Chapter 45
45
PENNY
Mac: Meet me at the bar, 6:30 p.m. sharp. Not a minute later, Penelope.
Penny: Do you realize how hard that is for me to show up on time?
Mac: Trust me when I say, you’re going to wanna try your hardest
Penny: This sounds… serious… I’ll give it my best shot but no promises
Perfect.
Six twenty-nine.
I made it on time. Honestly, I was a little impressed with myself. I was notoriously late for pretty much everything, but I wanted to at least try.
Still, I was a little out of breath as I reached the front door of The Tequila Cowboy.
A sign in Mac’s familiar scrawl was taped across the tinted window:
Bar Closed.
Come back tomorrow at opening.
Y’all will live.
— Management
I let out a soft scoff, shaking my head at the note before tugging on the handle. It didn’t budge. I pulled again, harder this time, but the door stayed locked.
Peering inside was useless. The damn windows were too dark to see through.
Fumbling through my purse for my phone, I turned away from the door, ready to call Mac and demand he let me in. I was on time, and there was no way in hell I’d let him pretend otherwise. I deserved a gold star for this.
Just as I pulled up his contact and hovered over the call button, I felt a hand wrap around my mouth from behind.
A sharp gasp left my throat, muffled against the palm. My whole body jolted, heart kicking into high gear as arms wrapped around me and dragged me back.
Fight or flight surged in my veins. I was going to fight.
“Shhh…” a voice murmured close to my ear, deep and low.
My flailing slowed. I caught a glimpse of the tattooed arms holding me and felt the familiar shape of his chest against my back.
Mac.
“Quit putting up a fight,” he whispered, his mouth grazing my ear.
Relief rushed in. My shoulders sagged even as my heart thudded wildly. I couldn’t speak—not with his hand still over my mouth—but he filled the silence.
“Before I turn you around,” Mac continued, his voice suddenly laced with something darker. Dangerous. It thrummed through me like an electric current, straight to my core. God, I knew that tone.
“I know you’re gonna have questions. One, no one can see inside. Two, the bar is closed for the night. Yes, my sister knows. No, she doesn’t care. And three…you can say no at any time.”
The blood in my ears pulsed so loudly I almost missed the question that followed.
“Are you ready to see what I’ve planned for us?”
I nodded, barely breathing.
Slowly, Mac turned me around but didn’t release me. His hand stayed on my mouth, his chest pressed tight to my back. His presence surrounded me, possessive, protective, and thrilling.
The bar was transformed.
The tables and chairs had been cleared, tucked away in the far corner. Rose petals littered the floor in scattered trails of crimson. Dozens of candles glowed softly from every surface, casting the room in a flickering, golden haze. The scent of wax and roses filled the air, and somewhere beneath it all, a soft hum of music played just above a whisper.
My eyes flicked toward the bar and caught.
Handcuffs.
A whip.
I squinted, my breath catching.
Was that… a vibrator?
Mac leaned in closer, his voice brushing the shell of my ear, thick with heat.
“Our very own red room, Pen,” he murmured.
A shiver chased down my spine as goosebumps broke out across my skin.
Slowly, Mac lifted his hand from my mouth, and I took a step forward, creating just a sliver of space between us. His presence lingered behind me—grounding, intoxicating, safe in the most dangerous kind of way.
I let my gaze sweep the room again before turning back to him.
He stood casually, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans, eyes locked on me with a gaze that pinned me in place. That crooked smirk curled at the edge of his mouth, dimples flashing just enough to make my knees weak.
God, those damn dimples were lethal.
I tipped my head slightly, a wicked smile tugging at my lips. My voice dropped to a sultry whisper as I ran my tongue slowly along the edge of my canine.
“You’re lucky I was in such a rush… I forgot to put on panties.”
Mac groaned, low and guttural, and closed the space between us in two strides. His hands gripped my hips, fingers flexing as if he needed to feel me—to make sure I was really there.
His palms slid upward, teasing along my sides, fingers brushing the strap of my dress. The light stroke against my skin made my breath catch.
He noticed.
He always noticed.
“It’s about trust,” Mac murmured, his voice rough and sincere. “I want you to know you can trust me, Pen. I’m here. I’m yours. Forever.”
Even through the heavy tension between us, his words landed softly in my chest, like a vow whispered into the soul. My heart fluttered at the confession, mixing with the storm of want brewing inside me.
“I do trust you,” I said, and I meant it.
He lifted me in one seamless motion. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, arms falling around his neck.
“Let me continue to prove it to you. I’ll never stop. Never again.”
He carried me toward the bar, my body flush against his. I placed my lips to his, leaving a feather-light kiss, just one, before he set me down gently atop the bar.
I was nearly eye level with him. Still a little taller from my perch. Still held entirely in his control.
Our eyes locked.
Mac reached for the straps of my dress, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric and drawing it down, slow and deliberate. My skin burned in the best way as cool air hit me, and my nipples peaked instantly, tightening in response.
Still, he didn’t look away.
He undressed me like I was sacred—something to be revealed, not just taken. The dress slipped down to my waist, the fabric dragging goosebumps in its wake. I arched my hips slightly, lifting just enough for him to slide the rest off, his hands ghosting down my thighs as the fabric fell.
For a second, Mac glanced lower, confirming what I’d told him.
No panties.
A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. One nod. One look of approval.
The dress hit the floor, forgotten, because now his attention was solely on me.
“Close your eyes, Trouble,” Mac said, voice low and thick with promise.
Trust.
That’s what this was. A test—for both of us. A leap I needed to take. My heart and my body wanted Mac. But now… now was when I’d see if my soul trusted him too.
Carefully, I closed my eyes.
Soft fabric brushed against my skin. A blindfold. He tied it snugly around my head, blocking out everything but the sound of his breath, the heat of his hands, the thundering beat of my own heart.
He placed his palms on my shoulders and gently guided me down until my back hit the cool surface of the bar. I followed his silent command.
Trust, I reminded myself again.
With my vision gone, everything was heightened. My skin buzzed. Each soft breath against my cheek, every shift of his weight, each brush of his fingertips—it all set my nerve endings ablaze.
One finger trailed slowly between my breasts, then down the center of my stomach to my navel. My body arched slightly beneath his touch, a soft whimper escaping my lips as I exhaled a shaky breath.
Then… nothing.
His hands vanished. The loss of his touch was maddening. I heard the sound of movement—Mac stepping behind the bar. Then something firm brushed against my lips.
It was cool. Smooth.
I darted my tongue out. It tasted sweet.
“Open up, baby.”
I obeyed.
Mac dangled a cherry above my mouth. My lips wrapped around it, tongue swirling as I sucked it clean.
“Mmm,” he hummed, low and satisfied. “That’s good.”
Another brush against my lips.
“Again.”
This time, I played with it. My tongue curled around the fruit, teasing it. I let the cherry dangle as I licked it slowly, drawing it in before pulling the stem free with a soft pop.
Mac groaned—a deep, visceral sound that told me exactly how much he liked the show.
Then I felt his hand on my knee, sliding slowly down and coaxing my legs apart. He opened me completely, leaving me vulnerable and aching.
“This one’s for me,” he growled.
Something small and round traced the line of my sex. It was cold. My breath hitched, and I realized it was another cherry, this time slick from me.
The sensation was pulled away, and I heard Mac groan again.
“So fucking sweet,” he muttered.
His hands returned, stronger this time, pulling me upright—but he left the blindfold on. The disorientation only fueled the fire roaring beneath my skin.
Then came the sound of metal. A soft clink. A scrape. My breath caught.
The cuffs.
“I’m going to use the handcuffs, Pen,” Mac said gently. “Then I want you to lie back with your head off the end of the bar. You’ll feel a rush. If it’s too much, use our word.”
God, I could barely breathe. The anticipation pulsing through my veins was dizzying.
I swallowed hard. “Am I going to get to touch you at least? Because as much as I’m very much enjoying this… I’d love to taste your cock mixed with a little cherry.”
Mac laughed—a dark, amused sound that slid over my skin like velvet.
The cold bite of metal touched my wrists, followed by the solid click of each loop locking into place. My pulse pounded at the base of my throat.
He grabbed my legs and shifted me, sliding my ass to the edge of the bar until I was perfectly positioned for him.
“Maybe,” he purred, his breath hot against my lips. “We have all night. This is just round one.”
His mouth crashed into mine, and one hand cupped my breast, fingers kneading before giving it a sharp smack. I gasped into his mouth, the sting blooming into pleasure.
He pulled back and pressed his hand to my shoulder, guiding me down again. I let myself fall.
My head dipped off the edge of the bar, neck arched. The blood would rush soon, dizzying me—but that would only make everything else feel even more intense.
“What should I use next?” Mac asked, his hands firm on my knees, holding me wide open beneath him.
I felt exposed. Vulnerable. But also completely safe—seen—with Mac looming above me, eyes locked on mine like I was his entire world.
“Surprise me,” I said, breathless. Because honestly? Anything he chose would be perfect.
Mac’s mouth descended, and when his tongue touched me, I gasped—my body arching as a bolt of pleasure cracked down my spine. I lay there helplessly, wrists cuffed behind me, my weight pressing into my own hands. The pressure hurt more than I expected, but not enough to care.
I wanted to touch him. Desperately. To bury my hands in his hair, to hold him there while he devoured me, but I couldn’t move. I was completely at his mercy.
And Mac didn’t waste the power.
He feasted on me. His tongue traced circles around my clit, every flick both heaven and hell, a sinful torment that made my eyes roll back. I couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop moaning as he licked and sucked with purpose.
There was no way Lizzie knew this was what Mac had in mind when he decided to close the bar.
“Fuck,” I moaned, voice shaking.
He hummed against me, the vibration making my thighs quiver. His rhythm built, faster, deeper—then he stopped.
Just like that.
My body jerked in protest, aching with the loss of what had been so close. I whimpered, teetering on the edge of a denied orgasm, my core pulsing with frustration.
“Not yet,” Mac said.
He leaned in again, running the tip of his tongue along my sex, back and forth as a tease before he pulled away again.
Then something new pressed against my clit—round, firm, slightly larger than the cherries he’d used earlier.
There was a click.
A sharp, sudden buzz filled the air, then my body. The vibrator came to life, sending shockwaves of sensation through me.
I gasped, every nerve igniting at once.
The pulse was steady, deliberate—too fucking good. My hips moved on instinct, grinding against the toy, desperate for friction.
“Ride it, Pen,” Mac said, voice thick and low. “Look at you. So fucking needy.”
Mac was the kind of man who’d talk you through your own undoing.
I moaned—deep and raw—and then screamed, the sound ripped from my throat without thought.
His hand was suddenly over my mouth again, the sound muffled.
“People may not be able to see through the window,” he murmured, “but it sure as hell isn’t soundproof.”
Then, cruelly, the vibrator was gone. His hand, too.
“Then turn up the fucking music,” I hissed, frustration thick in my voice.
A beat of silence passed, and then music flooded the room, the bass pulsing hard enough to drown out anything else.
“What a good idea,” Mac cooed, returning to me. “I should’ve thought of that sooner.”
“I still haven’t come,” I snapped, irritation bleeding into desperation. He’d brought me to the brink twice, only to leave me aching, wild, and dizzy from the tension and blood rushing to my head.
“Say please,” Mac said with a smirk I could hear in his voice.
I said nothing.
“Fine,” he replied, and I heard the soft thud of the vibrator being set down on the bar top. A drawer slid open.
I lay there, wide open, blind and burning, my mind racing to guess what was coming next.
“When you finally say please,” Mac said, smooth as silk, “then I’ll stop.”
Cold. Ice-fucking-cold.
I screamed as an ice cube touched between my legs, shocking and stinging as he held it there, pressed to my center. My hips jerked, trying to escape and seek it out all at once. The pain melted into pleasure as he dragged it slowly along my slit.
Water pooled beneath me as it melted, and then Mac’s tongue returned—hot, wicked, soothing—only to be replaced by the ice again.
Over and over, the contrast drove me mad.
This wasn’t the kind of pleasure that brought a quick release. It was the kind that built, layer by torturous layer, until the eventual fall would shatter me.
Each time Mac warmed me back up, the sting of the cold ice cube would bring me back again, edging the orgasm I desperately wanted to release.
“Do you want to come, Penelope?” Mac asked, his voice a low growl.
I nodded frantically, nearly shaking from the overwhelming switch between cold and heat.
“Please,” I cried out, my voice cracking. “Please.”
“That’s my girl,” Mac said. “Begging for it.”
The ice disappeared with a toss, landing somewhere across the bar. And then his fingers plunged into me, pumping deep and fast.
My blindfold came off, the sudden neon light stinging my eyes. I blinked against it, trying to focus through the haze of pleasure.
Mac hovered over me, his expression dark, intense—completely in control.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “Scream my fucking name, Pen.”
The hand that had removed the blindfold now circled my clit, rubbing hand and fast.
Stars exploded behind my eyes.
“Mac!”
My core tightened, the pressure unbearable.
I kept my gaze locked on his whiskey eyes as I fell, screaming his name again, my orgasm ripping through me like a tidal wave.
Everything else disappeared.
There was only Mac. Only the fire. Only the bliss of finally, finally falling apart in his hands.