Page 24 of Mastered By Lust

I cover my eyes in embarrassment, but my pussy is very much on board with this idea.

Gage’s voice is low, growly, and stern. “Stop covering your face, little girl.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“But you’re turned on, aren’t you? Come on my fingers. It feels so good, doesn’t it? And our friend over there very much likes what he sees. Put on a good show for him.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on Gage’s fingers and the slick, swirling motion around my clit before he thrusts into me again.

“Open your eyes.” Gage fucks me with his fingers, in and out, in and out. “Look at him.”

Shuddering, I peer out the open window. The guy in the car is openly staring, his eyes half-lidded, his arm slowly moving up and down. Is he touching himself while I get off? How embarrassing. But it turns me on even more.

“Please,” I whimper. I’m so close. Gage’s fingers are fucking amazing—penetrating and rough, and then soothing and smooth.

The light turns green. I whine in protest. He’s going to stop touching me and I’m going to cry.

“Come.” Gage doesn’t take his fingers away. He doesn’t start driving. “I have you, baby. Come for menow.”

Muscles rigid, I let the orgasm wash over me. Cleansing and crushing and cataclysmic, all at once. I cling to Gage’s forearm, gasping for breath.

A car honks somewhere behind us. Gage reclaims his hand and we take off. The guy in the other car pulls ahead before taking a turn off Caro and disappearing from sight.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

“Did you like that?” Gage asks.

“Yeah. But what if he, like, hunts us down or something?”

“Don’t worry.” Gage chuckles. “I know him. He’s a regular at Low Vice. You’re safe.”

I stare at him in outrage. I recall him typing something on his phone when we got into the car. He doesn’t seem to like texting, but he might have done it for this. “Did youplanthat?”

“Perhaps I did.” He revs the engine and we shoot down the street. “It was beautiful. I have no regrets; do you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good girl. Now let’s get you home so I can watch you come again.”

* * *

Gage

I have to leave for Los Angeles before Leah wakes in the morning. I jot her a note and put it next to a credit card, telling her to order food and treat herself to something nice.

On the back of my note, I draw a map that will lead her to Angeli’s, a lingerie store located a couple of blocks away. On the map, I don’t reveal the name of the destination. Anticipating her surprise is half the fun.

After leaving the note and card on the kitchen counter, I peek into her bedroom. She insisted on sleeping apart last night. I don’t like it. However, it’s for the best, for now.

The drive to LA goes quickly—I left early enough to beat the worst traffic. Too soon, I arrive at the cathedral, a towering beige stone building surrounded by LA’s ubiquitous palm trees.

I pull into the cathedral parking lot, but I remain in my car. I remove my glasses and use the visor mirror to put in contacts. My face looks strange; I shaved off my beard this morning.

Gage Jannik is gone. Gage Hawthorne is back.

Thankfully, there are no paparazzi waiting outside the cathedral. The time and place for the funeral has been kept private. The attempt at secrecy is futile, however. No doubt by the end, we’ll be dodging cameras and questions. At least there are security guards stationed around the building. If I can see a few, there are certainly more in less conspicuous places.

I find Claudia trying to light a cigarette at the side of the building. Her wavy blond hair is pulled back in a tight, low bun, emphasizing her delicate features. Her dark gray dress is muted enough for a funeral, but designed to showcase her figure.

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