Page 83 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

T he water trickles down onto her body.

She’s tense. Alert. Clearly on the verge of panicking.

Maybe this wasn’t as a good an idea as it seemed in my head, but she was filthy, and I thought getting her clean would at least sort one problem out.

Her head keeps darting to the door like she’s expecting all the others to come bursting in. Like she thinks they’re going to disobey me.

Well, more fool them if they do.

I grab the sponge, lathering up the soap enough that it gets foamy and I start wiping away the muck. Each swipe reveals that perfect, beautiful skin beneath, reveals that intricate pattern I carved into it.

She tries to step away, but I won’t let her.

I lift her chin, force her to look at me with those fake eyes. “Who gave you them?” I ask.

She winces, trying to pull her face out of my grasp but I just tighten my grip enough that she whimpers.

“Who gave you those eyes?” I repeat.

“He did.” She spits back. “He said he wanted to pretend I could still see, that I could watch what he was doing to me.”

Fucking bastard. I should have killed Guthrie when I had the chance.

I mean, I did technically anyway, but the man died far too quickly, far too pain-free for my liking.

One little flashbang and the fucker keeled over.

That wasn’t the way he deserved to die. I had a far better plan in mind, one that involved a hot poker right up his arsehole, while I turned him on spit.

“What are you going to do with me now?” She asks. She doesn’t sound afraid, if anything it feels like she’s challenging me.

“You’re mine.” I state.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Paitlyn,”

“No.” She suddenly screams. “I’m not, I’m not…”

I shove my hand over her mouth, pushing her back into the dull beige tiles. “I told you I would take you.” I growl into her ear. “I told you how this would be. Maybe the timing is a little off but God has seen fit to give us this anyway.”

She struggles harder, starts fighting me with her fists and I turn her around, pressing her soapy body against the wall.

Perhaps I should wait. Perhaps I should let her cool off, get her bearings.

Only, I can’t. I’ve waited for five fucking years.

I kick her feet enough to widen her thighs. Oh, I know my little malktā knows what’s coming with that action. But instead of crying out, instead of pleading, she swears at me, rages, like she’s finally found some proper fire.

I shove myself up, bury cock so hard into her cunt my eyes roll back in my head and I swear I might just pass out from the feel of it. She’s warm, wet, so fucking delicious.

I slide out, then slam back in. “My cunt now.” I groan. “Every part of you is mine.”

She shakes her head, she digs her nails into the tiles as I start fucking her mercilessly but I’m not going to let her pretend that she’s not enjoying this, that she didn’t imagine that all the times Gunther was fucking her, that it was me.

“Christ, you feel so good.”

I feel like an addict that’s finally fallen off the wagon, that’s finally gotten the hit they’ve been craving. I don’t care if I die here, I don’t care if this moment here is my last.

I reach around, determined to prove to her that she wants this as much as me. Little whore came for me enough times, you’d think she remember how well I can manipulate her body.

Only, as my fingers slide between her thighs, as they touch that sweet spot above where my cock is almost splitting her in half, I realise that something is missing, that she feels different, that…

“What the fuck?” I snarl. What the fuck is this? What the fuck is wrong with her?

I slide myself out, turning her around. Her cheeks are flamed, her head is turned and I know that look of shame only so well.

“What the fuck happened to you?” I ask.

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything but draw in one furious long breath.

I drop to my knees, using my hands to force her limbs apart, and I stare at her pussy, at where her clit should be. All that’s there now is a livid scar. Even her labia looks different, as if they cut that back, as if they mutilated all of her leaving just a hole to fuck and nothing else.

“He did this?” I don’t need her to answer that. I don’t need her to confirm it. Of course he did it.

She sinks down, falling into the gap between my knees and the wall.

“I…” She covers her face, even as the water continues to pour over us.

“He did it to punish me, he did it because I’m a whore.

He said that now that he had me, he only needed my cunt and my mouth and that I didn’t deserve to feel pleasure. ”

I stare at her, taking those words in. Guthrie did that? He cut her clit out?

“I’ll get it fixed.” I state, not that I know if that’s even possible.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She replies. “None of it does.”

Nah, I won’t have that, I won’t have her thinking that, acting like she doesn’t want to come for me. Acting like it’s okay that someone else cut parts of her out, someone other than me.

I pick her back up, holding her body more gently and I push myself back into her, though I’m slower this time, more considerate. She still screws her face up, still clearly feels the pain as I bury myself inside her.

With one hand, I rock her hips, forcing her body to move, to comply with my wants, and with the other, I keep her pressed into the wall, held by her throat.

Her tits bounce, those beautiful scars all over her body glisten as the shower water pours down. I’m so tempted to lean down and bite them, to bite her nipples, but I remind myself that I’m trying to be nice here, trying to be gentle for the first time in my entire life.

Her whimpers never change to moans, even when I’m certain I’m pressing against her g-spot.

I guess she’s playing hard to get but that’s okay, I have time, we have time.

No one can take her from me now. I can spend hours, days, hell, even weeks entangled with her, learning what makes her body tick, proving that the circumstances may have altered but she’s still my little whore.

I throw my head back when I come, growling so much it’s a wonder I don’t smash the glass cubicle. I slide out, panting, and she stumbles as I release my grip and let her feet touch the floor.

There’s blood. Not much, but enough to tell me I did hurt her.

“You took the spikes out.” She says quietly.

I glance down, realising she means the barbs in my cock. I didn’t take them out, the doctors did when my brother had me institutionalised. Definitely not my finest moment, being held down while someone manhandles the most sensitive part of me.

“We both had things done to us that we didn’t like.” I state.

She wrinkles her nose, her face turning to fury as I switch the water off.

“I’m not your fucking toy.” She suddenly spits. “You all think that I’ll just go back there, just become something you can all fuck, well I won’t. I won’t.”

I grab hold of her, slamming her back. If that’s what she thinks this is, then she’s very wrong indeed.

“No one is fucking you but me.” I state.

She shakes her head, and for a second I can almost believe those fake eyes are truly glaring at me.

“I’m not yours. I’m not.”

“No?” I growl, returning my hand to her throat, pinning her up by it so that her feet kick out and she realises how precarious her situation is.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re gonna go then?

You think anyone else cares about you? Everyone believes your dead, and those that don’t, well,” I grin, even though she can’t see it.

“You don’t want to let those bastards know you’re not? ” I state.

She shudders, digging her nails into my forearms.

“Accept your place, Paitlyn, accept your new role in life.”

“And what is that?” She spits.

“My whore, my plaything, and my wife-to-be.”