Suncoast Society
Chains
Rebecca escaped her abusive, domineering ex-husband and Dom for a life on the road as a chainmaille jewelry artisan with her dog, Chewi. Unfortunately, she couldn’t escape the fear that ruled her life. When her uncle’s death forces her home again, she meets Toby and Logan and realizes maybe she’s not as happy as she thought.
Toby and Logan are struggling after a betrayal by an ex. Then they discover their next door neighbor’s body and it shocks them into realizing how short and precious life is. When they learn their neighbor’s niece has friends in common with them, signs point to yes and they decide to take another chance.
Rebecca knows their friends are all rooting for them, but when a chance encounter with her ex shatters her calm, she realizes she’s going to have to decide whether to run, or to take a stand and fight the invisible chains she’s allowed to bind her all these years.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 34,108 words
CHAINS
Suncoast Society
Tymber Dalton
SIREN SENSATIONS
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Siren Sensations
CHAINS
Copyright © 2015 by Tymber Dalton
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-130-2
First E-book Publication: April 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
This one’s for Gidget, the inspiration for Chewi.
One of these days, she’s going to find appropriate “minuns,” and then we’ll all be in trouble…
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While all the books in the Suncoast Society series are standalone works which may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers is as follows:
1. Safe Harbor
2. Cardinal’s Rule
3. Domme by Default
4. The Reluctant Dom
5. The Denim Dom
6. Pinch Me
7. Broken Toy
8. A Clean Sweep
9. A Roll of the Dice
10. His Canvas
11. A Lovely Shade of Ouch
12. Crafty Bastards
13. A Merry Little Kinkmas
14. Sapiosexual
15. A Very Kinky Valentine’s Day
16. Things Made Right
17. Click
18. Spank or Treat
19. A Turn of the Screwed
20. Chains
Eliza first appears in A Roll of the Dice, and also appears in A Turn of the Screwed.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About the Author
CHAINS
Suncoast Society
TYMBER DALTON
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
It was a gorgeous day for a joust. Sunny, not too hot, and with just enough of a cool breeze blowing through the woods surrounding the grounds to keep things comfortable without wreaking havoc with the tents or blowing dust everywhere.
Rebecca sat in the shade of her tent and took a moment to watch the people walking the grounds. Elegant ladies modeling their finery, handsome knights, a few knaves and wenches, even the occasional pirate. And, of course, plenty of common folk. The scent of roasting meat and other delicacies hovered in the air, on the breeze, as well as the hint of horse manure.
The latest project she was working on lay safely nestled in the folds of her skirt, forgotten as she focused on a jester annoying a couple trying to eat their roasted turkey legs in peace.
A woman who’d been browsing some of Rebecca’s wares held up a bracelet.
“Excuse me, do you take credit cards?”
“Sure do, m’lady.” Rebecca had a small table set up next to her to hold the chainmaille rings and supplies she needed. So she transferred the project in her lap to the table and reached inside the tent to grab her tablet from the messenger bag she used as her purse.
Turning it on, she brought up her credit card software, swiped the woman’s card through the reader hooked into the earbud jack, and then e-mailed the woman a receipt while she put the bracelet on.
“Oh, what an adorable dog!” she said, making Rebecca glance behind her.
Chewi, awakened by the discussion, was standing at the opening of Rebecca’s tent. The little four-year-old, short-haired tri-color terrier-Chihuahua mix wore an ornate chainmaille vest of many colors. Just over fifteen pounds, he frequently acted like he weighed a hundred and fifteen.
“Thank you. Chewi’s my baby. He goes everywhere with me.”
Chewi sat and sneezed at them.
“Do you sell online?”
&
nbsp; “I sure do.” Rebecca reached over and plucked a couple of cards from a business card holder on her table, handing them to the woman. “I have an Etsy store and a website.”
“Great, thank you!” The woman tucked the cards into her purse. “Have a nice day.”
“Thanks! You, too.” Rebecca sat in the camp chair again and reached over to pet Chewi. “Well, that was another couple of weeks of your kibble,” she joked. “Guess I can keep feeding you.”
This was an old private joke between them. He simply glared at her, as if the idea of her not feeding him was ludicrous.
Here I am, thirty-seven, and I’m talking to my dog.
Worse, there were times, frequent times—as in every day—that she held full conversations with Chewi, including an entire mythos about him trying to rule the world.
And he talked back.
I need help.
No, what she needed were more friends, or…well, maybe she did need therapy.
Over in “the pit,” as everyone called it, she heard a roar from the crowd as the jousting display kicked off. That likely meant business would be slow for the next thirty minutes or so. Once the crowd broke up, they’d head for the main row of food tents located just past her, meaning a flood of people.
Including ones with sticky fingers.
She was lucky she lost very few items to theft, and then usually only small things like earrings or bracelets.
For good measure, she pulled some of her more expensive pieces off the table and slipped them into a glass-topped display box with a few intricate and ornate pieces she never left in the open. Then she thinned out the bracelet display, removing a couple of duplicates, as well as some of the earrings.
Never hurt to be safe.
By the end of the day, she’d made over five hundred dollars in sales and didn’t appear to have lost anything. Not her best day, but not bad for a Friday, and at least she’d almost made back her vendor fee for the event. Tomorrow would be busy, and she’d tip over the scales into the black in terms of what she’d shelled out for the vendor space.
After noting which pieces she’d sold so she could remake them, she packed her merchandise and supplies in totes to stack on her cart to take back to her RV. All the while, Chewi sat and watched her with a baleful glare.
“This would go faster if you’d help me, you know, instead of giving me dirty looks,” she shot back at him.
He sneezed at her.
* * * *
Some of the other vendors boondocked on the grounds at the South Carolina park, tapping into an iffy electrical system or using their gennys, but Rebecca didn’t want to do that. Not at this venue.
Not when there was an excellent RV park literally five minutes away with all the comforts of home, including free Wi-Fi.
And, since she worked from her “home,” she could deduct part of her costs as business expenses.
She loaded her stuff into the back of the Toad, her green Honda CRV, got Chewi’s safety harness on him, strapped him into the passenger seat, and hit the road.
The RV park was a nice one she’d stayed at plenty of times before, always booking herself a space in advance as soon as she had the next Ren fair’s dates in her calendar and had confirmed herself a vendor space. For this fair, which lasted three weekends, she’d spend the entire time living there at the RV park. It meant catching up on shipping orders for her Etsy store, replenishing her supplies because she’d be in one spot long enough to receive a shipment, and being able to actually sit and make new products instead of driving to the next venue.
It also meant her best friend, Eliza, could ship her any mail she had sitting there at her and Rusty’s house in Sarasota. Most everything Rebecca did was online, including paying her bills, but there were things, like renewing her license plates and her insurance, that required a permanent address.
She’d known Eliza and Rusty for years, meeting them through their participation in Ren fairs and the SCA in Florida back when Rebecca was in college. Any time she was in Sarasota—which wasn’t often, unfortunately—she parked at their house and she and Chewi stayed with them for a few days. Normally she saw them a few times a year up in Tampa, or Orlando, or at other events around the state, where they came to see her.
Sarasota, unfortunately, was an area Rebecca tended to avoid.
Too many bad memories, and as unrealistic a fear as she knew it was, she didn’t want to run into her ex.
And with her luck, she likely would.
* * * *
Rebecca had arrived at the RV park late Wednesday night, and Thursday had been spent checking in with the fair officials, finding her vendor space, and getting her tent and display tables set up. So she hadn’t even had a chance to settle in to her temporary home yet.
After nearly ten years of existing like this, she had it down to a science. Living in an RV suited her, allowing her the freedom to vend at different events without worrying about a home left behind.
It also meant no way for Sam to be able to track her down.
She knew she was being paranoid. It’d been four years since the last time she’d received word from someone that Sam had asked about her or mentioned her.
Not one to take chances, she preferred the anonymity of a roving life to being a sitting duck.
This RV was her second, and at thirty-two feet it was ten feet larger than her last one. She’d saved up for it, buying it used, but it’d been only two years old and had less than ten thousand miles on it when she got it.
So far, it was holding up well. One day she’d like to upgrade to a slightly larger one, but that was future thinking. And the Toad, as she’d dubbed her green CRV, was in great shape even though it was ten years old. Most of its road miles were earned while being towed on the car dolly behind the RV.
Tonight she got Chewi and her stuff unloaded and inside the RV before locking herself in and taking a long, hot shower.
That was another reason she didn’t want to boondock. After years of doing this, she knew some of these Ren fairs were dusty, dirty events. She wanted the luxury of a long, hot shower without worrying about water supplies or how full her grey-water tank was getting. Being hooked directly into the sewer line, and with an incoming fresh-water supply, meant she could take as long a shower as she wanted. Her tankless water heater kept up with it, no problem.
Finally, she emerged, wearing a T-shirt and with her long, curly brown hair wrapped in a towel. She sank down onto the couch and stared at where Chewi had taken up residence in his bed on the passenger seat, which she’d turned around backward so he could see the interior.
“Ready for dinner?”
He sniffed at her.
“Of course you are.” She scooped him out a bowl of kibble and set it down for him next to his water bowl.
He stared at her, not moving from his bed.
“I told you last night, no more pawside service. Not when you keep trying to bury it in your bed.”
Slowly, he stood, stretched, then jumped down and walked over to his bowl, staring up at her.
Bitch.
Well, that’s what his expression read, anyway.
“Deal with it,” she told him as she tried to decide what she wanted for dinner. First, though, she flipped on the TV and scrolled through the channels until she found something interesting. She’d invested in a satellite package that meant no matter where she was, she could usually get reception.
Worth every penny, and then some.
She settled on nuking a bowl of leftover macaroni casserole, a mix of ham and cheese and broccoli, instead of cooking something else. Then she settled back on the couch to watch TV and eat before her next part of her routine would begin.
Paperwork.
Logging in what she’d sold, bookkeeping, and checking for new online orders. She also specialized in custom BDSM collars for people, collars that looked like chainmaille jewelry and could be worn every day without causing suspicion. Three quarters of her online income was that demographic.
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Unfortunately, it was also how she’d met Sam, in a local BDSM community in the Sarasota area.
When she’d divorced him and taken off for a roving RV life, she’d unfortunately left that part of herself behind. She missed having a Dom, and she wouldn’t deny it.
But not that Dom. And maybe after being independent for so many years, she knew she might not even be fit for a relationship, much less be a submissive in a D/s one.
Didn’t mean she didn’t miss being in one.
* * * *
By the time she was ready to collapse for the night a little after ten, she’d caught up with her bookkeeping and made two bracelets to replace ones she’d sold that day. She’d e-mailed Eliza the RV park’s address, too, something she’d meant to do the day before and had forgotten.
With Chewi curled along her back, she settled in, the RV’s AC unit humming and helping to drown out the various sounds outside.
Overall, other than the occasional loneliness, she didn’t have many complaints about her life. Her parents lived in California, a state Rebecca didn’t like driving the RV through. Not the southern part of the state, at least. Too much traffic, and gas prices were too damn expensive. They usually flew out and met her somewhere every Christmas, usually somewhere warm, and they’d spend a week with her in whatever locale Rebecca had picked for the holiday.
She had plenty of friends online, via Facebook and FetLife, as well as friends she regularly saw at events where she vended.
She could pay her bills, had a decent savings account built up, owned her home—technically—and had a fairly low-stress existence.