Across the table, Preston grins, elbowing his buddy as Jonas sits taller in his seat. “What, did you guys not talk about that either?”
My fingers go numb with how tight I’m twisting.
He tips his head back and laughs, the sound drowning out whatever Mama tries to say next. “Classic bug. Too embarrassed to admit how you used to get ridden hard and put away wet every—”
It feels like my chest caves in, his words making my stomach churn. The brush between my breasts digs into my rib cage, and I consider how much effort it would take to launch myself across the table and drive it into one of his eye sockets.
Daddy’s fist comes down on the table at the same time a hand finds my thigh. I swallow a gasp when the rough fingers pull mine apart, slipping beneath and keeping me from inflicting more damage.
My fingers ache, and I track the hand as it travels up, finding it attached to a thick wrist with a corded bracelet. Jonas scoots closer, his arm hidden by the white satin tablecloth, and his thumb smooths circles over my knuckles.
“Goodness, Preston,” Mama says, casting a nervous look around the tables. Her composure is hanging by a thread, unspooling with each minute that passes.
“Oh, come on. Not like it’s anything the whole world doesn’t already know.” He grins at me, that stupid fucking grin I found charming years ago. When I didn’t know the insidiousness behind it.
“Impolite to bring up peoples’ sex lives at brunch,” Palmer says. “Unless we’re all sharing?”
Mama’s eyes widen, and she quickly looks away from him and Troy. “No need, darling. It’s enough that you’re here at all.”
That comment seems to slice through the tension in the air. It doesn’t get rid of it, just splits it up into more manageable, bite-sized pieces. I let out a breath, my lungs on the verge of collapse, as Jonas’s hand slides farther inward.
My eyes shoot to his. Dark-blue irises stare back, rage and desire swimming in their depths.
“Keeping secrets, little puppet?” His voice is a low rumble I feel on the back of my teeth.
I shake my head, watching Preston from the corner of my eye as he tries to eavesdrop. “More like embarrassments.”
“Hmm.” My nostrils flare as his hand continues its ascent, slipping under the hem of my dress. His eyes rove over my face as if studying for the slightest changes in my reaction, and blue fades to violet when he grazes the lace edge of my thong, coaxing a sharp breath from me.
God, I’m gonna be sick. Only this time, for entirely different reasons.
“I don’t think I like the idea of you not sharing things with me.”
Laughter collects in my throat. “Get used to it, Mr. Wolfe.”
A low sound emits from his chest, something half human and half… not. My pulse kicks up, intensifying between my thighs as his fingers inch closer and closer.
Jonas leans in, and for some reason, I look at Preston, regret filling my blood almost immediately. He and his friends are watching, eyes narrowed, and I wonder if they can tell what Jonas is doing.
Then I wonder why I care.
Hooking his thumb in the fabric covering my pussy, Jonas somehow manages to yank it aside enough, finding my clit and pressing hard.
I jolt in my seat, my hands gripping the edge of the table.
“Are you all right, Helene?” Mama asks, furrowing her brows.
Nodding, I reach for my mimosa, bringing it to my lips to hide the fact that they won’t close.
The first swipes against my swollen flesh are slow. Lazy, almost, like we’re not at brunch with my family and a bunch of strangers, but somewhere private we can enjoy each other.
His breath is hot in my ear. “You didn’t even tell me your real name.”
“It was on the contract,” I say.
“I didn’t read the bloody contract.”
“What?” The word is far too loud, mixing with a strangled gasp as he speeds up his strokes, fitting the pad of his finger so it hits just so, and setting my nerve endings on fire. My stomach heaves, tension knotting the organs and drawing the muscles in my body tight.
It’s obvious that I’ve been neglecting myself as he silently works, dipping lower to gather some of my arousal and spread it over my skin.
“You want to come while he’s watching?” Jonas whispers, and I almost spit out my drink. “Show him, love. Prove to him who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to you,” I say back, just as soft.
His chuckle trickles down to my core, sending a spiral of arousal up my spine. “You do right now.”
Once again, I find myself staring at Preston. His eyes darken, brows drawing in as he clears his throat. He knows. Oh, god, he knows. Moving his arm slowly, he drops his fork to the ground, and right when he bends beneath the table to grab it is when Jonas forces my thighs apart and impales me with two fingers.
“Jesus, Len, you’re pale as a ghost.” Cash grabs the pitcher of ice water from the center of the table, pouring some into an empty glass and pushing it toward me.
“I’m f-fine,” I manage, taking the water just so I have something to do with my hand other than bite it the way I want to.
Jonas doesn’t let up, angling himself even closer so he can massage the inner walls of my pussy with ease. I don’t fully understand what’s happening, or why he’s doing this here, but one thing appears certain: Jonas Wolfe is a man of action, and he does not take well to threats.
Face red and pinched, Preston sits back up. He glances at Daddy, as if debating whether or not to mention what he just witnessed.
A broken sound catches in the back of my throat at the thought of getting caught so publicly. At Preston’s rage, floating freely inside of him where it can’t be doused.
The way I’ve carried mine for so long, because of him.
Reaching across my plate, Jonas grabs a blueberry scone from a silver platter and brings it to my mouth; it probably looks romantic from the other side, like someone feeding their lover an affectionate bite, but in reality, he shoves the pastry between my lips to keep me from making another sound.
I’m basically gagged at breakfast, and even when I try to tear off a piece to thwart him, he just pushes more inside.
And I kind of like it. Being stuffed, helpless and unable to peep.
It’s exhilarating at his command.
Blueberry bleeds onto my tongue, and my orgasm approaches slowly, building and building; when it breaks, it’s like a pipe bomb exploding. Shock waves roll over my skin, drawn out by Jonas’s unrelenting friction both inside my pussy and against my clit.
“Spectacular,” Jonas hisses in my ear, the sound just barely breaking through as I fall apart. “You’re soaking me, love. Doing such a proper job drenching my fucking fingers. I have half a mind to add more, stretch you apart right here and see how well your juicy little cunt takes it.”
I clamp down hard, stars flashing across my vision, my hips shifting mindlessly even as he tries to keep me in place.
“Shh,” he says, and the chatter of the people around us starts to filter in, making me hyperaware of the fact that we’re in public still. He slides the scone from my lips, then takes a giant bite himself, and I almost pass out. “Be a good girl and don’t draw any more attention while I’m inside you.”
My mouth is dry as I quickly chew and swallow, and I want to quip that he shouldn’t have his fingers in me in the first place, but then he withdraws, wiping himself on the inside of my thigh and righting my underwear.