Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Quinn
“Please tell me we can eat funnel cake. And ride The Tunnel of Love!” I release Aven’s hand and run to the massive pink heart that serves as the entrance. “I’ve always wanted to ride one of these, but I’ve never seen one in person. Look! They even have the swan boats!”
Aven grins and wraps his arms around my waist when he reaches me. “Lass, you can ride whatever your wee heart desires as soon as I’ve shown you your surprise. If you’re good, I’ll even chase you through the fun house after that.”
I roll my eyes. “When am I not good?”
“Though . . . I suppose we could indulge in a little appetizer before the main course,” he says. “You know, because you’re such a good girl.”
I shimmy my ass and move toward the small stand off to the side of the zipper ride. I go to the front to place an order, but Aven shakes his head and motions for me to go to the side entrance.
“We’ll prepare it ourselves to make sure there’s no funny business,” he says, and we step inside.
Once he’s kicked the staff out of the tiny kitchen, he sets to work. He tosses out the batter that’s been sitting out for god knows how long and starts to prepare some from scratch.
“More of your mother’s teaching?” I ask as I peer over his shoulder.
He nods and dumps the ingredients into the bowl. “Aye, she loved making funnel cakes. The little church in town held a bazaar each spring, and she’d set up a stand and sell sweets to the wee ones. I helped her a time or two.”
I dip my finger into the bowl, and he studies me as I bring a glob of batter to my lips. My nose scrunches when the taste assaults my tongue. “Blech, what the fuck is that? That doesn’t taste like funnel cake.”
“It hasn’t been cooked yet. The grease and heat will change the taste.”
“No, I think it’s missing something.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that, Betty Crocker? Sushi rice?”
I swat his arm as I get an idea. “No, but that special curry wasn’t half bad. Maybe you should add a little of that to the mix.”
“Okay. I’ll just whip a little hairnet over my short and curlies and we’ll be right as rain.” He shakes his head with a laugh and goes back to stirring.
I step in behind him and wind my arms around his waist, going right for his junk. He growls as I grip him through his shorts.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“Filthy little lass,” he says with a smirk. “I think I’d rather try funnel cake of a different flavor, though. Drop those shorts.”
My eyes widen. “I realize I have a tiny bladder, and I’m fine with it being the butt of some jokes, but I’m not pissing in my funnel cake, Aven.”
“What? No! No piss. Ach, come here.” He bands his arm around my waist and pulls me in front of him, wedging me between his firm body and the prep table. “Hand me the rubber spatula and drop your shorts.”
I do as he asks and hand the utensil to him before disrobing below the waist. He picks me up and places my bare ass on the prep table, then places the bowl in my lap.
“Hand that piping bag to me.” He motions with his fingers, and I slide it into his palm.
“What do you plan to do with that?”
He smirks and begins filling the bag with the spatula.
“Aven?”
He twists off the end of the bag, then secures it with a knot. “Spread those thick thighs for me.”
“Um, no. You’re not squirting fucking cake batter on my pussy, dude. Not happening.”
“Wasn’t a question, lass. Spread your legs and have a little more faith in me.”
I can only hope I don’t end up with a yeast infection after whatever he’s planning. My legs spread, and his hands go to work between them. But instead of squirting the batter all over me, he maneuvers the thick plastic until it’s inside me. Only the pointed tip sticks out.
“Okay, now what?” I ask. “I’m one sneeze away from making a fucking mess.”
Instead of answering me, he starts positioning me how he wants me. I lie back, putting my ass dangerously close to the fryer. It’s a wonder that I fit on this narrow counter, but I’m doing it. I feel more like a Sunday dinner than a sex symbol, though.
“Relax your thighs,” he says, and when I do, he nods and lets out a deep growl. “Beautiful. Now let’s get that batter into the oil.”
Before I can say no, he grabs a pair of scissors and snips the tip of the bag. A spurt of batter squirts out and lands in the grease with a hiss. His fingers move toward my clit, and he rubs the sensitive nub with a slow, firm pressure.
My pussy clenches, and more batter jets into the grease.
“Oh, fucking lovely,” he breathes. “Come for me, Quinn.”
The smell of deep-fried dough drifts toward me, and damn me for getting more turned on. I can’t help it. Funnel cake is my weakness.
The circles tighten, and the pressure increases.
He drops his mouth to my chest, nipping my tightened nipple through my shirt.
My back rocks on the cold metal, and the grease hisses again as I give it another offering.
Within less than a minute, I’ve achieved lift off and damn near started a fucking grease fire with the high-pressure hose that is my vaginal canal.
When I’m fully spent, he eases the nearly empty bag out of me. He places it on the table and goes to remove the clumps of dough from the fryer.
“Doesn’t look very pretty,” I say as I eye what can only be described as a disaster. Instead of the usual swirled pattern, it’s literally just rods of crispy dough.
“No matter,” he says as he sprinkles a little powdered sugar on top. “It’ll taste amazing.”
I go to take the plate from him, but he pulls it away.
“Wait just a tick. It’s still hot for one, and it’s missing the special ingredient.” Much to my chagrin, he snags the baggy from the counter and places it beside the plate. “There. Now we have a dip.”
“Fucking gross,” I say with a wrinkle of my nose.
But he isn’t joking. He plucks up a rod, then bounces it between his fingers before dragging it over the bag and popping it into his mouth. His eyes close, and he hums. “Damn, that’s nice.”
I forgo the special dip, but I give the rods a taste, and I’m shocked to find it’s the best funnel cake I’ve ever had, even if it isn’t the prettiest.
Our little side quest accomplished, we tidy up and return the food stand to the staff. Aven’s hand finds the small of my back, and he guides me toward the diner I spotted. As we step inside, we’re greeted by the smell of greasy food and the smile of a waitress in a pink uniform.
“Welcome to Jim’s,” the cooks yell from the kitchen.
The waitress steps forward and holds two menus toward us, but Aven waves her off.
“We aren’t here to eat,” he says, and the waitress nods.
“Follow me.”
We’re taken to a swinging door that looks like it leads into the kitchen, but when the waitress punches a few numbers into the keypad, then opens the door, I see a dark cement hallway lined with pipes.
“Y’all have fun,” the waitress says with a smack of her gum and a crinkle of her nose. “Your little friend sure as hell won’t.”
Her laughter cuts off completely as the door closes behind us. I peer up at Aven.
“Soundproofing,” he says.
“And the little friend she spoke of? Does she mean Desmond?”
“Not yet, lass, but soon. That’s what we’re preparing you for.”
“We?”
He huffs and urges me forward. “You know, if you stopped asking questions and started walking, you’d have all the answers you need.”
Okay, fair. I hurry toward the metal door at the end of the hall.
Excitement pings within me, and I’m a bundle of anticipation as I wait for him to use his key card to let us inside.
His muscles tense as he grunts and swings the slab of metal open, revealing a square concrete room.
A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, right above an empty wooden chair with leather straps on the arms and legs.
Weaponry and tools of all kinds line the back wall.
King and Jim stand beside another door built into the right wall. As we enter, they give us a wave and come closer.
“Ready to practice your interrogation techniques?” King asks.
I smile up at Aven. “Really? You set this up for me?”
“I sure did,” Jim says. “Had the team work through the night to build this room just for you.”
“Well, it was my idea,” Aven says.
“And my capital,” Jim adds with a raised finger.
King looks between them. “Yes, you both did a bang-up job. You can yank your dicks over it later. For now, the young lady needs to meet her victim.”
“Ah, yes,” Jim says. “Gary, bring him in!”
The door behind them opens, and Gary leads a man by a metal collar fastened to his neck. When the man sees the chair, he balks, but Gary gives the chain a sharp yank and pulls him forward.
“I think you should start with his teeth, same as those lemurs he abused,” Gary says as he shoves the man into the chair.
Jim laughs and rocks on his heels. “Gary, is someone getting a little taste for blood?”
Gary’s eyes widen, and his jowls quiver as he shakes his head. “Not me, boss. I still don’t have the stomach for it. This asshole needs to pay, though.”
“This is Brickle,” Aven says to me. “He’s the jackoff we were talking about before. Think you can get him to tell us where those lemurs are?”
I look at the weapons against the far wall. “Yeah, I think I can.”
“That’s my cue to exit stage left,” Gary says with a laugh. He hurries out of the room before I get started.
All eyes turn to me, including Brickle’s. His lips haven’t been glued or sewn shut, yet he remains silent and stoic. He tries to intimidate me with his glare, and I hate to admit it’s kind of working.
“I like it better when they’re scared,” I mutter.
King steps behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. With a firm but gentle touch, he guides me a step closer. “Look at him. Not at what he wants you to see, but at what he’s trying to hide. He wants to appear unbothered, but see how his hands grip the chair?”
Brickle’s fingers relax, but not before I notice what King wanted me to see. He was clinging to that wood with everything he had.