The Sins that Ruin (Obsidian Knights Secret Society #3)

13. Malone

THIRTEEN

When we arrived at the party an hour ago, I finally met Dale Hanlon, aka motherfucker in the most literal sense, if you take fucking mothers down along the rape route.

Getting to him was easy enough.

Out there in the crowd of people who probably could not give a shit less about this sham union, I can’t do a fucking thing to him.

But in here?

The wild part of my brain says all bets are off when it’s basically one-on-one.

No Knight would ever put a fifteen-year-old’s life in jeopardy. We don’t play games with children or their lives, so whoever made the threat isn’t in on my plan. That means there’s someone else with an angle.

I concentrate on that.

It’s all I can do to keep myself somewhat calm with a carefully curated expression and to hold myself back from killing the fucker dead.

My eyes travel between Scarlett and her father. I see the family resemblance, although Scarlett takes after her mother more with all that black hair, pale skin, and delicate features.

“Can you help us?” she asks in a shaky voice.

I plaster on a small frown and hold out my hand to Scarlett. She wordlessly hands me the letter. I don’t open it, merely slide it into my jacket pocket.

Footsteps come up behind me and I suspect it’s the uncle. A quick look over my shoulder confirms my suspicion. I nod at him to close the door and he does.

“Under the circumstances of this engagement, your whole family falls under my protection.”

Grant nods and his shoulders relax the slightest bit.

“James,” Scarlett says, “that letter is a threat against my cousin.”

I look between both men. “Who’d do that?”

“Isn’t that your job to figure out?” her father snaps.

Fuck, I’d like to bury that phone in his skull so badly right now.

The tensions in the room are high and they’re thick to the point of choking us all. I can feel Scarlett’s, but hers aren’t key to this dynamic. No, what’s really important is the tension between the brothers.

What I need from them is fear, respect, and something close to trust, so I look at Scarlett. She’s close, but not close enough, so I continue to hold out my hand, hoping she’ll understand my message.

She gets it.

Quietly, Scarlett crosses the last few steps to me, and I slide a hand about her waist, pulling her back in against my body. I’m judging the mood, the shift in energy my move brings to the room. There’s no shock.

Daddy’s already guessed the cost of my protection. But my goal isn’t to rile them up and make them territorial and defensive; it’s to get in with them. To form a bond of sorts. And both men, in the heavy silence, are remembering why they came to me and what my claim on Scarlett means. Especially now that I’m silently confirming we’re together.

Scarlett might not pick up on the nuance of my action, but they both do. There’s no one else but the four of us in here. There’s no reason for her to continue the ruse. Unless it isn’t a ruse now at all.

And that seems to give me even more power. It’s a perfect muddy ground for me to work my magic in.

They’ll remember when we leave who and what I apparently am.

“I’m going to let that comment slide,” I say to her father. “I’m here to help. You know what I bring to the table and that’s why you came to me in the first place. Remember that.”

Dale glares at my hands where they hug his daughter close, and I’ll bet he’s thinking long and hard about what’s he’s done to get to this place. My gaze slides to the brother. There’s less concern for Scarlett in his expression, which is telling, but then again, the threats are against his daughter.

So I play a card, one I hope she’ll back. “For Scarlett, I’ll go the extra mile. I’m here to do whatever it takes to keep the people Scarlett cares about safe. I’ll make a call, get extra security on your daughter, Grant. And when there’s no party happening just outside the door, we’ll talk next steps. I’ll be in touch.”

Grant looks at me and takes half a step closer. “Mr. Malone?—”

“I’ll look into the threat.” I cut him off and pat my pocket as I lead Scarlett out. “And like I said, I’ll be in touch.”

Scarlett holds her tongue until we’re out in the main room. “What was that?”

“That was your father and uncle selling me your very fine ass in exchange for protection.”

There’s music, so I pull her in close and dance with her. She feels good in my arms, a perfect fit, like she was made to have all that sweet softness pressed in against me.

As we glide across the floor, my mind trips back to all of the devices I have at the penthouse—clamps, ropes, a spider gag, and dildos. My cock twitches as she melts into me.

I’m going to use them on her tonight when we get back. I’ve got some shit to take care of with this new information in my pocket, so having her tied up, blindfolded, dripping with anticipation for when I might come and touch her, is beyond a perfect fucking reward.

The threat doesn’t sit well with me because I didn’t make it. But I can use it. Just like I can use the fear to get in close with the family.

I lean my head against the side of her head and breathe in her floral scent. It’s pure heady magic and I want to bury my face in her throat, suck on her flesh, and?—

“Scarlett,” I whisper against her ear, “did you wear your hair down to hide my mark on your skin?”

She slips her arms up and around my neck, her perfect tits flush against my shirt, and I slide a hand low on her ass and squeeze.

“What—?”

“I don’t give a fuck what people might think. We’re supposed to be in love, remember? Living the dream?”

“You’re not anyone’s dream,” she hisses.

This time I kiss her throat, right at the front, then bite down hard. “I’m yours.”

“Only if you consider nightmares dreams.”

“I do.”

She rubs herself against my cock. “Why did you let them think we’re really together, Malone?”

“You played that game right along with me, and what the fuck are you doing right now? You know I can just pull you into another room and fuck you long and hard, not even bothering to lock the door. Is that what you want?”

She moans low. “No.”

“Liar.”

When she pulls free, I let her go.

I move around the room, making bullshit conversation, but nothing catches my radar. There are one or two crooked, low-level politicians here. I’ve seen one of them at the club, and right now, he’s trying to avoid my stare.

There’s a very pretty woman with Smith, and he’s good enough at sliding into situations unnoticed that I saw her before him. Even though he’s my guest, I don’t acknowledge him—he knows what to do with the invite. Instead, I approach a scorching hot blonde who’s been giving the fuck-me eyes. I guess that’s because she’s stuck standing with a fat, older man who looks beyond loaded.

That man is definitely the type who goes to sex clubs. Not ones like Orchid Lane, but the type where he can fuck all the girls his heart and dick can handle.

The girl with him looks well off and she’s got on a wedding ring. His, I assume. Under other circumstances, I’d take her home and fuck her senseless the way she wants me to—she makes that more than clear during our conversation about the latest restaurant in the city that I’ve never been to. Her hands are on me, her eyes open invitations, and her very clear desires are soaked into her words.

“If you’ll excuse us, Vanessa,” Scarlett says, taking my arm.

Amusement warms me, and I smile at Vanessa. “My fiancée needs me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Scarlett says in a low voice.

I slide my arm around her waist and grip her tight. “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“You won’t do anything to me here. Besides, I told you?—”

“You’re not in a situation where you can afford to think you can tell me what to do,” I say, guiding her out of the room, down the hall, and through the front door. “At least not without consequence.”

Her lips part and it looks like she’s about to say something when we get out into the night air. My car arrives on the curb, and she smartly bites back her words. I swallow a grin and turn to her.

“Not another fucking word, Scarlett. Not until we get home. And then I’ll decide on your punishment.”

She stands in the middle of the bedroom back at the penthouse. There’s a bottle of scotch on the coffee table on one side of the room. Next to the table is a small couch set against the floor-to-ceiling window.

I drop my jacket onto the back of the couch and pick up my glass of scotch. My gaze drops to the top of the coffee table where I laid out all the things I might use on her.

It looks like I’m going to some kind of medical kidnappers’ convention. The spider gag and its friends—the mouth spreader and nose hook head harness—keep drawing her eyes.

There’s a smorgasbord of leather and metal headgear, including a tongue trapper and a dildo gag.

The only one of those I think I’ll use is the spider gag, but I do have regular gags and a ball gag set out as well.

There are ropes and leather ties. I don’t like spreader bars, but I have one of those too. And the clamps.

I’ve also got two vibrators and a selection of dildos and butt plugs, as well as a flogger and a whip.

I can almost taste the nervous energy seeping from the pores of her quivering body.

But there’s also a dark curiosity in her eyes, one I never expected from her.

I slowly walk toward her and flick open the hidden buttons on the side of the dress. But I don’t peel it open. Yet.

“How much was the dress?”

“Am I allowed to speak, Sir?”

I smile. “You can do anything you fucking want, like I said. You just need to be willing to handle the consequences of talking without my permission.”

“About two thousand.”

“The shoes?”

She swallows, shifting in the high heels. “Nine hundred.”

“Nice.” I push open the dress, but the double-sided tape keeps me from getting the view I really want.

It’s a fucking crime to use that shit.

I’d rather catch glimpses of nipple from the dress falling open than having it sealed closed.

I pull the tape off and push the dress back.

My mouth waters as I stare at her. She’s all curves, her body made for my eyes and hands. I want to taste every inch of her.

If I had my way, she’d always be naked, in heels and stockings and crawling with her hot ass in the air, primed for the taking. I like the sight of a woman crawling.

It’s not even for the subservience. I love the sway of her hips, the bounce of her tits, the fact that if I’m sitting, she’s at the perfect height to let me rest my cock in her mouth.

I add that one to the list of things I want Scarlett to do. Warm my cock with her mouth.

“The dress looks better like that.” I then pull it off her and let it fall to the ground. “But first, punishment. Pick a dildo and a butt plug.”

“W-what are those?” she asks, pointing at the gags.

I slide a lock of her hair away from her throat and kiss a path upward, trailing my hand down to her tits. “Those are to keep you open and ready. So I can fuck your mouth and throat like it’s your cunt or ass.”

I slide my hand lower and slip my fingers through her slick pussy lips. She moans and shudders, her hips moving around to beckon my hand. “A-and that thing with the hooks?”

“Nose hooks. That little harness and gag is for when you’re a bad girl and not keeping your head where I want it. Do you want to try it?”

“No.”

But she rocks harder against my fingers.

More lies.

I move away and select a rope. One of the binding ones for Shibari. “You want to.”

“I… would it matter, Sir?” she asks quietly.

“Maybe, maybe not. Hands in front.”

Scarlett does as asked, and I stroke my fingers over the warm, delicate silk of her inner wrists, the pulse that leaps beneath my touch as I graze the delicate bones of her wrists and her hands, the long slender shape of her fingers.

I slip the rope around her fingers, then down over her palms and to her wrists that I press together. When I’m done, I run my eyes over her.

She stands still, arms shaking, sexual tension curling in the air, wrapping around me. I test the bonds, the hanging pieces of rope.

There are other ties, but she needs rope this time. She needs to be bound properly, something I like but it’s precise, a rabbit hole of concentration and connecting, one I rarely indulge in.

The right woman’s important to me. I’m not a control freak like Mercer.

But there’s always precision in the chaos when you get down into the depths, just like the chaos that burrows beneath control.

The dichotomy is something that wraps around my soul, a thing I need and almost never give in to because it’s so rare to experience.

With her roped in this simple way, we both vibrate with the fact this isn’t a game. Not at the center.

We crave it. The power flow is an aphrodisiac that I acknowledge. Hers and mine.

The submissive with control, the master who gives over to the wild inside.

She’s so wet because she feels it all too.

I take the rope and guide her arms up and over her head and back down. I slide the rope down her spine, then sink to my knees and pull the rope between her thighs. I hold her steady and start to lick the sides of her slick thighs, sucking the arousal from her skin.

She tastes like that heaven I crave and the hell I’m in.

Scarlett is phenomenal.

I suck her clit, using my tongue to lick along her slit until she’s shaking and moaning and pushing into me like she needs to get the fuck off.

So I sit back, not ready to give that to her.

“Which ones, Scarlett?”

“I… what?”

She sounds drugged, dazed, and that tone spikes through me, shooting straight to my cock. I look down and choose a mid-sized plug and dildo for her.

They’re not huge, but when I push it into her pussy, she gasps as her slit stretches open. The plug disappears to the base, her lips closing around it.

Her stomach quivers like she’s on the verge of orgasm, so I pull it out and line it with her ass, and I slowly, steadily push it into her tight hole.

“Oh my God…” she moans.

I’m not done, though. I tie it into place with another spool of rope, knotting it so it’s holding the base of the plug firmly inside of her. Then I spread her pussy lips, putting pressure on her that won’t become apparent until she’s on the bed and in position.

Rising to my feet, I lead her over to the bed, loving the awkwardness of her movements, the little sounds of arousal and frustration that slip free.

She looks up at me, eyes hungry, half-trusting, half-suspicious. I fucking love the battling hate and desire that swim in the depths of that hunger, and I use one of the last bits of rope to tie her hands to the hooks on the headboard that are hidden on the top.

I observe her, all that sleek, soft flesh indented with the ropes around her upper thighs, spreading her for me. I slide another rope under her waist, then down to connect with the other, knotting it and resting one of the knots right near her clit.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Shh.” I pick up the blindfold hidden beneath a gag and I slide it over her eyes, effectively blinding her.

Next, I buckle a ball gag into place. I’ll replace it with the spider gag later, but I’m not planning to fuck her yet. I want to tease us both. I want her to know I’m in charge of her pleasure while observing her limits and what gets her really hot and bothered.

When I’m done, her nipples are tight and high. I run a thumb over them. She shudders and moans under the gag.

I trail my fingers down her legs and tie up her feet, binding them individually before hooking them to the ends of the bed after pulling out the little hidden straps there.

She’s secure now, her tummy fluttering and her cunt open and ready for invasion. But I don’t do a damn thing about it. I just run my fingers over her bare skin. When she whimpers, I stand back to admire my work and stroke my hard cock before picking up my drink.

I think I’ll drizzle her in the booze and lick it off her. I want to experience how she tastes. A mix of sweet and smoke, of peat and petal, of pure desire.

After pulling out my phone, I snap some pictures, turning up the volume so she can hear the clicking sound.

She’s vulnerable, at my mercy, and she knows it.

Without a word, I leave the bedroom and head for the outdoor balcony for a cigarette. I need to calm the fuck down because I need this to last.

I’m still in the living room, a cigarette between my lips when the doorbell rings.

With a sigh, I walk over to the intercom and press the button.

“Of course it’s you,” I bite out.