Page 86 of Bourbon and Proof

His thumb grazes my lips before his hand cuffs around the column of my throat. “Such a smart mouth,” he teases as he tilts me where he wants me, but instead of kissing me, he bites at my lower lip first, and then runs his tongue along it, making me whimper.

Ace hums against my skin, his lips ghosting just below my ear. “You will not come until I let you.”

My head whips toward him, thighs clenching. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

His eyebrow quirks. And he lets out a muffled growl. “Then it sounds like you’ll be self-servicing tonight.”

I smirk, narrowing my eyes, thinking that he can’t be serious. But his glare and lack of humor are an easy tell. He’s serious. I let out a frustrated groan and sit up a little taller, peering back at him when I say, “I’m very good at self-servicing, if you remember.”

His sexy mouth doesn’t say anything else. He just gives a simple nod, knowing that I’ve heard his demand. But he’s still waiting. “Say it,” he whispers.

I squeeze my crossed legs as his fingers skate along my outer thigh.

“Tonight. You are not coming unless I permit you,” he says, voice like gravel. “Now, say ‘yes, Daddy,’ and watch.”

I’m dead and on my way to heaven.I’m wet past the point of my panties. And I’m not sure I want to simply watch any longer.

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, just as his fingers push lightly against my knee, encouraging my legs to uncross.

“Knees wide, sugar.” He shifts his body beside me, wrapping his arm along the back of the oversized chair, and focusing on the scene unfolding in front of us. “And eyes on her.”

The woman from the bar is lying out on a plush, round platform, her sheer lingerie set framing her lush figure. The dynamic between her and her partner feels like it’s changed. She’s no longer in charge while the man standing across from her takes his time choosing tools and toys from an expansive display. “Has anyone ever used those types of things on you before?” Ace asks.

I shake my head, keeping my focus on the long bar with leather cuffs on either end. And then the riding crop wrapped around the man’s wrist. I’m chastising myself for never having thought of having a spare one for pleasure in addition to the ones in the stables. I glance along the tabletop with various straps, plugs, and gags. I know the mechanics of most of it—romance novels and falling down a rabbit hole of curiosity in a post-Fifty Shades era will do that to a woman. But witnessing them in use, or being on the receiving end, has yet to be on my experience card. “Do you find her attractive?” I ask him.

“She’s very beautiful,” he says, and then takes a drink of his bourbon. When he places it back on the side table, he leans into me, and with his lips dancing along my ear, says, “But she’s far too obedient for my liking, and like every other woman, her curves aren’t the ones I want in my hands. She doesn’t rub her wrist when she’s nervous. Her hair isn’t wild. She doesn’t have a freckle on her left cheek, just beside her nose that I love to look at. And her lips don’t tilt up along the right side when I talk.”

My heart beats faster as I turn my head to him. “That was very detailed of you.”

But instead of answering me, he wraps his arms farther around me, just as he kisses my forehead. Then he’s lifting and shifting me effortlessly into his lap, as if I’m not a solidly built woman. There’s something wildly sexy about being manhandled with the right man. I’m not tiny. My legs are long and muscular, and I have a softer center and round hips. Thick and fit. I learned a long time ago to love all the parts that make me whole, but I also take notice of that reality. And Ace lifts, shifts, and holds me without much effort.

With one arm still around my waist, he encourages me to relax, pressing my back to his front. It feels so good to be handled like this—carefully and dominating. My body warms as I sink into him. I’m rewarded with his hard cock pressing intomy lower back. His hands fist the lace of my dress, exposing my panties, and cool air brushes against my pussy as I watch. “Be nice and quiet for me,” he says quietly.

The items the man in front of us has chosen seem tame enough, but perhaps it's the determined way he’s chosen them. Thoughtfully, but confidently. He bears that same dominant energy that practically billows off my husband. My mouth waters as he pushes one hand into the woman’s long, dark hair and the other down the column of her neck.

Ace’s hand snakes up between my breasts and to my neck, mimicking the same movement. His thumb rubs gently along my racing pulse, his lips beside my ear. “When are you going to realize that there could be thousands of beautiful women presented to me, just like that...” He widens his legs, which in return, widens mine. His fingers skate along the edges of the panties that still cover me, with a slow glide back and forth over the gusset. “My attention has always been and always will be...” he trails off as his fingers dip beneath the fabric to find the lips of my pussy. A low growl escapes him as his fingers slip along my arousal. “On. You.” He punctuates his point with a pinch on my clit.

My lips part as I gasp.

“Remember my rule, sugar.”

You will not come until I let you.I groan at the reminder.

“Take these off,” he says, pulling at the fabric of my panties. I lift just enough to loop my fingers into the material and do as he says. When I settle back where I was, so garishly displayed on top of him, he grabs my panties from my hand. “You’re right, these are pretty, but your bare pussy dripping on my pants is so much better.” One hand goes right back to wrapping around my throat, my body pressed into his as his fingers play with me exactly like I would be doing myself. “Eyes on her,” he demands.

Her fingers trail between beautiful breasts that spill from her balconette bra, circling around a nipple that peeks through the red sheer material. Her mask is still in place, that deep red matching her full lips that part as she teases us—an exhibitionist at her finest, confident and ready to entertain. I admire her flair.

A gasp echoes from across the room, catching my attention. I forgot that we weren’t the only observers.

“You’re so wet for her,” he hums against me. I hold on to his forearm, keeping the pressure of his hand against my throat. The way it feels to be touched this way, it’s like ownership and, goddesses, does this man own me right now.

I move my head to the right so he can hear me when I say, “Not for her.”

He must like that, because his fingers move to the hood of my clit and slap her twice before curving down and shifting into me. The change in pressure is so unexpected that I can’t help but moan.

“This all for me, then?” His lips drag along my jawline. “Show me. Squeeze my fingers nice and tight with your eager little cunt.”

“Goddesses,” I whisper. I do just as he demands, contracting and gripping, trying my fucking hardest not to squirm as he fingers me with a slow, come-hither motion, grazing parts of me that have my body heated and tensing.

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