Page 74 of Wings
"Good to know." He made an exaggerated note that made me giggle. "Degradation?"
"No." This was firm, immediate. "Never. I know some people like it but . . ."
"But you need to be built up, not torn down," he finished. "Treasured, not humiliated. That's perfect, baby girl. That's you knowing yourself."
Name-calling (only sweet ones), pet names (extensive list provided), verbal commands (yes yes yes). Each negotiation peeled back another layer, revealing the shape of what we were building together.
"One more section for private negotiation," he said finally, voice gentler. "Sharing."
I tensed immediately. "Like . . . with others?"
"No. Sharing information. The contract asks about privacy levels—what can be discussed with others in the lifestyle, what stays completely between us, how to handle questions from vanilla friends."
Relief flooded through me. "Oh. That's . . . yes, we should talk about that."
"I want to brag about my good girl," he admitted. "Want everyone to know how perfect you are for me. But I'd never share intimate details without permission."
"Scene details stay private," I said immediately. "But dynamics . . . I like when people know I'm yours. Like when you put your hand on my back at the clubhouse, guiding me. That claiming in public makes me feel . . ."
"Cherished?"
"Owned," I corrected, then blushed at the admission. "In the best way."
"Then we don't hide." He made another note. "But always at your comfort level. You can dial it back anytime, no questions asked."
"What about during work?" This worried me more. "I can't exactly drop into little space during a trauma."
"Basic protocols only. Meal requirements, check-in texts, bedtime rules. Nothing that interferes with your professional responsibilities." He set the pen down, taking my hands. "Kiara, your work is important. Being a nurse is part of who you are. The dynamic supports your life, not replaces it."
Tyson returned with the gravity of a priest approaching the altar, his presence immediately shifting the room back to ceremonial formality. In his hands, he carried a wooden signing board—polished mahogany that gleamed in the candlelight.
"Have you completed your private negotiations?" His voice carried that same weight from earlier, judge and witness combined.
"We have," Gabe answered for both of us, his hand finding the small of my back. The touch grounded me as Tyson arranged the final documents on the table's surface.
"Then we proceed to the signing." He placed three fountain pens in a neat row—one for each of us. "This contract, negotiated in good faith and with full consent, will bind you for one year from today's date. Do you both understand?"
"Yes," we said in unison, the word hanging in the air like a vow.
Tyson nodded solemnly. "Gabriel ‘Wings’ Moreno, do you accept the responsibilities of Dominant as outlined in thiscontract? Do you promise to protect, guide, and cherish Kiara Santos within the bounds of your negotiated dynamic?"
"I do." Gabe's voice held no hesitation, only certainty that made my knees weak.
"Kiara Santos, do you accept the role of submissive as outlined in this contract? Do you promise to trust, communicate, and submit to Gabriel Moreno within the bounds of your negotiated dynamic?"
"I do." The words came out clear despite my racing heart.
"Then sign."
Gabe went first, his signature bold and decisive across the bottom of each page. The fountain pen moved with assured strokes—this was not a man who doubted his choices. When he finished, he set the pen down carefully and looked at me with such intensity I forgot to breathe.
My turn. The pen felt heavier now, weighted with significance. But my hand stayed steady as I signed my name next to his. It felt like crossing a threshold—no going back, only forward into whatever we would build together.
"As witness to this contract," Tyson intoned, adding his signature with flourish, "I acknowledge the sacred trust between you. May your dynamic bring growth, joy, and mutual satisfaction."
He pressed a seal next to his name—the Heavy Kings' crown surrounded by Latin words I couldn't read. Official club business now, our contract protected by the brotherhood's weight.
"The contract will be kept in the club safe," Tyson explained, organizing the pages with military precision. "You'll each receive notarized copies for your records. On this date next year, we'll meet again for renewal or renegotiation."
