay and I will go mingle and scare up more would-be clients to pester you.”

A turn of his head wedded their lips for a brief moment. “We’ll be home late tonight, but don’t imagine it will be too late to punish you for that, minx.”

Hazel eyes sparkled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Clasping Jay’s hand, she threaded her way through the crowd as another admirer descended upon him.

A handful of interesting prospects emerged; he sent each in turn toward Elliott. Perhaps he might expand the budget for the new house. Narrowing the neighborhoods to those suitable for his purpose had resulted in a truly limited selection. Emma might know an agent with the proper connections—ah, and there she stood, bending Will’s ear. Almost literally, given that his oldest friend had to stoop to hear the petite woman’s words amid the din. Will spoke to her in reply, and her smile danced.

Nearer, a familiar man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard crossed his eyeline.

“Allen,” Henry called, waving him over. “A moment, if you will?”

Allen changed direction toward him. “Henry. Nice work. Not my medium, but stunning as always.”

“A fine compliment from a craftsman such as yourself.” No sign of Alice or Jay in the clusters nearby, but he lowered his voice nonetheless. “I wanted to speak to you about a special order. Something personal, not for the club. Am I too late for delivery before the end of November?”

“Depends on what you’re wanting, and whether I’ve made it before or it’s a one-off.” Allen crossed an arm over his chest and planted his opposite elbow atop his hand, knocking his curled fingers against his lips. “You ready to talk specs?”

He sketched out the bare details before promising to follow up with a call Monday as another potential commission client joined the conversation. Flashing a thumbs-up, Allen slipped away. Henry fielded questions from an excitable submissive, a stern-faced woman of indeterminate persuasion, and a polycule tripping over each other’s sentences. In the lull as they departed, he took a long drink and finished the last of his punch.

“Henry, good news.” Elliott stopped at his elbow, pad and pen in his grasp, his head slightly dipped for all that he wasn’t—had never been—Henry’s submissive. Though he’d posed for one of Henry’s first commissions, in service to a master who’d since moved on. “I’ll get these transferred to my phone once I claim it from the desk, and double-check the schedule, but so far I have seven new client consultation requests for commissions. Oh, and we’ve sold three of the pieces already, and I do think another—ah, yes, pardon me, that garcon, check please! wave is for me.”

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