Page 14
Scarlett
I am in hell.
My chest is on fire, throbbing violently as Casanova sucks on the only mark left that hasn’t been transformed from a blotchy red to a vivid plum. My pussy is soaked, but I’ve only managed a few fruitless attempts at rubbing my thighs together for friction before Broody gets pissed off and digs the knife into my throat.
“Please, just go.” I have nothing left to do but plead. I have no physical power here, only verbal, and we’ve seen how that plays out. “My roommate will be home any minute, and she’ll call the cops if she notices I’m gone.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, darling. You’ll be lucky if she makes it home before morning.” His hand disappears behind his back, but the brush of his fingers through the fabric of my skirt makes it clear what he’s doing. There’s no hiding it. The second he touches my slick pussy, his shoulders twitch in surprise. “Why are you such a little liar? Drop this fucking douchebag you’re with, it’s not a dating pool. Come back to us. Let us take care of you.”
“All you want to do is cut me up. I don’t want to play your fucking games.” The blade bites into my throat, but I don’t care. I’m fucking livid.
Do I want to go to the Red Room and let him ravish me ?
Sure.
Will I?
No.
The fucker keeps threatening and manipulating me. I have half a mind to tie him down, edge him out, take what the fuck I want from him , and then leave him there.
That’s actually not a bad idea, if I could pull it off. Not that he would let me. I doubt he’s ever let a woman take control in the bedroom, and that’s fine. Maybe it’s not his thing, but what he’s been doing isn’t really my thing either.
Except, maybe it is and I just don’t want to admit it.
Despite hating their fucking guts, there’s no escaping the absolute rush of excitement I got from being chased. And the knives? They’re a little hot. Like, it’s a crazy kind of hot, sure—the kind you read about in romance novels with stalker tropes.
There’s something to be said about the thrill of using a weapon like that in an intimate setting, the trust that has to go into allowing your partner to play with your safety. I don’t trust them, but the way he knows how to instill the fear of pain only to replace it with pleasure, is pure genius. He knows how my body works.
In some ways, even better than I do.
Casanova removes his hand from my skirt and bends to hover over my face, pressing his wet fingers against my lips. I don’t know what happened to my composure, but when he tries to push them into my mouth, I let him.
“Let us in, Ruby. You promised,” he lures.
I try to speak, but his fingers press against my tongue and secure it to the bottom of my mouth. Broody pulls the knife away as Casanova’s thumb closes around the underside of my chin, using the new grip to turn my head so he can reach my ear.
“Do you want to hear that it worked?” he asks. “That seeing him eat your pussy, when it should have been me, infuriated me so much I wanted to hurt you? To steal you?”
It must be the cool air that’s making my nipples harden, definitely not the arousal at his words or the way his hot breath makes me shiver. It’s definitely not because of the way my flesh erupts in goosebumps when his tongue peeks out to run along the shell of my ear, or the cocky tilt of his head when he sees my body’s reaction to him. It’s most definitely not because he’s fucking his fingers into my mouth, pushing at the barrier of my throat until I gag.
After a few thrusts, he pulls his fingers out and reaches back down to my pussy so I can talk again—well, as best as I can after the initial shock of them stretching me open.
“I don’t…I don’t want anything from y—” When his fingers curl up into my G-spot, I throw my head back with a gasp. I hate him for knowing exactly what I need.
“Let me taste.”
Opening my eyes to stare straight up at Broody, I wonder if I heard him correctly. He’s never expressed any real interest in me aside from my first night at Eden, which I’m sure was just a fluke to get me warmed up for his friend. But he looks hypnotized when he leans forward—knees sinking heavier into my palms—as he waits for Casanova to oblige.
To my surprise, he does, removing his fingers and plunging them into Broody’s open mouth. He licks them clean, sucking enthusiastically until Casanova pulls them away.
Fuck me. Maybe I really am in a stalker novel.
The porno doesn’t stop there. Broody aggressively grabs him around the back of the neck and rips him forward until they crash together in a kiss so fucking hot, I could come just from the sight of it. Their tongues fight against each other, like they’re seeing who can come out victorious with the flavor of me stuck to their taste buds .
From my vantage, I have the clearest view of all the action, and I’ll need to smack myself later for the whimper that escapes my throat. I don’t know which of the three of us are horniest right now, but my body doesn’t seem to care.
It doesn’t matter that I hate them or even that I just had an orgasm less than two hours ago. In this moment, I want them.
I shuffle my limbs to get their attention, and they finally break away from one another to look down at me. “I think our girl wants another taste,” Casanova says, sticking his fingers back into my pussy to scoop up some of the wetness before feeding it to Broody. “Give her what she wants.”
He’s hesitant to reposition himself but ultimately resigns, inching backwards to take his knees off my hands. I could take advantage of my newfound freedom. I could rip out chunks of his long hair. I could pull off his mask and ruin his anonymity. Or I could sit here and be good, feeding into their sick fantasy.
But is it theirs, or mine?
Broody kneels in close, lining himself up with my lips—despite the fact that we’re facing opposite directions—and kisses me. It’s soft at first, but when his tongue pokes at the crease in my lips, I open my mouth and take him in. The kiss becomes deep and hungry, similar to his battle with Casanova, except this feels like a conversation.
Like he’s trying to tell me something.
Casanova abuses my lack of vision and shoves his fingers inside of me unexpectedly, but when I let out an involuntary gasp, Broody grabs my throat with his free hand. His fingers curl around the entirety of my neck and cut off my air supply until I’m not only fighting his tongue, but also struggling to breathe. It’s obvious he gets off on it, because the feral grumble vibrating against my lips is something to write about.
A moment later, Casanova interrupts and forces Broody to pull away, but I’m not sure if it’s out of jealousy or if they're in a hurry to leave.
“We’ve got something to talk about. Obviously, you aren’t keeping your promise about coming to the Red Room, so we have another proposition for you.” I eye him curiously, but Broody hasn’t removed his hand from my neck, so I have no way of responding. “Keep your plaything for now, have your fun, stay as a Pearl if you really want to. But Eden is hosting a New Year’s Eve party in the Rainbow Room, and we’d like for you to join us.”
With a furrowed brow, I try to decline, but Broody crushes my windpipe until I’m panicking for air.
“We know you want this,” Broody spits. “We’ve read your journal, so we know exactly how much. Stop fighting it. We’ll be there, but if you’re not…we’re moving on. No more sessions at Eden, no anything. You can go back to being a good little Pearl and fuck around with some vanilla dick. Or better yet, maybe we’ll make sure you’re completely cut off—”
“Enough!” Casanova snaps. He stands up, removing the knives that are pinning my cape to the ground. “Think about it, that’s all I ask.” He brushes his knuckles softly across my cheek, then turns to walk back through the woods.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re already making this harder than it needs to be.” In direct contrast to Cas’s goodbye, Broody smacks my cheek with a harsh snap before leaving.
I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s become our routine. I’m here, half-naked and alone, horny and unsatisfied. They’re walking away, triumphant and fulfilled, already planning their next torture session.
Unfortunately, I won’t be humoring them.