Lesson In Honesty (Club Serenity #3)

Chapter Four

Maverick

By God, he’d stepped into Nirvana.

Never in a million years had he expected this when his best friend booked him a month’s stay at what Tristan proclaimed was going to be the hottest kink destination in all fifty states by the time the year rolled to an end.

Tristan might be a considerable dick when he wanted to be, but Mack admitted the guy had taste—and money. Not that Mack was destitute, far from it, but he certainly didn’t have the kind of cash on hand that made a month’s vacation at Serenity possible on a whim.

Not yet, anyway.

If—no, he corrected, when —the sale of his homegrown tech company went through after the lawyers got through with their bullshit, he would be able to live anywhere he chose. Hell, after just a couple days at Serenity, he was considering offering the owners a small fortune to buy one of the luxury cabins and a lifetime membership, because goddamn it if this didn’t feel like home.

For a guy whose roots had been born in sand instead of firm ground, Mack found it ridiculously easy to pull them up and move on when the urge struck him. Unfortunately, that was too often; some places just hadn’t fit him the way he needed, and in others, he hadn’t fit in.

For months, he’d been burned out.

The impending sale of MVM Tech was a huge drain on his energy, even with the lawyers handling the bulk of it. There was still a shitload of paperwork to read, sign, and the terms of the sale were constantly being renegotiated by the buyers—something he really didn’t like or appreciate, especially when it centered around the job safety of the people who’d helped him build the company from the tiny basement-sized enterprise to the formidable operation it was now.

Mack’s terms were set in stone—his people kept their jobs, or he kept the company. Simple, really, particularly when he was on the fence about selling in the first place.

Part of him wanted to keep it, but the sensible, businessman side of his brain told him it was growing beyond his capabilities. That meant running it at a capped level, never truly allowing it to reach its full potential, or letting it go to evolve into something greater.

As a man with a conscience, it was causing a lot of internal conflict.

Tristan had booked the month behind his back, telling Mack that if he didn’t come of his own volition, Tris was quite happy to drug, hog-tie, and ship his miserable ass on a forced vacation for his mental welfare.

What were best friends for if not that?

Admittedly, Mack agreed that a break would be good for him. He just hadn’t the time or inclination to sort it out himself, and he damn well wouldn’t have known about Serenity. It was only through luck and insider connections on Tristan’s side—it always paid to know the owner, but then millionaires were in a league of their own, he supposed—that a cabin was available.

So far, he’d spent two nights in an oak sleigh bed big enough for four, sleeping like a baby on a mattress designed to cradle his body in clouds, on sheets that felt like silk.

He’d woken to the open fire already lit downstairs, warmth spreading through the cabin before he’d even opened his eyes, and breakfast kept warm under a heating dome. The coffeemaker primed, ready to pour at his leisure.

Fucking Nirvana, he repeated to himself.

Two days of complete rest and relaxation recharged his batteries enough that he was ready to assess the rest of the club, maybe find someone to play with on a casual level, and spread the wings he’d been chaining down too long in order to get his business off the ground.

Exchanging one set of wings for another was all well and good until the balance tilted too far out of whack.

It was after ten when he traversed the gravel pathways through a series of well-lit buildings toward the main clubhouse where he’d checked in. The night was cold, the wind brisk and a little brutal, and he thought he smelled frost in the air.

Air filled with the sounds of happy people and ongoing scenes from open doorways. Some buildings were obviously fully occupied, but soundproofed with the main doors closed.

Following a couple meandering in the same direction, he frowned as they didn’t head through the big wooden doors to the check-in area, but veered around to the side. Intrigued, he kept a respectable distance and continued to follow them, hoping they didn’t think he was stalking them.

They walked up the steps leading onto a prettily crafted porch, then the man stepped forward to hold open a swing door, gesturing for his woman to go ahead of him. A second later, he glanced up and met Mack’s eyes in the dark. “Are you coming in?”

“Ah… what’s in there?” Mack asked, regretting not studying the map he’d been given as part of his check-in package. He would rectify that before he ventured out again; the last thing he needed was to get lost and be rescued by the in-house search team.

The guy nodded in understanding. “Just arrived? We’ve had a few days to settle in, but we were in the same boat. This is the bar through here, restaurant’s on the other side, but it’s interconnected internally.”

Mack hurried up the steps, catching the door as his new friend offered a hand to shake. After a brief, firm exchange of palms and names—Derek Palmer from Long Beach—they walked in together, and found Derek’s wife already stripped off and kneeling by an empty table. “Thanks for the assist, Derek.”

“Anytime. Sure you don’t want to join us for a drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He was more interested in what was happening over by the actual bar, where a tall blond Dom was talking to a dark-haired guy exuding the same Dominant vibes. “Do they put on bar shows here? Demonstrations?”

Derek hummed thoughtfully. “Demos, sure, but usually in designated areas.”

There was an undercurrent of excitement shimmering in the air, a zing of anticipation that couldn’t be seen but stroked over the skin. Something was going on, something that had the patrons murmuring and salivating over their drinks.

Maybe he’d just grab himself a beer and settle in to watch.

Giving Derek and his wife a wave, Mack headed toward the impressive curve of gleaming wood, taking note of the number of stools and their occupants. By his reckoning, many of them were in that beautiful twilight where the adrenaline and dopamine of a scene was slowly leeching away.

A lot of attention, however, seemed to be on the curvy female kneeling in front of a bar stool. Sweet, lush curves, he noted, although there was a look about her that told him she’d lost weight recently. A slight sag to her pale, marked skin where it hadn’t tightened, telling him the loss had been quick.

Did she belong to someone?

Mack couldn’t see a collar around her slender neck, but then the fall of red locks around her shoulders concealed quite a bit. Gorgeous red locks, he mused, in generous amounts. Just right to take thick handfuls to hold, to tug, to use however he wished.

Who the hell did she belong to?

He searched faces looking for the lucky individual who held her metaphorical leash. No one in the crowd wore a possessive expression, and the sub stayed with her head bowed, not connecting with anyone.

Ten feet away, the two Doms were still talking, but—oh, there it was. Nothing overt, just a quick glance from the blond in the redhead’s direction. Damn it, that was the kind of look a Dom gave his sub when they’d been together for some time. A fleeting skim of eyes over her, as though he knew she wouldn’t break position or defy an order because their trust was so well established.

Fuck, that put a damper on Mack’s evening, for sure.

Grunting to himself, still unable to part his gaze off the sub, he lifted his hand and summoned the bartender. When a young man, probably in his late twenties, approached with a slightly nervous expression, Mack figured the guy was either really new to tending bar or unnerved by a BDSM gathering.

“What can I get you, sir?” The brass nametag read Jonah .

“The house beer will do fine.”

“Yes, sir. Do you have your card?”

Card? Oh shit, the membership card. Rummaging in his back pocket, Mack pulled out his wallet, flipping it open and selecting the embossed black card. When he handed it over, Jonah took it, scanned it, and offered it back.

“Thank you, Mr. Morehead. Club rules state members intending to play are restricted to two drinks per evening.” Jonah reached under the bar, grabbing a glass and filling it from one of the shiny brass pulls adorning the bar. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

“Everything’s been perfect.” How much did the bartender know about the patrons, Mack wondered, sliding his gaze over to the big blond. “Who’s the bearded guy over there? The tall blond?”

Jonah’s pale green eyes flicked over to where Mack stared. “Oh, that’s Master Liam. He’s the daytime and early evening bartender.”

Bartender? Christ, the guy was wasted in a career slinging drinks, Mack thought. That face paired with that body? He’d make a fucking fortune if he turned his hand to modelling. Fashion wasn’t Mack’s gig but he’d dabbled in it enough to know Paris would snatch the Master up and make him an international darling in a heartbeat.

Jonah scurried off when he was signaled from down the bar, leaving Mack with his thoughts and observations.

The conversation between Liam and the other Dom was winding down to a close. Giving Liam a nod, the dark-haired guy strolled away with purpose in his stride.

Mack sipped his beer, studying Liam’s interaction with the redhead as he returned to her. God, he was jealous as Liam slid his hand over her slim shoulder, his fingers tapping out a one-two-three beat just above her breast.

He didn’t miss the way she stiffened, then relaxed and leaned back against her Dom’s legs, keeping her head lowered respectfully. Definitely a long-term relationship; even though Mack hadn’t been in the game for a while, it was easy to read their history through their body language.

In just a few minutes, the dark-haired Dom returned with a bag slung over his shoulder. He dropped it on a low platform in the corner, then moved over to flick a switch on the wall. Spotlights illuminated the small stage with warm light.

Liam bent and kissed the crown of his sub’s head, whispering something.

She nodded but remained still.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen.” Liam prowled over to the stage, standing boldly in the lights as though he belonged there. Holding his hands out to the side, he smiled. “Apologies for the interruption to your evening. My name is Master Liam, and I’ve been introduced to many of you over the last week.”

A hail of cheers and greetings erupted from the audience.

“Of course, you know Master Fordham as well.” Liam flicked his wrist toward the other Dom, eliciting some whistles from some of the more audacious members. “I think some of you were wondering why I haven’t been open to playing. The truth is, I’m lucky enough to have my own submissive. A very shy, insecure, and beautiful sub who has issues with her self-confidence and self-worth.”

A low hum of sympathy echoed after his words.

The redhead seemed to shrink into herself.

Mack listened to the Master talk, but kept his eyes on the sub. This just got more and more intriguing by the second. He drank his beer slowly, savoring the taste as he wondered where this scene was going.

“This week, she’s been a naughty girl. All the progress we’ve made over the past couple years has started to fall apart, so I’d like to build her up again. Sierra, come here, please.” Liam’s tone brooked no argument.

The slightest hesitation. So slight it couldn’t be taken as a refusal. Slowly, reluctantly, the submissive rose to her feet and shuffled her way over to her Dom, never lifting her head. She moved to stand in front of Liam, her back to the room, and no one could miss the tremors rippling through her muscles.

Liam cupped her face, spoke quietly, then kissed her. “Turn around, minx.”

Leaning forward, Mack found himself eager to see her face. There was something about her, something compelling, and it was kind of disconcerting to realize her Dom had that same quality.

Shoulders and back rigid, Sierra did as she was told, inching around in a circle to display that beautiful body to the room. Pretty breasts, a tiny paunch around her belly, thighs that wouldn’t snap if she were fucked too hard.

The full extent of the marks on her skin became clear; they were far more noticeable down her front than on her back, and he realized that they weren’t marks as such. The poor girl was riddled with a skin disorder—eczema, psoriasis, something inflammatory.

“Every body is different,” Liam said loudly, claiming her breast in a big hand, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Every face is unique. We all know someone in this big, wide world who faces pain, rejection, harassment because they’re too different, too unique.” He passed a knowing stare around the crowd, landing on face after face. “Where I come from, we welcome the diverse and the unusual. We appreciate a person for who they are on the inside. From what I’ve been told, Serenity is aiming for that same inclusion.”

“Damn right we are!” A woman called from the back.

“Callie,” a deep voiced chastised. “Don’t interrupt.”

Liam grinned. “Thanks, Callie. Love your enthusiasm.”

People laughed, but Mack sensed that Liam’s words were touching them on a deeper level. Probably precisely where he was aiming, because the Master didn’t seem like a hit and miss kinda guy.

“Sierra, show these lovely people the face I love, please.”

She took a huge breath, big enough to lift her chest into her Dom’s hand, and lifted her head. Part of her face was obscured by her hair, but Liam gently gathered the errant strands and drew them away.

Well, shit.

Mack wasn’t alone in his reaction; he stared, silently, at the pelt covering her cheeks, chin, and the underside of her jaws. Seeing as how the rug matched both the carpet and the drapes—not to be crass, he thought, absolutely fascinated by her—she was one hundred percent natural.

One hundred percent perfect.

It was increasingly obvious that she didn’t think so. As the murmurs grew in number and volume, she kept her head held high as color stained her face until the inflamed patches of skin were concealed. But her eyes, big and beautiful and brown, filled with shame and dejection before they lowered to the floor again.

Liam waited until the crowd died down, his hands rubbing up and down Sierra’s trembling arms from behind. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To me, Sierra is gorgeous, inside and out.” He squeezed her hands. “Minx, go to Master Fordham. Do everything he asks.”

“Yes, Sir.” She moved stiffly now, as though she’d switched over to autopilot.

Fordham didn’t waste any time, Mack noted. As soon as Sierra stopped in front of him, he positioned her arms so her hands were linked behind her head, her elbows pointing to the sides, with her biceps touching her forearms.

Bending down, he pulled a coiled length of rope from the bag at his feet and, with the skill of a man who’d spent hours tying up little submissives, began binding her arms in a simple harness that wrapped around her neck, limbs, and upper chest.

“I’m asking anyone who feels the same way I do to come up and show my sub their appreciation. A touch, a kind word, a simple gesture.” Gray eyes chilling in warning, Liam laid down the rules in a way no one could possibly misconstrue. “This is a privilege, an opportunity to do something positive in a world where negativity takes the win more often than not. Anyone who comes up here with the intent to denigrate my sub will leave the stage looking like they went a round with Master Merrick.”

When a tank of a silver fox raised his hand in acknowledgement, several hoots of laughter sounded. No one in their right mind wanted a round with that guy; Merrick looked as though he could bench press a semitruck with only his fingers.

Fordham tapped Liam’s shoulder. “The gift is wrapped to your specifications, Liam. She’s adorable when she makes those tiny fists as though she’s going to use them.”

“She’s just adorable, period.” Liam gave him a nod. “Thanks.”

All right, so Liam’s gameplan was fairly obvious, Mack mused. Bind the sub, let her topple into submission, then pummel her with praise and kindness. A good idea if it worked; a clusterfuck waiting to happen if it didn’t.

His hands itched to touch.

Instead of leaping forward to volunteer his services, he bided his time, waiting for Liam to officially start the exercise, to gauge how it would all play out.

Sierra stood with her upper body decorated in pretty blue ropes, shaking like a leaf in the wake of a tornado. The position she was bound in left her open to every eye in the room, but unlike subs who got off on exhibitionism, there wasn’t any sign of arousal.

“At your leisure, ladies and gentlemen.” Liam turned and kissed his dejected sub, murmuring something against her lips before he stepped aside to stand a few feet away, taking up guard with Fordham beside him.

For several long seconds, no one moved.

“Well, this is just pathetic,” a woman stated from behind Mack, somewhere near the doors. The thick Louisiana accent dripped with disdain. “Ladies, we have a job to do.”

Several heads whipped around to watch the newcomers, Mack’s included. He watched a trio of very attractive women stalk through the tables and booths, immediately pegging them as Dommes; no submissive emanated that kind of attitude and power with each stride.

Behind the three, a scowling Dom followed, running his hand through golden blond hair streaked with silver. His intent gaze was locked on the stage, his expression fierce but not as protectively aggressive as that of the young woman marching by his side.

Now she was a stunner, Mack noted. White blonde, ice-blue eyes shooting angry lasers. Perhaps he’d been wrong, because if she was a sub, her Dom was a brave fucking man. She exuded a weird vibe, like sugar and spice with a dash of something not too nice thrown in.

The Louisiana Domme didn’t hesitate when she reached the stage. Smiling as though the world was sunshine and roses, she cupped her hands on Sierra’s bearded cheeks and crooned, “Hello, beautiful girl. I’ve missed you this week. Have you been a good little girl?”

Tears filled big, brown eyes, making them gleam in the spotlights. One fell as Sierra nodded slowly. “Yes, Mistress Violet.”

“That’s a good girl.” Violet’s smile grew brighter; she bent and kissed one furred cheek, then the other. “We’ve got you, sweetheart.”

When she stepped away, a brunette took her place. With a wink, the new Domme stroked her fingertips around the curve of Sierra’s breast, tracing the rope. “Beautiful, Sierra. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

The third Domme joined the second, sliding behind the bound girl and running her hands down her back, her sides. As they fondled her breasts together, they leaned forward, each laying a line of kisses down opposite sides of Sierra’s neck where her flush was deepening by the second.

“Liam’s a very lucky Dom,” the brunette told her.

“Incredibly lucky,” her friend agreed. “Come find us if you ever want to play.”

Mack’s heart stuttered at the expression on Sierra’s face. She’d be a truly terrible poker player—she had no filter to keep her secrets hidden. Right now, she was projecting a mix of hope, longing, and the kind of need that stemmed from emotion, not sex.

The Dom approached next, folding his arms over his chest and glowering at her. “Thought you’d gotten a handle on this shit, pet.”

“Grit,” she choked out, then ducked her chin. “Master Grit.”

“Nice save, pet.” Tsking, Grit dropped his arms and enfolded her in a hug. “Different isn’t bad, Sierra. We love you exactly the way you are, and Liam adores you. Take pride in the fact you’re beautiful inside and out, which is more than a lot of people can claim.” Kissing her forehead, he released her. “Tabitha?”

The angry little blonde almost shoved him out of the way, then checked herself. “I’d kiss you but I have issues,” she stated bluntly. “If someone makes you sad, I have ways and means of making them suffer.” Her smile was practically wickedness and savagery combined. “Just say the word.”

Sierra’s mouth dropped open. “Ah… thanks?”

“Christ, Tabby, you’re supposed to compliment her and say something nice to make her feel good.” Grit groaned in exasperation.

“That was nice.” Frowning, the blond narrowed her eyes. “You feel good, right?”

Mack imagined Sierra felt like a rabbit caught in a snare with a tiger licking its lips in front of her. Her quick nod of acquiescence confirmed that notion.

“See? I can be helpful.” Linking her fingers into Grit’s, the feisty sub dragged her Dom away, muttering under her breath.

Sierra went limp in relief, obviously overwhelmed, but the line in front of the stage didn’t stop at her friends. One by one, people were leaving their seats and making their way to the front of the room, standing patiently awaiting their turn.

How the hell did her Dom bear watching everyone touch her, Mack wondered, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his jeans. Sierra was inundated with quick kisses, gentle pats, a whole host of words to shore up her confidence.

By his gauge, there was still no arousal despite the many hands titillating her skin. Her nipples were barely peaked, still mainly flat, and a pale pink. The color in her cheeks was more embarrassment than desire; her breathing hitched with anxiety, not lust. From the quick flashes of her pussy he glimpsed whenever she shifted her weight from foot to foot, she was just as disaffected there—no wetness, no puffiness of her labia.

Liam, however, didn’t seem too concerned about any of that. His hawkish gaze monitored every interaction while that tough body braced to leap into action at the first sign of distress from his submissive.

When the line began to dwindle, Mack set his half-full beer down on the bar and stretched his shoulders. His fascination with Sierra was growing exponentially, her quirks drawing him to her like a chain on a winch.

Adding his presence to the queue, he studied her face from the closer advantage. Her lips twitched as a woman in her late forties stepped up, her fingertips stroking over Sierra’s beard.

“It’s so soft,” the woman whispered in an awed, childlike voice. “ Awesome .”

Littles were the epitome of innocence and compassion. Blunt at times, brutally so, but he’d never met one with cruel intentions, just the savage honesty of a child.

Eyes wet again, Sierra blinked and shifted her face slightly to the right. She must have caught a glimpse of him, because her head whipped round to meet his stare head-on. Her lips parted on a shocked oh , her eyes sparking with a heat he hadn’t seen the entire time she’d been on display.

Instinctively submissive, she cast her gaze down, which pleased him immensely.

The wait to reach her was interminably long, yet wasn’t more than a couple of minutes. The nearer he got, the more his palms yearned to stroke over that damaged skin, to soothe and comfort her trembling.

Finally, it was his turn.

The top of her head came to his sternum, making him feel like a hulking Goliath towering over a woodland pixie. He was gratified by her pulse bounding beneath the fragile skin of her neck; it was tempting to duck his head and run his tongue over that sweet spot.

Would she moan? Call for her Dom?

“Hello, little pixie.” Christ, his voice sounded an octave deeper, thick with the unspoken need running through his system. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing imaginable?”

“T-Thank you,” she whispered, darting a glance toward his face. Whatever she saw there made her pupils blow, eclipsing the rich brown rings of her irises.

“Do you mind if I touch you?”

Her gaze flicked over to her protective Dom, then back to him. “N-No.”

Mmmn, he loved that slight stutter. A scared sub was no fun to play with; it brought out his guardian side. But a nervous one? They were so easy to tease and taunt, pitting brain against body, until complete submission was their only option to escape.

With his fingertips, he started at her forehead, tracing the lines around her eyes and mouth. A lot of stress in her life, he mused, skimming over a raised, red patch of skin tracking from her temple into her hairline. “Psoriasis or eczema?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I—psoriasis.”

He hummed sympathetically, stroking her beard lightly and finding it —as the Little had declared—remarkably soft. Cupping her neck between his hands, he ran his palms down to her shoulders, then along her arms, reaching behind her head to check the condition of her fingers.

Small, soft, warm.

The rope master knew his job.

Returning to her front, Mack drew circles around her breasts. The rope felt like silk, not quite biting into her flesh but tight enough to be secure. Feathering a rough thumb pad over her nipple, he smiled as it beaded into a sweet, taut peak. “Now that’s just lovely. Beautiful breasts, pixie. Does your Dom give you shiny baubles to clamp on these nipples?”

“Not lately.”

“That’s a shame.” Entertaining himself, he took a breast in each hand, swiping his thumbs back and forth over the buds in turn. When she began to squirm, he half expected Liam to walk over and knock his teeth down his throat for taking liberties, but so far, the Dom was exhibiting precise control. “Will he be mad if I touch you more? Lower?”

She swallowed hard, panting through open lips. Firm, plump lips wet from where her tongue kept lashing out to lick them. “I-I don’t know.”

Pushing his luck further than he’d ever dared before, Mack slid his hands around to frame her ribs. Spreading his fingers wide, he let his hands float down, following the contours of her ribcage, waist, hips, until his fingertips dug lightly into her flesh.

Thumbs forming a bar over her mound, he waited for Liam’s reaction.

Nothing.

“Are you wet, Sierra?”

Fresh color imploded in her cheeks even as some of the light died in her eyes. Mouth turning down at the corners, she shook her head. “Sometimes I don’t.”

What a pity. Was it a symptom of her anxiety, he wondered, or was there another reason? Victims of sexual abuse often had difficulty becoming aroused, but he didn’t get those sort of vibes from her; he doubted she’d let one stranger, let alone half a club of them, touch her so casually.

A side effect of her physical conditions, then? Excess hair was usually tied in to hormone levels—an excess of one, a lack of another? Stress, perhaps. Skin afflictions were attributed to stressful situations.

Hell, he wasn’t a fucking doctor.

“Don’t feel ashamed, Sierra. We all have moments where performing isn’t possible for whatever reason.” He couldn’t stop himself from stroking his thumbs over her neatly trimmed red curls. “May I pet this shy pussy?”

Sierra sent her Dom a bewildered look, swallowed hard enough for her throat to click audibly, then nodded.

“Thank you, pixie. Spread your legs for me, please—a step to each side will do.” Mack let his approval wash over her as she obeyed, identifying her as a people pleaser. This one might be shy, she might be the most self-conscious sub he’d ever met, but she would surrender herself again and again to make others happy. He added a purr of pleasure to his voice. “Aren’t you just the best girl?”

She was delightfully responsive to tone—that stroke of pleasure under his words made her melt, some of the tension seeping from her muscles, and he’d be damned if she didn’t have a praise kink to boot.

Cupping her pussy in his palm, he closed his eyes and savored the heat of her against his skin. A hint of dampness, a slight filling of her labia, a disinterested clit not even trying to peek from its hood.

What an enigma.

Fuck, he loved mysteries.

Gently, waiting for a knife to strike him in the back, he toyed with her. Fingertips only at first, learning the shape of each fold and dip by feel alone. Circling her clit, encouraging it to come play, until her hips finally jerked into his hand. Tugging lightly on the string between her lips. “That’s it, pixie. Relax a little bit. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She whimpered, biting her lip until her teeth indented the soft flesh.

In his mind, the world was already non-existent. The club, their audience, the music and chatter of society… all gone. But the more he played with her, the more he teased and aroused her, he found time itself becoming inconsequential.

When her labia grew plump, slickness smearing over his fingers, Mack smiled at her. “Bet you get wet for your Dom with a look, right? A look, a word, the slightest touch. Strangers don’t get that privilege; they need to work for it, earn trust. Have I earned your trust, pixie?”

Her breath shuddered out. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Fuck, that sounded good. He’d missed this, the respectful tone and honorific from a willing sub. “Thank you. I’ll make sure not to break it.”

Her back arched, a cry bursting from her lips as he slipped a finger along her seam, then inside her with exquisite slowness. Satisfactorily tight, he thought, but not half as wet as she should be.

Taking a tissue from his pocket, he discreetly removed the tampon in his way, wrapping it up neatly and depositing the tissue back where it came from for later disposal.

Returning to her pussy, Mack rocked his digit carefully through the squeeze of her muscles, sensing her stiffen, retreating as though something hurt. Reading the signs, he didn’t press further, simply stimulated her clit with a firm touch. “Tell me when you’ve had enough. No or stop will work just fine.”

Evidently, stopping him wasn’t on her mind—or her Dom’s. Either the guy was biding his time to knock Mack out, or he wasn’t the possessive, jealous type.

“Is your Dom watching you ride my hand, pixie? Can he see how you’re grinding your clit on my thumb, fucking my finger like a greedy little girl?” Oh yeah, she got something out of that, he thought when her pussy clamped down on his digit. “Did I hit a good spot there? Is it the idea of your Dom watching you get fingered by another man?”

She squirmed, more moisture slicking his finger.

“Yeah, you like that he’s watching, but I think you like being called a greedy little girl more.”

A moan, subtle yet powerful enough to vibrate straight into his balls.

Mack leaned in close, his mouth by her ear as he thrust his finger into her again, sliding in easier this time. “How hard do you like getting fucked, pixie? Are you a dirty little girl who screams her Dom’s name when his cock splits open this snug pussy? A naughty little girl who enjoys getting her ass filled with cum?”

Sierra’s legs buckled.

For the first time, Mack felt Liam’s presence move close. Already a step ahead of her Dom, he lashed his arm around her waist, anchoring her before she fell on her pretty ass. “Steady, pixie. I get any bruises on you, your Dom is gonna give me some of my own.”

A low growl from behind confirmed his theory.

She was wet now, obviously just needing some vocal foreplay to get her system running faster. Sliding a second finger inside her, he pressed against her upper wall, pleased when she gasped, contracted around his digits, and simultaneously let her head drop back.

Wonderful things, G-spots.

“Ask your Dom if you can come, pixie.”

She shuddered. “I-I can’t.”

“You can’t or he won’t let you?”

“Can’t,” she whispered, looking stricken. “N-Not without t-time and— oh .”

A twist of his hand, a careful change of angle, and he brought her up onto her toes. “Ask your Dom for permission to come, pixie. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Panic, desperation, and longing contorted her facial muscles as she turned her head to seek out Liam. Hands still behind her, she couldn’t reach for him with anything but her eyes. “Daddy, please? Please can I come?”

Daddy? Shit, no wonder she liked little girl so much; she was one. Wasn’t that just… fascinating, he decided. The beard should’ve made her look masculine, but the daintiness of her features negated it. Add in the Little and she truly was the enigma he first thought.

Liam didn’t say a word, but when her expression changed to relief and dread, Mack understood her request had been granted. She wanted an orgasm, was primed for it now, so why did it scare her?

I can’t .

Like hell, she couldn’t.

Shifting position, Mack skirted behind her, leaving his fingers tucked in that snug cunt. She squeezed him in quick pulses, her climax poised and waiting for the signal to release it. Leaning her back against him, he adjusted his supporting arm to cup her breast, pinching a pert nipple tightly and rolling it back and forth in time with the beat of her inner muscles.

Setting a foot between hers, mindful of his boot against her bare feet, he tapped her legs wider until they were hip-width. He touched his lips to her fingers, pleased they were warm and a healthy color despite the length of time she’d been bound. He’d make this quick—she was no doubt feeling the strain of keeping her arms raised in this position.

“All right, pixie, why don’t you show me how much of a good little girl you can be,” he purred in her ear. He grinned when she clamped down on him and moaned. “Yeah, you want to be a good girl. Good girls get to come all over fingers and cocks as many times as they want, don’t they?”

She nodded earnestly.

“Take a deep breath and relax. Look at your Daddy, find his eyes and hold them, pixie. He’s going to watch you come apart all over a stranger’s hand. If you’re a good girl and scream his name, he might even fuck you when I’m done.”

There was no hesitation; her head tilted slightly as her back lifted into his chest with that deep breath he’d commanded. She whined when his fingertips stroked over and over her G-spot; he felt it bloom, knew he had it right when she began to shake, her hips riding his hand feverishly.

Juices dripped down his fingers to gather in his palm, trickling down the back of his hand. When she let go and allowed herself to be aroused, she gave bountifully. The fragrance of her arousal was heady, sweet, a shot of fucking Viagra to his already painful cock.

Stroking turned to thrusting. Gently at first, massaging that magic spot, but something inside her resisted the lure of orgasm. Her shaking intensified, her moans growing deeper and plaintive. Massaging evolved into striking—quick, sharp curls of his fingertips battering her G-spot in a hammering rhythm.

“C’mon, pixie,” he coaxed. “Don’t think your Daddy will be too pleased if I fingerfuck your ass at the same time.”

“ Liam! ” The scream tore out of her, high and frantic, as juices spurted over his hand, down her legs, over the stage floor. “Daddy!”

Well, shit. Laughing, Mack held on to her, using his fingers to strip every ounce of pleasure he could from her bucking body, barely able to think past the vicious grip of muscles milking him for all they were worth.

“Good girl, Sierra. It’s okay,” he soothed when she whimpered and went limp, her legs folding bonelessly. Holding her up, he extricated his fingers carefully, giving her messy folds a gentle pat. “We’ll get you cleaned up and back to your Daddy, all right? Such a good, responsive little girl.”

The look she gave him was a mixture of adoration, shock, and exhaustion.

Without getting his straining dick anywhere near her pussy, he knew he was fucked.