Page 93 of Beautiful Trauma

“I can never get enough of tasting this pussy,” he murmured.

He hadn’t commanded it, but I moaned, “Only you can taste me.”

“That’s right, baby. Only me.”

Once his fingers were cleaned, he started pulling the hem of my skirt back down. “Wait, I either need to clean up now, or we need to make a pitstop at the restrooms inside.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.”

I smiled. “Thanks for the aftercare, lover.”

Kellan chuckled before moving away from me. Cocking my head, I listened as he rustled around in a bag. Then a citrus smell invaded my nose through the blindfold. A cold wipe slid along my thighs and then against my pussy.

“All done.”

“My knight-in-shining-armor,” I mused.

“Smartass,” he laughed.

As the car slowed down, he pronounced, “We’re here.”

Butterflies flurried around in my stomach. As much as I’d fought against Kellan and his surprise, I really was excited to see what he’d come up with.

“Before you can panic that everyone is going to see you with the blindfold, I’m taking you in the back.”

“The back of what?” I pressed, hoping he would slip up.

Kellan tsked at me. “Nice try.”

The door opened then, and the heat from Kellan’s body disappeared from beside me. A few moments passed before he commanded, “Take my hand.”

Blindly, I reached out until I made contact with Kellan’s hand. Gently, he tugged me forward. When I thought I might fall on my face, Kellan’s strong arms came around my waist. He then eased me off the seat and then on to my feet.

“Just let me lead you.”

“Okay.”

Kellan pulled me against his side, sliding a comforting arm around my waist.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Kavanaugh. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

As we started walking away, I couldn’t help asking, “Did he…”

Kellan chuckled darkly. “Oh yeah, he heard us.”

Mortification rocketed through me. “How do you know?”

“He’s got fucking sweat trickling down his neck.”

I tried smacking him, but since I couldn’t see, I missed. “Easy, killer,” he teased.

I heard the sound of a door click open before a blast of cool air encased my body. Instead of concrete, my heels clicked along a tile floor.

“Almost there.”

Instead of responding, I let him continue leading me. At the opening of another door, someone said pleasantly, “Good evening, Mr. Kavanaugh.”