Page 85 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

I put her down on the table. She looks disorientated, confused too, though I can’t blame her for that. I doubt anyone would look too with it, after sitting there in the dirt while a damned battlefield rages around their head.

I place the pistol down beside her and then start barking orders, telling the men to get our shit packed up. Clearly, the site is compromised, it’s only a matter of time before Paitlyn’s bitch of a mother, or worse, my brother, turns up with more men.

While the rest of them race around, shoving what we need into holdalls, I grab a first aid kit and start fixing my woman up. She’s sitting calmly enough but underneath the surface I can tell there’s a tempest brewing and right now, I need to contain it.

The clothes she’s in dwarf her petite figure, they’re also covered in dirt and blood. I don’t know if she’s aware of that fact but when we get to our new safehouse, I’ll find her something more suitable, something more ladylike.

The graze on her arm isn’t too bad. I give it a good clean with an antiseptic wipe, ignoring the hiss from her.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” I state.

“Like you can talk.” She snaps back.

I grab her chin, forcing her to face me. “What does that mean?” I ask.

She winces, like all that bravado has suddenly left her, like it’s blown itself out, though I don’t believe it for a second. I’m realising this meek girl act is just that, an act. Nobody endures the kinds of things she does, nobody survives the horror of it without becoming twisted up, fucked up.

“Come on now, malktā. Tell me what’s in your head. Speak those devil thoughts out loud.”

She screws her face up more at the tone I use, but I can see she likes it, despite her attempts to pretend otherwise. Her chest is rising and falling enough to make me think she’s turned on, to make me think she’s desperate to be fucked all ways between here and Sunday.

“I’m not, I’m…” She huffs again looking more thunderous. “What does that even mean, that stupid name you keep calling me?”

Is she trying to cover it with anger? Is she trying to cover her need and hide from me? My lips curl as I tilt my head and study her.

She’s mine. This woman here, she’s all mine now. It feels good to finally admit it to myself.

“It means ‘queen’ in Aramaic.” I state.

Yeah, that makes her freeze, makes her gulp too. “You, you speak Aramaic?” She whispers.

“Some.” I reply. I don’t need to explain the whole story of why, but I’ll admit I’m enjoying the concern that knowledge has. That she thinks I have deeper connections within the Brethren. That my network may go that far.

“I’m not a queen, not your queen, not…”

My hand over her mouth silences that bullshit.

My other hand in her trousers, in her cunt makes her squeal. I don’t care that everyone here can see this, I don’t care that they’re watching this play out.

She mumbles something incomprehensible and I’d hazard a guess that she’s trying to tell me to let her go. Only, I won’t. She wants this. She craves this. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.

I pin her down, pin her flat onto the table with one hand, while I tear the clothes from her.

“Little whore,” I murmur, undoing my belt, getting my cock out. “I can feel how much you need me right now.”

She shakes her head quickly, but I don’t care what she has to say, what bullshit she pretends.

I’m hard, so fucking hard. And in truth, I need this as much as she does. I slam into her, feeling how her muscles do their usual attempt at trying to stop me.

“Fuck, malktā” I groan. “You feel even better than an hour ago. Is it the thought of all those men dying, all those people fighting over you that’s got you so turned on?”

“No.” She gasps.

I let out a laugh, hearing the lie because she did like. She fucking loved it. My little whore loved every second.

I pick her up, manoeuvring her body around so that she’s now in front of me, straddling me.

“Ride me.” I order. “Roll your hips and ride me like the filthy slut we all know you are.”

She lets out a whimper, but she does it all the same, she lifts herself up, she gyrates her body and she works her cunt up and down, taking my cock over and over like she’s desperate for it.

All the men stand there, staring, watching as this scene plays out, and in truth, this here is as much for them as it is for Paitlyn.

I’m making a point, staking my claim the only way they’ll truly understand.

They may all have had fun with her before, but she is off-limits now.

The most they’ll ever get is a glance at her because if they lay one finger on her, I’ll carve it off and make them choke on it.

“Show them.” I murmur in her ear. “Show all your old guards who this cunt now belongs to.”

She tenses as I say that and clearly, she had no idea we were being observed.

I catch her throat with my hand, my fingers tightening enough to ensure she feels it. With my other hand I yank her hair to stop her from hiding her shame.

“Show them.” I repeat.

She hisses, shaking her head. “I’m not your pet.” She snaps back. “You named me a queen, your queen. Is this how you treat royalty?”

My lips curl. Oh, she is learning, isn’t she? I knew she was smart, I knew it.

“You want me to do the worshipping, is that it?” I murmur into her ear. “You want me to get on my knees for you?”

She shudders, and I feel her insides clench around me, revealing how desperately she desires that.

I let out a laugh. “If that’s what you need, then I’ll do it. I’ll worship you, I’ll fucking kill for you.”

She bucks her hips harder, her movements become far more savage as I say those words, as I promise that. And she’s moaning, crying, sounding like she can’t get enough of this.

A flashback hits me, of her spread out, laying wide open, weeping out as I made her come over and over for me.

Even then, even when I knew I was breaking her, stripping her down to her most based desires, she never sounded like this, she never sounded so…

I shake my head, my eyes fixing on the guards nearest. They’re staring at her, at her cunt, at where my cock is impaling her.

I can see the hunger in their eyes, I can see the way they all want her.

For a second, I feel like him, like her bastard of a husband.

I feel exactly the same, using her, abusing her, shaming her.

Only, she used to cry when he fucked her, she used to cry and beg for him to stop. She hasn’t told me to stop once. She hasn’t said those words.

And yet they’re still watching, still seeing this. Her. My bride-to-be.

I narrow my eyes, my hand finding the gun beside us, and I pick it up, pointing it at them. If they think of doing something, if they think of intervening, of trying anything…

One of them shifts, his hand moving to his trousers and I see him grab his cock.

I pull the trigger, blasting his head off and he falls down, his head half missing, dead before he hit the floor.

Paitlyn cries out in shock, her body stills. I lower my head, murmuring into her ear. “You wanted me to kill for you, correct? Can’t now cry over spilt blood, can you?”

She gulps, shaking, and I grab her breast, pinching the nipple to give her a little hit of pain. “Fuck me, Paitlyn,” I tell her. “Show me how happy you are at me already delivering on my part of the bargain.”

She moves her hand to my thigh, digging her nails into me through the fabric. But she’s slowly moving, slowing riding me once more.

I run my nose up her neck, breathing in that sweet scent of hers. She smells so delicate and yet I know that too is a disguise. She isn’t delicate like a flower. She’s delicate like a bomb.

I growl as I realise that fact, as I realise what she could be, what she will be, if I can only get her to embrace that side, embrace those dark fucked up desires within herself.

Sweat starts to bead on her skin, her cries turn more erratic. I can feel how close she is, how close my queen is.

I pinch her nipple again, pinch it hard and just as she shatters entirely, I thrust one last brutal time and empty myself inside her.