TRUST - Meghan & Quint (Fettered Book 5)

by Lilia Moon

  Then I cop a feel, mostly to see whether she’s far enough back on the special stool for my fingers to have all the access they want. I let myself be briefly distracted by how slick she is. Prim Meghan might be protesting, but pussies don’t lie—and I want more access to this one. I lean into her ear again. “Spread your knees as wide as you can on the stool.”

  Her cheeks are the color of the cranberry juice she’s ordered. “Sir. Please.”

  This is where trust needs to grow muscles and flex. “Now, sweetheart. Or the whole bar will get to see me spreading them for you.”

  Her squawk says I’m a hairsbreadth away from getting my balls kicked in, but it also says she’s far too aroused to even be considering heading for the door. I keep cupping her, palm on her ass, fingers running along her pussy, as she spreads her knees. It’s not a fast process. One slow, painstaking inch at a time.

  Bicep curls for her trust.

  I smile as she finally has herself spread like a buffet for my fingers. “Very nice. You’re wet. What part of this is arousing for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I stroke a finger down her pussy, front to back. “Try again.”

  She groans, very quietly. “Breaking the rules.”

  We’re not breaking them. We’re telling them to go to fucking hell. “Anything else?”

  She hides her face in her hands. “The guy at the end of the bar is watching us. He knows exactly what you’re doing.”

  It doesn’t sound like the answer to my question, but I think maybe it is. “Do you like him looking? Do you like him knowing that my fingers are touching your pussy? That I can do anything I want to you tonight and you’ll take it?”

  The last one gets a squeak of protest, but her pussy has a different opinion.

  I draw a finger through the new wetness. Pussies don’t lie.

  Mike strolls back over with a dessert menu and Meghan’s drink. It’s in a martini glass, which is both inventive and evil. Her hands won’t need to shake much to spill it. “The chocolate cake is out of this world, or if you’re looking for something more daring, I’ve got some vodka truffles and strawberry ice cream.”

  Meghan looks ready to crawl under her bar stool and hide. “I’m not daring. At all. I’ll take the really boring chocolate cake, please.”

  Mike turns away and manages to hide the hilarity in his eyes. I roll mine. He’s not supposed to be enjoying my sub. That’s my job. I slide Meghan’s glass over a couple of inches. Staking my claim. “I want you to hold your drink in both hands. You’ll sip from it slowly. Your job is to sit here silently and look like a woman having a quiet drink at a bar on a Friday night. No matter what else is happening.” I’m not actually worried about that part. Some subs wouldn’t give a fuck if every patron in the bar heard them come, but Meghan’s far too worried about what people think to be one of them.

  She is right now, anyhow.

  Sometime in the next fifteen minutes, I hope to change that.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Meghan

  I have no idea how I got here. I mean, I do, and I’m clear that so far I’ve consented to everything Quint has done. Been a willing participant, even. But some core part of my brain is cracking open right now because I’m sitting on a bar stool, holding a glass of cranberry juice that’s threatening to slosh over the brim at any moment, waiting to see what the man with his hand up my skirt is going to do next.

  It’s so far beyond what I think is proper and polite that those words have ceased to have any meaning. My brain feels like a dreamy highlight reel, one that’s blurred and occasionally zooms in on the eyes of the man across the bar or Mike’s hands as he wipes up imaginary spills.

  The rest of me is in the skin currently being stroked by my Dom’s fingers. They aren’t demanding anything, sliding in leisurely strokes from the front of my pussy to the back. Staking ownership. Making very clear that this is his sandbox and he can do anything he likes.

  His head tips toward my ear, which makes my hands shake even harder. “Take a sip of your drink. Hold it in your mouth until I tell you to swallow.”

  I take a small sip and set the glass back down on the bar. I keep my hands wrapped around it, breathing through my nose. Quint’s finger curls up and slides into my pussy. In a bar. With people watching.

  I nearly choke on the juice in my mouth, and then his finger is back out, circling my pussy. “Swallow, sweetheart.”

  It takes me a minute to figure out how to do that when my throat is busy trying to whimper. I gasp for breath as his finger slides into me again.

  “I’m fine with you being noisy.” He sounds amused. “But know that if you are, your audience is going to get a lot bigger.”

  I sit up straight and try to look like a woman who isn’t being finger fucked on a bar stool.

  “Very nice.” He picks up my drink and sets it back in my hands. “You have your safewords.”

  I realize, belatedly, that there are no fingers stroking my pussy anymore—and then I feel something cool. Hard. Slicking through my juices and pushing up into me like I get no say in this at all.

  I shake my head. That part is wrong. I do get a say. My line is shiny and clear. If I do nothing else right tonight, I’ll remember that much.

  Whatever he’s inserted into me feels full and cool, like I’ve just been stuffed with an egg. An egg with a tongue. He’s positioning something with his fingers, right over my clit. I whimper and clutch the stem of my drink hard enough to break it. I have no idea what aisle of the sex toy shop we just wandered into, but I’m pretty sure it’s zoomed us another light year or two away from proper and polite.

  Quint’s fingers massage my shoulders. He nuzzles my neck, dropping small kisses. “You’re so beautiful right now. Letting me give you what you need. Trusting that I’ll keep you safe. Letting me break you apart.”

  That’s exactly what he’s doing. Breaking me. Cracking the pieces of Meghan Delany and leaving them on the barroom floor.

  I shudder under his kisses.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Quint

  I never talk this much during a scene. Never need a sub to hear that she’s beautiful, but she is, even if she doesn’t understand just how deeply she’s surrendering to me right now.

  I glance at Mike and Neil. They look interested. Unconcerned. Good enough. Their job is managing our audience. Mine is helping the woman currently slicking my fingers discover just how good it can be to please one person, and only one.

  I reach into my pocket and turn on the vibe. Lowest setting, just enough to set up a slow rumble in her pussy and a little action on her clit. Not enough to make her come, but enough to screw with her focus and her manners and to push that blush a little further up her cheeks.

  I won’t let anyone see her naked ass—but I want everyone to see her arousal.

  She glugs cranberry juice like a parched desert nomad and then bangs it down on the counter like a regular who is three drinks in and wants another.

  Mike grins and delivers a refill—and an enormous slice of chocolate cake.

  I fork a small bite and hold it to her lips. “You wanted chocolate. I aim to please.”

  She groans, the pleasure that she’s been holding back leaking out into the first socially acceptable outlet I’ve given her.

  Fine, I can take that away too. I nod at Mike and he steps back over our way. “Good, isn’t it? My girlfriend swears the guy who makes it has some ingredients that are illegal.”

  Tracy isn’t a sub who shies away from illegal. She’s also a chocolate addict, so the cake is probably as good as he says it is.

  “It’s delicious.” Meghan’s voice swings between squeaks and sexy jazz singer.

  I run my wet fingers slowly back toward her ass crack. Mike hangs out as I feed my sub another bite. Just a bartender with nothing better to do than to talk to a cake-eating customer.

  “Most bars don’t serve desserts.”

  I give Meghan full points—most subs
would have entirely given up on conversation by now. I rim her with fingers so slick I’m not going to need lube, but I plan to use it anyhow. That requires the temporary use of two hands, which I manage fairly discreetly behind Meghan’s back. Neil scans the bar and then glues his eyes back on the action. He’s a total ass man, and he knows exactly what the lube means.

  “Desserts are good for getting more ladies in here.” Mike’s clearly enjoying the show, but he’s pro enough to keep playing the role I’ve given him. A customer steps up to the middle of the bar and I give him a nod. “I’ll be back in a bit. Enjoy your cake.”

  Meghan doesn’t even begin to answer him. She just dips her head toward her drink and moans.

  I slide a wet finger into her ass.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Meghan

  My whole body freezes. I can’t feel anything except the finger that has just shattered everything that’s left of proper-and-polite Meghan. The finger that holds both threat and promise. Trust and he will take me places I could never, ever go alone.

  Trust—or be honest and let him know I can’t do this.

  I quiver again. “Yellow. Please. I need to think.”

  “Okay.” He leans in, and I can hear the approval in his voice—and whatever is inside my pussy quiets. “Do you need my finger out of your ass?”

  No. I need to feel the threat. To make my peace with it, or to decide that today it gets to chase me back to prim and proper. I need to feel the threat and I need to feel the promise. The one that says there’s a whole Meghan waiting to happen and she’s totally fucking amazing. I breathe into that, impaled on his finger and on the wild, sharp edge of what he’s asking of me.

  Somewhere, from deep within my bones and my skin, an answer rises up to meet him. It’s not the answer of my brain. That died when the last pieces of proper-and-polite Meghan hit the barroom floor.

  I want this. I want to be the woman who got banged against a wall and liked it. The woman who has two red crop marks on her ass and is proud of them. The woman who can come in the dim back corner of a neighborhood bar and not care if people are watching.

  Maybe I even want them to watch.

  I somehow manage to unscrew my eyes all the way open, and the first thing I see is the man at the end of the bar, watching me like I’m the most interesting, hot, fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

  I feel my brain bellowing, trying to make him sleazy, but he isn’t. He doesn’t want me, or if he does, it’s in the realm of imaginary enough that I can let it be. He isn’t going to grope me. That right is entirely owned by the man behind me. The guy drinking from a shot glass and calmly meeting my gaze—he wants what I have right now. He’s deeply enjoying this. Honoring it, even.

  Not sleazy at all.

  I thank him with my eyes—and then I close them. “Green.”

  I hear Quint’s fierce intake of breath. “Be sure.”

  I am. I sit up straight. Proud. Letting everyone see whatever it is they want to see. Letting Quint see me standing bright on the right side of my line.

  He growls, and his finger slides much deeper into my ass. I can hear the quiet slurping noises it makes, or maybe that’s my pussy. I’m so wet, and whatever’s still inside my pussy has started up its slow, inexorable earthquake again. His finger retreats and slides in, slowly fucking my ass in a way that’s lighting small fires all over my skin.

  His other hand wanders up over my belly and cups a breast, squeezing a nipple. A second finger joins the first in my ass. “Give me a taste of your cake, Meghan.”

  He wants me to feed him? My brain can barely compute. He rolls my nipple as I pick up my fork and it clatters to the bar. I wince as the bartender chuckles. People are definitely watching.

  I take a deep breath and meet Mike’s eyes. I don’t know why he’s a part of this, but he is and I won’t pretend otherwise. I want him to see too.

  Me, bright and shiny, on the right side of the line.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Quint

  I can see the approval in Mike’s eyes—and enough arousal that I’m pretty sure Tracy will be sending me one of her pretty, handwritten thank-you cards.

  I’ll be sending him one, too. He has no idea what cliff my sub just threw herself off of, but I do. Last time she forgot the audience was there. This time I wasn’t going to let her forget. I never expected her to choose not to hide. Not like this. She’s sitting up, all pretty and flushed and aroused as hell, panting lightly with every thrust of my fingers into her ass and meeting Mike’s eyes. Then Neil’s gaze, and he shifts his enough to let her see his arousal. The man would happily join us, and he’s making that clear.

  Fortunately for him, he’s also making clear that he knows he won’t be leaving his bar stool.

  I’m Dom enough to be surprised at myself, even this deep into a scene. Sharing’s never been my biggest kink, but it’s never been anywhere near a hard limit, either. I’m pretty sure it just landed there with two concrete-encased feet. I thrust a little harder into my sub’s tight, slick ass. Hard enough that she grunts a little and her eyes slide closed.

  She’s close.

  Mike catches my eye and backs away again. Blocking sight lines. It’s time for the amazingly sexy woman tucked up against me to have the orgasm she so thoroughly deserves.

  I pick up the fork and feed her another bite of chocolate cake. A gag, of sorts, because her whimpers are sexy as fuck and also getting louder. “One day it’s going to be my cock in your ass. I’ll sit you just like this and put a drink in your hands and if you spill a drop, I won’t let you come.”

  She’s licking the tines of the fork, her tongue desperate and needy.

  I dial up the vibe in her pussy a notch. Her ass clenches my fingers, and her throat closes around the cake she just tried to swallow. I keep fucking her ass with my hand. Even her forehead is rosy now. “Or maybe I’ll bend you over the bar and put a couple of crop marks on your ass before I fuck you.” Not this bar, but she’s way too far gone to have a grip on logic. I squeeze a thumb over one of the marks that I put on her today. “So that people can see how beautiful you are, and that you’re mine.”

  Her moan is low and quiet and so intense it rumbles out into the entire bar. Sharing her need with everyone who has ears smart enough to listen.

  My fingers pick up their pace. I could end this in seconds with another click on the remote in my pocket, but I don’t want to. I want my hands to do this. My thrusts are short and very intense, nearly lifting her off the stool with the force in my fingers. She doesn’t like it gentle.

  Her back arches, a woman in prayer. Needing. Begging. Her hands are flat on the bar, fingers outstretched and reaching, her breath one long, cock-blowing whisper of a plea.

  Chapter Fifty

  Meghan

  I know how I’m going to die now. In a bar, my face planted in chocolate cake, with a man’s fingers up my ass and the best freaking orgasm of my life shutting down what’s left of my organ function.

  I tilt sideways, leaning into the solid chest of the guy who’s brought me to the edge of death.

  I’m not leaving until he gives me what I need, what every cell of my body is demanding in unholy, deafening unison. There’s no proper-and-polite left, not even in the obscure parts of me I learned in biology class and promptly forgot. I can feel my pussy raining down on the rumbling invader that’s become part of me, its mechanical tongue flicking my pussy like some kind of mad, erotic waterwheel.

  But it’s my ass that’s going to get us there. My ass, and the fingers that are jackhammering in so deep I can feel them all the way to my belly button.

  I hear Quint’s heartbeat in my ear, and it’s hammering as fast as his fingers. I turn my head and groan into his chest, and then my right nipple explodes into flames. Flames that meet the fingers in my ass and set off the detonation I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Quint

  I can feel her sliding back into her s
kin. Into her bones. Getting dressed again, but with less layers this time.

  I snort quietly into her hair. I’ve suddenly turned into a freaking Dom poet. Which is the last thing I need to be right now, because all my assumptions about Meghan’s bone-deep sense of propriety keeping this scene fairly quiet just got blown all to hell.

  Anyone with half a sober brain in this bar knows that she just came.

  I cast a quick glance at Mike, and he gives me a discreet thumbs-up. Which is clearly his commentary on the scene and not on our audience, but his calm face tells me everything else I need to know.

  I spare a second glance for Neil. He’s got three women circling him, trying to figure out just how they might climb into his lap. Clearly he’s putting out Dom pheromones. Which isn’t something he does by accident, and there’s no man better with a slightly sloshed newbie who thinks she might want to take a walk on the wild side.

  I don’t pick scene guardians who need me to worry about them after.

  I wrap my arms a little more firmly around the woman who’s slowly rebuilding inside them. I kiss the top of her head, humming my pleasure quietly into her hair. “Thank you.”

  She manages a chuckle, which is a good sign her brain is coming back online. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

  I slide a bar stool in close enough that I can sit and still keep a firm hold on her. “That’s vanilla thinking. I’m a Dom. You just rocked my night.” I turn her chin so that I can see her eyes. “I pushed you really hard and you trusted me.”

  She sits up a little, a smile blooming on her face. “Yeah. I did.”