Page 87 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I don’t know where I am, though that feeling isn’t exactly new, now is it?

Devin put me in this room, on this bed, and then strolled out, locked the door and fucked off for what feels like hours.

I need to wash. I need to get whatever that stench is off my skin. I wrinkle my nose, trying to place what it is, and when I realise, my stomach drops.

Blood. I have blood on me. That’s what I can smell.

I spread my hands out over the duvet, trying to find the edge of the bed. I don’t know how big the room is but based on how much the door echoed when it was slammed shut, I’d say it’s big enough to feel like a bloody hall.

My bare feet meet the cool, smooth feeling of wooden floorboards. Wherever we are, this place is definitely an improvement from that concrete dungeon they held me in before.

I take small, gingerly steps, expecting to stub my toes at any minute. I don’t even know if there is a bathroom, but I can’t sit still any longer, playing the good little blind girl. Besides, the need to pee has been steadily growing and that fact has spurred me on.

When I come into contact with the wall, I feel almost relieved.

My fingertips brush against what I’d guess is a silk wallpaper, it’s another sign that this place is fancier.

I feel my way along, bumping into bits of furniture, a chest of drawers, a stool, something that could be a man’s vanity but I’m not so sure.

As I make it to the corner, I realise how truly big this space is.

It’s big enough to rival the Palace, though that thought does not give me any comfort at all.

I fumble my way around and then face plant into something solid, something wooden and big, something unforgiving too. A flash of pain explodes in my head, I step back, then lose my footing and end up colliding with the wall behind me.

“What are you doing?”

Devin’s voice makes me shriek. In my concentration, I’d not registered the sound of the door unlocking, or his boots as he stepped inside.

It’s the same mistake I made earlier, it’s the same fuckup that nearly got me taken.

I need to pay more attention. I need to learn to listen more consciously, even while I’m focusing on other things.

“Paitlyn?” He continues.

“I need to pee.” I say, like that explains why I’ve now got a mild concussion.

“So you decided to squat in the corner?”

I screw my face up at the amusement in his voice. I’m sure this is all very fucking funny for him, meanwhile, I feel more helpless and stupid than ever.

“I obviously didn’t mean to end up here, but you didn’t exactly give me a tour before you locked me in.” I snap.

There’s a moment, a pause you can almost feel, while I guess he’s deciding whether to beat me for my insolence or to let it go.

I brace myself, ready for the pain of his fists, but when they don’t come, it confuses me more. His hand pulls me out and guides me to what feels like the centre of the room.

“If you’re going to be a brat, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.” He says, though again, his tone doesn’t sound pissed off.

I know I should back down, should smile meekly, and play it safe.

But I’m far too wound up for that. “You ditched me here for hours. You didn’t even say a word to me, and now you expect me to be polite?

I’m covered in dirt, in blood, in God knows what else…

” my tirade seems to burn itself out and I realise then how utterly exhausted I am.

I haven’t eaten a decent meal in forever.

All those drinks they forced down my throat may have kept me alive but I’m barely more than a skeleton.

Devin doesn’t say anything, he just leads me on, leads me like a pet, and as my feet feel the surface beneath change, as those warm wooden floorboards turn to tile, I realise I’m now in the mythical bathroom.

He starts peeling off my clothes, taking one disgusting layer after another.

I grit my teeth, worried that if I say anything more, he really is going to lose his temper.

Quietly, he guides me across the room, then tells me to take a small step. As I do, I feel the coolness of a ceramic and that tells me I’m now in a shower. I guess that’s one small mercy then. He’s allowing me to wash.

I hear the twist of something and the clunking of plumbing before hot water is suddenly pouring down on me, on him, on us both.

“Pee.” He says.

“In, in here?” I stammer. He wants me to pee in front of him? I guess it’s not the worst thing I’ve been made to do, is it?

“I thought you needed to go.” He says simply.

“I would have preferred a damn toilet.”

Again, he laughs, as though he finds my irritation to be a form of amusement, a comedy.

“Pee, Paitlyn,” He says again.

I hate that I do it. I hate that I can’t even hide it from him, but I’m so damn desperate and the sound of this water, the feeling of it trickling down my skin, it’s making it so much worse.

It stings a little as it comes out, but then, it always has, ever since Guthrie had my vagina mutilated.

“There, that’s better.” He murmurs.

I open my mouth to tell him where he can stick it, only his hands move, they cup my face, they raise my head and his lips catch mine, his mouth claims mine and every thought, every angry, nasty, twisted feeling in my head disappears.

He’s never kissed me.

No one has kissed me.

No one except Gunther and his kisses were a whole different form of torture, a thing I had to endure and pretend to enjoy.

But there’s no pretence here. No anything.

I don’t mean to moan, I don’t mean to lean into him, to silently beg for more, but I cannot stop myself. How is it possible that a monster as big as him can be capable of kissing like this?

My hands wrap around his neck, my fingers twist in his hair and it’s so soft I want to laugh. This man, this beast of a man that I hate so fucking much, suddenly feels so human.

He cup my face, his tongue devours me, and I swear I’m getting drunk on this kiss, drunk on this illogical, ridiculous moment that makes no sense whatsoever.

Who the fuck is Devin right now? Where is the monster, the brute I know?

He breaks us apart and grabs what I think is the soap. “Turn.” He says.

I decide not to argue with him, not to be difficult, and I stand still, I stand obediently as he scrubs my skin, as he cleans me, as he shampoos my hair again, just like he did back in that other place.

I know he drops to his knees when his colossal body, his arms, all move down my body.

It’s clear what he’s going to do, that he’s going to fuck me again, use me again.

No, I don’t want him to, but even as I think that thought, some part of me hungers for a touch that might be soft, that might be gentle, hell, that might be even half as good as that kiss was.

I’m fucked in the head. I have to be. To want this, to even consider it.

His fingers trace up my inner thighs. I’m shaking, my breath turns rattled as he gets closer and closer to my core. His fingers brush at the space where my clit should be. There’s nothing now, nothing but a scar, and a hollow numbness.

“Does this hurt?” He asks.

I shake my head. I don’t have any nerves left to feel pain there.

He grunts, moving them back, feeling where my labia was cut away, where everything was sliced right off.

“And this?” He asks.

Again, I shake my head. Right now, he’s being too soft for me to really feel anything.

But the Devin I know, the brute I’m intimately acquainted with doesn’t get off on softness, he doesn’t enjoy gentle lovemaking.

As his fingers probe my entrance, I grit my teeth and visibly lock up. I don’t have to say the words because he can see from my body language.

H e’s going to thrust them inside me. Any minute, any minute this gentle exploration is going to switch. He’s going to brutalise me, he’s going to make me bleed, only, he doesn’t.

I gasp with relief as he removes his hand.

And then the water goes off. He murmurs something about getting me dry, and I feel the softness of a towel as he wraps it around me and carries me out to the bedroom.

I can feel the water still dripping off him as he holds me against his chest, clearly, he chose not to bother drying himself. He rubs the towel over my skin, before flinging it away, murmuring something so low I don’t catch it.

Is this the moment then, is this it? He has me clean, he’s got rid of all the grime, I guess I’m more appealing to him now, more fuckable.

“I’d at least appreciate some food before you fuck me.” The words leave my mouth before I even register that I’ve spoken them.

“Food?” Devin repeats, like he hasn’t been the one starving me. I feel the air tense, I hear the sound of his knuckles flexing in irritation. “Alright, malktā,” He says. “I’ll get you some food, and after, you can suck my cock as a thanks.”

A thanks? A fucking thanks? I’m so close to throwing something at his stupid head, only I don’t know what’s in reach and I’ve no doubt I’d probably miss.

He must take my silence as some form of acquiescence because I hear him walk away, before the door opens and closes in quick succession.