Page 48 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

My stomach churns at the thought. I know that won’t happen. I know Gunther will never let such a pregnancy get to that point. He’s already told me numerous times that if I dare to insult him by carrying another man’s child, he’ll rip the infant from my womb with his bare hands.

Devin watches me like he knows it too, like he’s heard all those nasty things my husband has said to me while he’s beating me, while he’s raping me.

I let out a ragged breath, turning my face as far from view as I can. It’s done now. This is done. Devin got his moment of fun. I got another awful memory to try to reconcile myself with.

“Get out.” I whisper.

“What did you say?” He snarls back.

I shut my eyes, clenching my fists. “Get out.” I say more forcefully. “You got what you wanted; you took what my husband permitted. The deed is done. You can fuck off back to your mates in that shitty barracks.”

He lets out a laugh, a cruel, nasty laugh that makes me feel even more defeated.

“Did he not tell you?” He says. “I don’t just get to fuck you once, Paitlyn, I get to fuck you all night.”

“What?” That can’t be true. That can’t be possible.

Only, the look on his face tells me it is.

Gunther has never granted anyone a whole night before. All his other nasty friends fuck and then leave. What possible reason does he have to allow Devin such access?

“I saved your husbands life.” Devin states, dropping to his knees, dropping right between my thighs. “The least you can do is show me your gratitude.”

He yanks my thighs, yanks my body up and to my horror, he drops his mouth right to the centre of it. I don’t know what to think, what to feel, how to even tolerate the abuse he’s delving out because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like abuse, it feels incredible. It feels too good.

I hate it. I hate that he’s doing this, touching me like this, making me feel this .

The swipes of his tongue makes me feel giddy, make me feel like I’m hallucinating, that I’ve somehow drifted off into an alternate universe where people are good and kind, and things such as pain don’t exist.

He pushes it deep into me and I swear my eyes roll back in my head.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I need him to stop. I need this all to stop . I think I’d rather take the pain, take his brutality than have to face the knowledge that he’s making me feel this, making me do this, making my body betray me in the worst possible of ways.

He pulls off, staring up at me with that devilish grin that tells me he knows exactly what he’s up to.

“Bastard.” I spit, hoping he hears all the venom in my voice right now.

He doesn’t say anything back, he just moves his fingers to start finger fucking me before he returns his lips to devouring my clit.

With horror, I realise I’m grinding against him. Encouraging him.

Another orgasm is peaking and this one feels so much more than the previous. It feels more weighted, more intense and far more fucking shameful. I whimper, shaking my head, trying to tell myself that this is wrong, that all of this is wrong but it’s too late, far too fucking late.

I topple over, I combust, I let out a wail that feels far more agony than it does pleasure, and just as I do, Devin’s teeth snap around my clit, they clamp down on it, twisting, biting, and the brief moment of pleasure turns to the most excruciating agony.

He drops my legs, drops my body like I’m a piece of trash and then he gets up, stalks over to grab something else before returning.

I’m exhausted, drained, both emotionally and physically. I half wish I could just pass out, that he could just knock me unconscious, beat me hard around the head and spare me the rest of whatever he has planned.

“Five.” He states. “Five orgasms. You’ve come tonight more times than I bet you have the entire time you’ve been married.”

“Fuck you.”

I slam a foot into his face, at least I try to. He’s quick to react, quick to grab my ankle and twist my leg until I think he might make my bone snap, and I cry out, screaming my submission.

“That’s not how a lady behaves.” He states, like he has any idea about it. Like he’s ever been around decent human beings. He’s probably spent his entire life holed up in Oblivion, with the worst dredges of society.

He leans down over me, sweeping my hair from my face. “Such a pretty whore.” He murmurs.

He grabs my left ankle, yanking it as wide as he can before he ties it off. I jerk out, trying to get myself free, but he’s quick to grab my right and repeat the same so that I’m completely spreadeagled now. Completely helpless.

“Nice and tight.” He says, checking it like there’s any way I could get myself free.

“Please…” I gasp. I just want this to end. I need this to end. I physically can’t take anymore of this.

He tuts, as though my words are an annoyance but when he produces the knife my please turn to something far louder, far more panicked.

“Please,” I scream out, “Please, don’t, don’t…”

He backhands me hard enough that he knocks me out for a few seconds. When I come back round, he’s on me, straddling me, and that knife is far too fucking close.

I feel dazed, I feel lightheaded. My breath hitches, my heart thumps louder and louder as he drags the flat side over my skin. I don’t dare move, and I know it’s the reaction he wants, and yet, what else can I do?

As he twists the thing, I can feel it literally slicing me up, slicing me open.

I scream, trying to move away, but the restraints hold firm and there’s nothing I can do but simply lay here and take it.

He watches me as if he’s almost bored by this and I want to kick him so hard in the face.

He then lowers his mouth, tracing the stream of blood, smearing it with his tongue.

“Fucking delicious.” He mutters.

“You’re a psycho.” I spit back. “And absolute psycho.”

His lip curls, he casts his eyes over me and then draws the blade further across my flesh.

It hurts. Every cut, every inch, every bit of me that he slices into.

I throw my head back, I shut my eyes, I hiss and bite my tongue so hard because I don’t want him to know that he’s winning. But he is, isn’t he? He and Gunther too. Both of them, all of them, every guard in this Palace, every man my husband gifts me to. Every single one of them has beaten me.

“You bleed so prettily.” He says, sounding like he’s actually high. Like seeing all of this, all my blood is physically affecting his brainwaves.

My tears start falling heavier. I can’t seem to stop them, and they slide down my cheeks, down onto my chest, mixing with the blood, watering it down.

“So fucking beautiful.” Devin says, staring at me. “You look angelic, like you’ve just fallen from the heights of heaven, and I’m the devil come to claim you.”

I gulp. I can well believe that. He is a devil. He’s a lunatic too. He’s sick and twisted, and just as fucked up as my husband – no, he’s even worse. Because my husband’s barbarity doesn’t feel like this, doesn’t hurt like this.

Gunther is a brute, but Devin, Devin’s madness is calculated, it’s precise.

Devin forces another shameful orgasm from me before he undoes the bindings, and I dare to hope that this is it. That he’s done with me. Afterall, he’s humiliated me, fucked me, cut me up, what more could there be left?

He carries my body because I’m too weak, too limp to stand, and he lets me flop against him.

A vision seems to appear before me. At first, I think it’s Christ himself, that he’s there, carrying me, fresh from his crucifixion, that he’s granting me mercy, granting me my salvation.

Only, with horror, I realise that I’m in front of a mirror, that I’m staring at myself.

It’s not a vision at all. It’s me. I’m the one that is bleeding.

I choke on my breath, my heart feels like it actually stops beating. What has he done to me? What the fuck is it?

He raises a finger tracing the swirls and I hiss at the sharp pain.

“I made you prettier.” He whispers into my ear. “I turned you into a real masterpiece.”

A masterpiece? I stare at myself, at my flesh. He’s carved into it all, he’s cut some sort of pattern, something that streaks across my entirety.

I whimper, realising that this, this is permanent. What he’s done will always be here.

“Now, every time someone looks at you, every time you look at yourself too, you’ll see me, you’ll see my claim. My ownership.”

What the fuck? My legs give way, they buckle beneath me and his arms quickly catch my weight.

“I’m not yours.” I spit. “I never have been. And I never want to be. You bastards might take my body but none of you have a claim on my soul.”

His hand wraps around my throat, he tightens it just enough that my eyes bulge.

“Don’t kid yourself, Paitlyn. You soul was mine from the moment you first saw me. That’s why you follow me around, that’s why your eyes always find mine, why you search me out, why you hunger for me, hunger for my pain, my torment.”

“Like fuck I do.” I snarl.

What madness is he saying? What lies has he convinced himself of? I don’t want him. I don’t want any of them. “You can burn in hell, all of you.” I half-scream.

He groans as if I’ve said something sexy, something tempting. “Hell is where I belong.” He agrees. “And you will be there beside me, burning in our damnation.”