Chapter 3 #6
A glance at her and I realize I shouldn’t have bothered with the hourglass shirt because we’re clearly having a naked dinner. I blow my breath out, trying to calm down, as I start shedding my clothes.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her.
“Uh-huh. Is your belly-button piercing still infected?”
“You know it’s not,” I say, as I pause to unscrew the barbell I have in. Mac told me to take out all my piercings except the tongue stud before our scene. “You cleaned it out for me six times over the weekend.”
“Right, then you have no excuse for not telling me what’s bothering you.”
“How does your daddy deal with you? You’re like one of those horseflies that just keeps buzzing and buzzing around while you try to swat it until it finally finds an opening and bites your ass.”
Emily grins. “Consider yourself bitten. Now tell me what’s wrong. If you go through with that face on.” She nods at the closed door into the great room. “Daddy and Master Mac are both going to know something’s wrong and they’ll make you tell them, so you might as well get it off your chest.”
“Fuck.” I tuck my phone and a piece of paper with my three fantasies on it under my arm before I hand her my clothes and wait while she puts them on the coat rack by the front door.
“A bunch of people who never even got tattoos at my place have put up one-star reviews on Google. Evidently, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s just pissing me off, that’s all.”
Emily slips her soft hand into mine and squeezes. “There’s definitely stuff you can do about it. Let’s talk to Daddy. I’m pretty sure he’ll have Max fix it, but if not, I know how to report it to Google. If it’s a fake review, they should remove it. It’ll be okay, Bren.”
I lean in and kiss the top of her head. “I’m a cranky bitch, but I actually do like you, you know.”
“I know.” She opens the door and leads me into the great room.
Logan and Mac are standing at the far end of the long, open space, at the dining table set in front of the French doors that lead out into the back yard.
They’re looking at a pile of papers spread on the table.
Mac’s wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show his strong forearms. He’s paired the shirt with pin-striped, black dress slacks that showcase his tight ass.
I have to swallow hard to avoid drooling.
Whew, Master Mac can dress. Both men lift their heads; Mac’s eyes sweep over me from dreads to toes.
His nostrils flare like he’s smelling something good and his eyes blaze.
It’s a fight to hold that incendiary gaze.
My instinct is to lower my eyes. Submit.
But I fight it. I want to see the appreciation in my Dom’s eyes.
It makes my heart race, my core muscles tighten deliciously.
His obvious desire puts an extra sway in my hips.
I swing the hand I still have linked with Emily’s so my breasts bob. Mac’s eyes follow the motion.
“Stop,” he says. Both Emily and I freeze. “Crawl the rest of the way.”
“You, too, Emmy,” Logan says.
“Yes, Daddy,” she chirps. She gives my fingers a squeeze before she releases them and folds down to her hands and knees.
I feel a pinch of jealousy at how graceful she is.
I’ve always gone for strength. I want my movements to have focus and power.
But maybe I need to swap out a kickboxing class for yoga once a week, because there’s no way I can copy Emily’s motion, and damn if she didn’t look good doing it.
With a suppressed sigh, I take my phone and the paper between my teeth and go down onto my own hands and knees.
Thankfully, Logan and Emily have big area rugs throughout the house, probably because Logan makes Emily crawl often, so I’m not bruising my knees on the hardwood.
When I feel my breasts sway as I crawl towards him, I realize what Mac wanted to see.
My tits aren’t that big, but in this position, size doesn’t matter.
I smile to myself. Get an eye-full, Blue Eyes.
He does, and fuck if the heat in those summer-sky eyes doesn’t make me wet.
I crawl to his feet, holding his eyes the whole way.
Feeling those delicious thrills running through me to tighten my nipples, my belly, my pussy.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed it so much.
Wanting and being wanted. How long since I’ve felt this burning anticipation?
By the time I reach Mac, tears are standing in my eyes, but I refuse to blink and let them fall.
Mac flicks two fingers when I reach him, which I take as a signal to come up on my knees.
He takes my phone and the folded list out of my teeth and sets them on the table, then runs his thumbs under my eyes to wipe the tears away.
“Up on the table. On your back. Feet on the edge of the table. Spread your legs. Hold your pussy open for me.”
I stare at him for a moment. Then scramble to follow his instructions.
Emily climbs up on the table as Logan issues similar commands. The table’s big enough to seat eight comfortably, twelve if they’re friendly, and there’s plenty of room for the two of us on our backs without lying on the place settings.
I keep my eyes on Mac’s as I settle on the table, feeling the cool, polished wood against my spine.
His burning blues follow each motion as I position my feet, spread my knees, catch my pussy lips with the tips of my fingers, and peel them apart for him.
This should feel horribly like a visit to the OB/GYN.
Cold and clinical. I’m naked on my friend’s dinner table, spreading open my lady bits for inspection by a man I’ve spent less than three hours with.
But there is nothing clinical about this.
It’s so fucking hot. I’m shaking, sweating, as I squirm on the hard wood.
My ass is squeezing around the plug and he hasn’t even touched me.
Emily wails suddenly and I almost look over to see what her evil Dom is doing to her, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Mac’s.
He pulls what looks like a condom packet out of his pants pocket, rips it open, and unfolds a square of polyurethane.
I stare at him in shock. I think I might have seen a dental dam before, maybe, but I’ve never had one used on me.
That hot prickle rises to my eyes again.
Mac brushes my hands out of the way, smooths the dam between my legs, lifts my leg, and presses a kiss inside my knee before diving in.
Oh. My. God.
Guys complain about condoms cutting down on sensitivity, but I’m not feeling any loss from the thin pane between me and Mac’s very aggressive tongue.
I’m even grateful for the dam, because he does not start slow.
He’s straight in on my clit with his tongue and his teeth and it’s not even a minute before my legs are shaking.
The dam keeps the worst of his beard off my pussy, but he rasps it over my inner thighs, until I’m whimpering from the abrasion and sure that he’s scraped off several layers of skin.
Just as I’m really beginning to strain towards that shimmering peak, Mac reaches up and clamps his hard, hot hand over my throat.
I scream as I go over the edge. I’ve been trained to hold my position when I’m coming but I lose it and close my thighs around his head like a vise as I buck off the table with the force of my orgasm.
As soon as the bliss washes out of me, I slam my knees wide in embarrassment.
Mac chuckles against my clit and massages my throat aggressively, his grip just this side of pain, which sends spikes hotter than aftershocks through me.
He long-strokes his tongue from my plugged ass to my clit several times while I shudder from too much stimulation.
Mac plants a kiss on my mons before lifting his head.
“Now that’s what I call an appetizer. I want you to relax for five minutes—” He pauses while Emily wails out her orgasm and resumes with a grin, “Then kneel on the pillow on the floor. I’m going to hand-feed you. Is your leg okay for that?”
Do I have legs? I don’t think I have legs. Certainly not at the moment when I’m still floating bodilessly somewhere among the stars. “Mrrsur,” I mumble.
Mac chuckles. He caresses my throat with his thumb again before he releases me and peels off the dam. With a gentle clasp on my ankles, he moves my legs so they’re hanging off the table’s edge. He pats my thigh before he strolls away, looking extremely pleased with himself.
A sparkly-pink manicured hand flutters in the corner of my vision. I reach up and manage to grab it on the third try. Emily squeezes my fingers weakly.
“My brains melted,” she whispers.
“At least you still have legs,” I mutter back.
I hear her unstick herself from the table and shuffle around. She grunts and slaps my hand. “You still have legs. Don’t say that kind of stuff around sadists. It gives them ideas.”
“Boxing Helena,” I say.
“That movie disturbed me.”
“The thing that was disturbing was how few orgasms she got out of the whole thing. You wanna cut off my arms and legs to feed your fetish? Fine, but you better be putting a vibrator in that box and getting me off hourly.”
She swats me again. “Bren!”
I chuckle.
Mac reappears by my knees, accompanied by the scent of cinnamon and browned beef, a combination that shouldn’t make me drool as much as it does.
His hands, as they settle on my thighs, are hot enough to make me mewl.
Grinning, he rubs his big palms up and down.
“Can you manage to get your ass off the table on your own, legless?”
“Dunnow until I try, sir.”
“Ask me nicely and I’ll help you up.”
I mean, red flag, bull, here.
“Sir, would you help me haul my ass off the table?” I ask, in the most sickly-sweet tone I can manage.
He slaps my pussy. Not hard enough to really hurt, but damn, he has a hard hand. “Fuck, sir!”