Page 42 of Wanted
“You’re not mad at me?” she whispered, the wonder of it stealing some of the weight from her shoulders as Puppy’s arms tightened. That the other girl was crying, she didn’t realize until Puppy pulled back. Her face was wet and her eyes glistening as she laughed.
“No.” She let go of Pony long enough to swipe away the tears with both hands. She laughed again. “No, I’m not mad. I’ve thought about you every day.”
Throwing her arms around Pony again, she hugged her even tighter and this time, Pony hugged her back. Something inside her broke, and her tentative embrace became fierce. She didn’t cry, but she could feel the urge right there in the back of her throat, rising perilously higher the harder Puppy hugged her back.
Someone cleared his throat.
They let go of one another and Puppy turned, a blush already rising up into her face as she looked first at Spencer, standing at the bar with his arms folded across his chest and his customary frown not softening an ounce.
“How many glasses did we just break?” he asked.
Her blush deepened. “Um... right. I’m sorry.”
Ducking her head, she reclaimed the tray she’d thrown from an equally stern dom sitting at one of the couches next to a submissive who was now rubbing her arm.
“Sorry,” she told them both, then dropped to pick up the pieces of shattered glass from the floor. “I’m very sorry.”
“It was my fault,” Pony broke in. “I—”
“Walked in the door,” Spencer finished for her. “Yes. I saw.”
A warm hand settled on her shoulder, startling her until she saw Marcus.
“Reacquainting yourself with old friends, I see,” he said mildly. And she was so glad he was there. The sternness of Spencer’s gaze didn’t soften for him either, but it wasn’t locked solely on her anymore either.
“She’s taking the blame for shit she didn’t do,” he said. “Seems to be par for the course with the Menagerie. Don’t—” he cut Puppy off before she could say she was sorry again. “Just get a broom and don’t cut yourself. I’m out of band aids. Why am I always out of fucking band aids when you’re here?”
He turned, stalking past the bar and down the short hall to his office.
“He doesn’t like me.” Pony didn’t mean to actually say that, but once it was out she couldn’t exactly say she’d lied.
“Sure, he does,” Marcus disagreed. “That was absolutely his ‘I like you’ face. When he doesn’t like someone, his eyes turn jet black and his horns, tail and pitchfork all come out.”
The unexpectedness of his joke almost made Pony laugh, right up until Spencer’s terse voice snapped out from his office, “Those broken glasses are coming out of your paycheck, Cynthia!”
Pony looked to her friend, who after a startled pause, let out another squeal and scampered back to the bar with her tray full of broken glass. “Klara, Klara! Did you hear that? I get a paycheck now!”
“I heard!” Taking the tray, the female bartender passed a broom and dustpan over the bar to her. “Sweep the floor, sweetie.”
“You can catch up with your friend later,” Marcus told her. “Come on.”
Careful to fall into step beside rather than behind him, Pony followed him on a slow tour of the room.
“How do you feel?” he asked, keeping his voice soft as he surveyed each of the two scenes still playing out, completely undisturbed by the minor commotion she had caused at the bar.
“Nervous,” she confessed. “Glad to be back. Scared at the same time.”
He paused to watch the woman on the stage as she arched, keening wildly through clenched teeth as the dom on his knees before her worked her clit with his thumb and his fisting hand with slow, steady pumps, gradually forcing her to take more and more until she writhed in the throes of hip-bucking orgasm.
“Would you let me do that to you?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Do you want me to do that to you?” he rephrased.
Not especially. She’d been fisted once. Once had been plenty. And yet, she couldn’t imagine Marcus doing anything in this place that would… what, hurt? She could positively picture him doing all kinds of things to her that would hurt, at least a little. She could see him putting her over the spanking bench. Easily, in fact. He’d spanked her already and his spankings hurt plenty. Usually, he was correcting her when he did it though, and corrections were meant to hurt. She could see him tying her up, putting a hood on her like the submissive man now grunting under the vigorous thrusts of his Dom. The pain of that rough entry must have eased by now, because his cries were more like groans of lust and when she glanced his way, she could see his cock straining at the confines of the cock cage he wore.
She could see Marcus doing that to her too, and the low swirl of heat that blossomed into instant throbs between her legs was all the proof she needed to know she’d have bent herself into submission for that too. Her pussy, her ass… it didn’t matter, she’d have let him do it all.
