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“He doesn’t want me!”
“No?”
The blindfold loosened, the material sticking to her cheeks with her own tears. Atticus peeled it away carefully, then grasped her chin and gently turned her head. “Would a Master who didn’t want you stand guard while you submit to another Dominant, Anarchy?”
Not ten feet away, Jasper was going head-to-head with another Dominant. He was keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the scenes going on around the room, but his vicious finger jabs at the guy’s chest conveyed his rage with stark perfection. Blue eyes blazing, he berated the Dom so efficiently, the man was turning a beautiful shade of red.
“Now you’re going to offer me this pretty ass and take the plug like a good sub. Ignore the people around us; they’re here for one reason, and that’s to watch a hot scene. So, we’ll give them one. I’m going to light your ass on fire, and when this greedy, neglected cunt is begging to be filled, leaking pussy juice all over my hand, I’m going to fuck it until they hear your screams in Phoenix.”
“But Jasper…”
“Is going to watch you come apart at the seams and wish it were his cock inside you. And if the moron doesn’t reconsider his life choices, I may decide to keep you for myself.” Atticus levered himself off her, pressed a kiss to her nape. “No more tears, sub. The only thing I want to hear from now on is a lot of moaning. I appreciate a noisy sub.”
She nodded in agreement, then yelped loudly as a hand the size of a pizza board clapped down sharply on her butt. Fire radiated from the point of connection, settling to warmth, and between her legs grew damp and edgy.
Amending her mistake, she breathed, “Yes, Master Atticus.”
“Better.” As though this whole horrible interlude had never happened, Atticus poured more lube down the crack of her ass. His finger found her puckered hole, circled it, tested its resilience.
Anarchy gasped, hissed out a breath between her teeth as his digit forged a path inside her, igniting a wicked burn. He wasn’t messing around this time. Whines rattled in the back of her throat in time with his slow, easy thrusts.
More lube. What the hell did he need more lube for?
She got her answer as a second, thick finger breached her rim, stretching her until whines became guttural protests. The burning sensation swelled almost to the point of pain, leaving her clawing at the sides of the bench, digging her nails into the varnished wood.
“You’re doing really well, sweetheart.” Atticus reassured her, twisting his hand and scissoring his fingers inside her rear. If she hadn’t been chained down, she’d have scrambled off the bench to escape the savage ache. “Just stop fighting me and let the muscles relax.”
“I’d like to see you take something up your ass and try to relax,” she moaned, an edge of her normal self sitting up straight and flipping him the bird. “Maybe you’d be a bit more sympathetic to those of us who prefer the exit passage to remain that way.”
His massive palm landed on her lower back and Anarchy froze. Shit, she’d just back-sassed a Master at the worst possible time. But he didn’t shout at her or threaten the safety of her sit spot as so many Doms might. No, he just rubbed her tense muscles with the heel of his hand in long, firm circles.
“Struggling makes you tighten up,” he explained carefully, the fingers penetrating her still twisting and turning, “As soon as you relax and accept the intrusion, I know you’re ready to take the plug.”
“I’m not! I’m not ready!”
“Trust me, Anarchy.” The hand lifted off her back, much to her disappointment—she missed the heavy weight and rhythmic, calming circles. He dipped his fingers between her thighs. “Slick and warm.” He pierced her slowly, purring in approval when her traitorous pussy clamped down on him and sucked him deeper. “My cock is going to enjoy opening you up, sweetheart.”
The entire shitshow of an evening faded away into nothingness. Anarchy released it all and embraced the delight of being touched so intimately after so long. Hugged it close and luxuriated in the sensations.
When his fingers brushed over a familiar spot, pleasure spasmed through her limbs, made her head go light. A keening, pleading moan urged him on.
“Seeing as you asked so nicely, sweetheart…” Laughter in his voice. Maybe he was almost as sadistic as Jasper. He crooked his fingers, tapped firmly on that blessed pinpoint of ecstasy, then pressed hard. “Come for me.”
Reality fractured, splintered into a million shards of pure bliss.
With sunlight lighting up her veins, Anarchy imploded.
***
Chapter Three
He’d never been so inclined to rip a man’s throat out as he was right now. It was all he could do not to fist his hand in the other Dom’s shirt and snap the fucker's head clean off his shoulders.
Jasper had heard the comments this asshole had made, plus those of a young submissive and a Domme. The sub was already being dealt with, her Dominant dragging her away as he read her the riot act for gossiping and disturbing someone's scene.
The Domme had quailed under Jasper’s furious stare and, with a hasty apology, promptly hurried away, her heels tapping quickly on the wooden floor.
That meant Alistair—a Dom who knew better than to fuel the whispers—was the only one left to bear the brunt of Jasper’s furious jealousy. The desire to hurt the man, to see him bleed and hear him scream, was the only reason Jasper hadn’t yet started a brawl.
