Page 53 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Zoey

Smith’s never going to let me go. This was all just some sick game to him. Something to get blood pumping into his shriveled dick so he doesn’t have to use medication to get it up.

Except…the thing poking into my rear end isn’t limp or flaccid. It’s big, and it’s hard, and he’s wielding it like a weapon. It burns when he tries to push it inside me, but fuck, even that sensation is turning me on.

Am I seriously just going to let him do this to me?

Fuck that.

I try to wriggle away from him, from his cock, he hauls back on the belt, choking me like a dog.

I fall back, trying to tug the belt from his hand, glaring at him when he just shakes his head, tuts, and lines up with my asshole again. I don’t even want to think about what he’s about to do. How much it’s going to hurt.

How easy it is for him to hurt me. How much he enjoys it.

I saw his expression shift when he twisted my arm out of place.

My pain turned him on.

What’s really messing with my head is how skillful he is. He was so careful not to draw blood when he caned me. So careful not to dislocate my arm all the way. He knows just how far to push before I break, and somehow, manages not to cross that line.

…you’ll be fine…

Seriously? I’m going to need a physiotherapist, a regular therapist, and a brief opiate addiction before I’ll ever be fine again.

No, what’s really messing with my head is how I seem to enjoy this. I keep calling him a psycho. Making a show of how much I hate him. But I’m not surprised he doesn’t take me seriously when I seem to be actively encouraging him to torment me.

I loved it when he chased me.

The sight of him breaking down a fucking door to reach me?

Jesus, that was hot.

Almost made me wish I hadn’t broken his bathroom mirror so I had something to defend myself with. Not that it made a difference. I could have had a machine gun in there with me, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

He wanted me enough to break down a motherfucking door.

And I wanted him to catch me. Wanted him to punish me.

Which is so fucked up, because I don’t like pain. My whole body aches, and it’s not pleasant .

It’s uncomfortable, and irritating, and I want it to stop…but I don’t want him to stop.

Even now, when he again forces the tip of his cock into my virgin asshole.

I’ve never let a man do this to me. Never wanted it. But the moment he spat on me and rubbed his thumb over my sensitive hole, my entire lower body clenched.

In a fucking fantastic way.

I bite down on my lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me groan. And as much as I want to close my eyes and just flutter away, the belt around my neck keeps me grounded. The hand possessively gripping my ass cheek, wrenching it aside to give him better access.

“Let me in, kitten,” Smith murmurs, his voice dangerously low.

“I’m not doing anything.” My cheeks grow warm as I peek at him behind my lashes, too embarrassed to even try to glare at him.

“My point. You have to relax.” Smith drops his eyes to my ass, slowly rocking his hips to work that single inch of his dick in and out of my hole.

God, it feels good.

“Relax.”

“But I don’t want to…” I cut off with a mangled gasp when he tilts his head to give me a frustrated look and slides a hand over the top of my thigh to tease my clit.

“Oh God,” I mumble, my eyes rolling back. “Fuck.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, sinking his dick a little deeper into my ass.

His finger speeds up, toying with my clit just right as he forces himself inside another half-inch.

I could stop him. I could struggle, shout, maybe try to bite something of his.

But I don’t want to.

It feels too deliciously wrong. Too ridiculously right.

“You’re almost there.”

Almost where? I know he’s still got inches of dick on him. Does he think I’m really that close to coming?

“Oh, fuck.”

“You’re doing so well for me, kitten.”

Faster. More pressure.

Another half-inch, maybe less, maybe more. I’m struggling to keep track of what’s really happening back there. All I care about is how good it feels. The stinging fullness, the pulsing ache. The tightness around my neck, the pressure that makes my back arch.

“You’re gonna take it all now,” he rasps, “and you’re gonna love it.”

He thrusts the rest of his cock into my ass with one brutal thrust.

I yell as he fills me completely, the ache becoming an even deeper throb. I’m clawing into the mattress, my mouth gaping as a shudder rattles my entire body.

Fuck, it hurts. But it feels so good, too.

His warm body molds against my back, hot breath tickling my ear.

“See what happens when you stop fighting?”

He’s still toying with my clit. But slow, too slow. I let out a muted cry of frustration.

“I want to come,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to see him gloating at how I beg. “Please, make me come.”

“This isn’t for you, kitten. This is all for me.”

“I fucking hate you,” I blurt out, wincing when I hear my words out loud. I’m not supposed to be making him angry. The plan—if this fucked up scenario could even qualify as one—was to appease him so he’ll let me go. Not to piss him off so much that he changes his mind.

But he just chuckles. “You don’t hate me. You hate that you want this.” He rolls his hips, driving deeper. “That you want me .”

His fingers dig into my ass cheek, but he stays bent over me like a beast as he draws out his cock and slams it home again. It still hurts, but in a way that feels so good, I’m pretty sure I’m losing grip of reality.

He tests out my hole with another slow in-out that has me groaning, then finds my ear with his mouth again, nipping my earlobe hard enough to sting.

“I’m going to fuck your ass so hard you’ll taste me in the back of your throat for the next month.”

Oh, God, I want him to.

The sound of him fucking me drowns out my wordless yell. His hips slamming against my ass as he drives every inch of his definitely-not-tiny cock into my asshole.

The relentless pain makes every muscle in my body tense, but every thumping impact sends a jolt of pure hedonistic bliss into my core. It’s all so intense, so fucking raw and primal, that I come seconds later.

If Smith hears my pitiful little gasp of pleasure, he doesn’t acknowledge it. But he’s fucking me so hard, so rough, I doubt anything but a bullet could stop him.

Instead of feeling briefly satiated, his pounding thrusts overwhelm my silly orgasm like flood water snapping a tree.

He slaps my ass, and I’m soaring again.

I hear myself moaning, begging, gasping.

Gibberish words forming broken phrases like, “Yeah, fuck,” and “Oh, God, fuck, yes, harder,” and the even more ridiculous, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

My body betrays me with every thrust, responding to him like he’s programmed it himself.

It’s not supposed to be like this.

I’m not supposed to crave someone who treats me like property.

But here I am, my ass up in the air, whimpering as I gratefully, desperately take everything he gives me.

Maybe it’s the way he towers over me, his hard body so impossibly big and strong against mine. His unyielding force as he pushes into me, so vicious and demanding. He’s nothing like the amateurish fucks I’ve had in the past.

Smith tightens the belt again, my vision blurring at the edges as oxygen seeps out of my body and is denied entry. But I welcome it, because it’s making my skin tingle, my fingers and toes prickle, my head float, and that’s just adding to Smith’s ruthless fucking.

But it’s not enough for him to just use a belt. He wraps his hand over my mouth and nose, completely blocking my air.

“Feels good to surrender, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice rough but his lips soft against the shell of my ear.

I mewl against his hand, his sudden closeness spurring my next orgasm.

He nuzzles my ear, then nips at it hard enough to make me shiver.

I feel him tensing, his thrusts slowing, becoming harder, even more forceful, like he’s trying to fuck his way through me.

He groans, slowing even more, like he doesn’t want to come yet.

“Aren’t you glad,” he grunts through a harsh breath, “you finally?—”

Another grunt as he thumps into my asshole, the impact jarring my entire body, making me shudder as I get ready to come.

“—stopped—”

Jesus, he’s going to break me.

“—pretending?”

Something in me snaps. I will not give him the satisfaction of being right.

Yes, I wanted this. And yes, I hate myself for it.

But if anyone’s been pretending, it’s him .

Wearing bougie suits like a real human when he’s nothing but a sadistic beast.

Another groan rattles out of him as he buries himself deep, preparing to come inside my ass.

But before he can, I clamp down on the hand covering my mouth. Clench my jaw and grate my teeth into his firm flesh.

Blood spurts into my mouth.

“Fuck!” Smith bellows. He stops fucking me to rip his hand away, and that tiny second of pause is all I need.

Warm cum hits my backside the second I wrench forward, dragging his cock out of me. I scramble out from under him, ripping the belt from my neck and tossing it into the far corner of the room.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I claw my way to the end of the bed.

“Zoey!”

But I’m already running, dragging my pants up, hopping on one leg as I almost lose my balance, ripping the keycard out of my pocket where I shoved it the moment I got that bathroom door closed.

No fucking way I’m hanging around until he makes good on his promise.

Smith doesn’t have a moral code. He could decide he’d like to see my insides next, and there’d be nothing stopping him.

No guilt. No remorse. And his mafia friends would probably jerk off over the photos he’d take of my defiled corpse.

Wow, I’m angry.

Or scared.

Probably both.

The clock on the hotel room’s wall taunts me as I pass.

10:54 PM.

An hour to save Ricky.

An hour to get to the diner and convince Elonzo to exchange a handful of casino chips for my brother’s life.

I’d laugh, but I don’t have time to lose my shit right now.

I swipe the keycard over the panel by the door, grab the handle, turn.

The hallway outside teeters as I rush out and almost lose my balance again. He left my legs weak, my core aching, my clit pulsing. But I’ve never heard of someone being fucked into an early grave, and I refuse to be the first on record.

As I reach the elevator, II should have tried finding the stairs instead. But that might have risked me ending up in a blind hallway, Smith at my back, caging me in.

Somehow, this feels better. Safer.

Even when Smith rushes out of the hotel room with balled fists, teeth flashing in a grimace when he turns and spots me.

He’s all the way at the end of the hall. The doors are already closing.

I’m safe.

He starts sprinting.

Jesus, he’s fast.

I retreat until my back slams into the elevator’s bronzed wall, heart clanging in my chest.

“No, no, no, no!” The words become more frantic the closer he comes.

He’s not going to make it.

Scratch that, I’m not going to make it.

“No!” I yell, when the blade of his hand slices into the narrow opening, just before the doors close.

They should have kept closing. Should have splintered his fingers and left him crippled for life. But fortune’s never been on my side, especially in this fucking casino.

The Devil’s Luck has it out for me.