Page 96 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

If this is what holding back looks like, what the fuck has he been doing to me?

Before I can process what that means, two thick fingers push inside me, deep, stretching, and perfect. I choke on air and grip the bar so hard my knuckles go white. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His fingers curl, dragging against my front wall in a way that makes sparks explode behind my eyes. His thumb returns to my aching clit, and the combination nearly breaks me. There’s nothing left but him and what he’s doing to me. His fingers work inside me with devastating precision, while his thumb never stops the relentless circles on my clit.

My knees buckle. His other arm wraps around my waist, holding me up and pulling me against him while his hand destroys me from the inside out.

I’ve never felt anything like this. Never needed anything the way I need his fingers inside me right now. I’m ruined. He’s ruined me.

A moan escapes me, raw and desperate.

His mouth is at my ear instantly. “Shh.” The command is soft but absolute. “Unless you want everyone to know what I’m doing to you.”

His fingers don’t stop. If anything, they work faster and harder.

And then I remember where we are. A crowded bar, with music playing, and people laughing just twenty feet away. And I’m about to come right here in this bar with his fingers inside me, and I can’t—I can’t⁠—

“Stop,” I manage. “Rye, you have to stop. I’m going to come.”

“Ryewood.” His thumb presses hard against my clit. “And no, I don’t.”

I can’t help the soft moan it pulls from me.

“You win—” The words tumble out, desperate and broken. “You win. I admit it. I can’t come here⁠—”

“You can.” His voice is steel. “And you will.”

His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot again and again.

I’m going to shatter. Right here. In front of everyone.

“Rye—”

“Ryewood.” Another hard press to my clit. Pleasure spikes through me, sharp and blinding. “The only way this ends is with you coming on my hand.”

“Rye, please—” I don’t even know what I’m begging for anymore. For him to stop or for him to never stop.

“Say my name,” he growls against my ear. “Say it properly and come for me like a good girl.”

I’m shaking, trembling, the pressure is unbearable. Building and building until I think I might die from it.

“Ryewood—” It tears out of me.

“Good girl.”

His fingers curl inside me, and his thumb presses down on my clit so hard I see stars—and I shatter.

His mouth captures mine before the moan can escape, swallowing the sound, drinking down my release like he’s starving for it. His kiss is consuming and devouring, like he wants to taste every wave of pleasure rolling through me.

The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The kind of pleasure that rewrites everything I thought I knew about my own body.

The orgasm keeps cresting, wave after wave, his fingers still working inside me, drawing it out, making it last. His thumb circles my clit through every aftershock, pulling another tremor from me, then another.

“That’s it,” he whispers against my mouth between kisses. “Give me everything.”

I’m shaking so hard I’d collapse if he wasn’t holding me up. My hands grip his forearm with nails digging in, anchoring myself to him while I come apart in his arms.

I come until I’m boneless. Until the pleasure finally crests and starts to ebb. Until the tremors slow to shivers. Only then do his fingers gentle. His soft circles soothing instead of demanding, bringing me down slowly. His fingers slide out of me, and I whimper at the loss.

He spins me around gently to face him, pressing my back against the bar, still holding me up. His eyes are burning and hungry, fixed on mine as he raises his hand to his mouth. And licks his fingers clean. Fuck.