Chapter Nineteen
Livia
I force myself to say the words.
“I’ll... wear my wedding ring... at all times.” I stumble over the words in a clumsy mess, but I manage to get them all out in the name of self-preservation, desperately thinking they’ll release me.
They don’t.
“Please, don’t…” I beg, but it’s too late. An orgasm rises from the deepest part of my soul and rips through me like a tornado.
I claw at Callen’s hands now, and he lets me, afraid I’m going to be swept away by the violence of my climax, while part of me still wishes I could undo it if I fight hard enough against it. And yet, I know I’m battling an unconquerable war.
Wetness gushes out of me at the height of my orgasm, and I feel my flesh contract and spasm against both Deacon’s and Mason’s fingers embedded in me.
I still can’t believe how intimately these men have touched me and how I’ve fallen for it each time. I don’t recognize myself anymore.
In hindsight, I should have just said those words in the first place and saved myself this utter humiliation of having an orgasm because they had spanked me, put honey butter in my butt, and touched my pussy.
“Good girl,” Callen says as he releases my hands and Deacon and Mason step away from me. I can’t help but notice the marks I left on his hands with my nails, and I’m torn between saying sorry or saying he deserved it. I choose to say nothing instead.
I try to stand on my own two feet too quickly, and I sway against Deacon’s body. His touch makes my pussy ache anew, and I push away from him like he burned me.
My cheeks hurt so badly that I want to throw buckets of ice on them to cool the smoldering spots of mortification as I catch Mason first lick my wetness of his finger before he takes a napkin and wipes the honey butter off his other hand.
What kind of men are they?
“Does that prove we can make you come anytime and anyhow we want?” A grin spreads over Mason’s face. I don’t know whether to hang my head in shame or scream at the top of my lungs.
I walked into that one, claiming I was clearheaded and that they couldn’t make my body come again, only to fall apart instantly.
Why? Then it hits me.
“I’m a virgin... I was a virgin. I’m too inexperienced to have any control. If I wasn’t a virgin—”
“If you weren’t a virgin, the man who took what was meant to be ours would be strung to a post, wearing his intestines on the outside of his body.”
Deacon’s words startle me, and a cold chill rides up my spine at the graphic violence they entail.
I close my eyes, suddenly tired. If I want to live, I need to get away from these men.
I balance myself against the table, still needing support for my racing heart and trembling limbs. I’m still so acutely aware that wetness continues to seep from my pussy onto my thighs.
“I hate you.” I don’t scream the words and I don’t say them with vehemence. I state them as a fact and I mean every single sentiment of it.
“There’ll be no mention of divorce ever again. Next time, we won’t be so lenient with just a spanking and some anal punishment,” Deacon says darkly.
“I want to go home,” I say, ignoring the quivers still prevalent in my limbs, not only from my devastating orgasm but also because things are getting real now, and I don’t know how to handle them.
“Which part of being an Ursid bride are you not getting, pretty girl?” Mason asks, grinning.
“Every part of it,” I say, exasperated. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home, please.” I make a concerted effort not to mention the word divorce. I have to start thinking smartly, not hotheadedly.
In other words, I need to preserve my energy and prevent my mind from becoming clouded by these three men and their ability to make my body do whatever they want it to do.
“You’re an Ursid bride. Your place is here in this house, at our sides, and in our bed only. It’s very simple. You belong to us, and here is where you’ll be, Livia,” Callen says.
“I need to see my father.”
“No,” Deacon says with crippling finality.
How dare they decide whether I can see my father or not? My temper starts to rise, but my attention is soon diverted off them when a tall brunette enters the dining room.
Dressed in an immaculate gray skirt suit, her hair perfectly styled, she enters the room with bold familiarity and doesn’t seem to be afraid of the ridiculously well-groomed men in their bespoke suits without a hair out of place, towering over her and me.
”Oh, dear me. What have you done to this poor girl? And what did you make her wear?”
I’m suddenly self-conscious of what I’m wearing and what state I’m in. Dear god, I must look like such a mess. Wearing one of their T-shirts, I have milk stains on my breasts, my hair a mess, and wetness leaking down my thighs because my body was too weak to resist them, not to mention the red streaks of Deacon’s belt slashed across my backside.
The older woman wraps her arm around me and gives me a side hug.
“Don’t worry, child. Veronica is here, and she knows how to take care of you. Come on, let’s get you upstairs and into a hot bath with some cucumber for those eyes. No more crying. Don’t be intimidated by these three. They’re bullies and they’ll take advantage of you if you let them.”
“Livia, this is Veronica Harvey. She’s your PA and will take care of whatever needs you have.”
She turns me around, and with both her hands around my arms, she looks into my eyes and talks. “There, there. I know it’s all a big adjustment right now, but I’m here; we got this, okay?”
I could do little else but nod; she’s that convincing, and the smile she offers is so comforting I want her to hug me, too.
“Good. Is there anything else you want to say to them before we go upstairs?”
“I do.” I turn and face my persecutors. “I’d like my phone back, please.” I have to call Faith. She probably thinks I’m dead and has the police involved by now.
“This is your new phone.” Deacon hands me the latest model of phone, which I don’t take.
“I want my own phone back. I’d like to call my cousin and my father.”
“Faith’s number is saved in there. So are the girls from your fairytale group, Fairytale Femme Fatales. They know you’re safe, including Faith, whom I spoke to myself,” Callen says.
“As for your father, you’re not allowed to speak to him or see him unless we allow it.” Mason delivers, and I can’t contain the incredulous look on my face.
“He’s been informed of your marriage and knows all he needs to know,” Deacon adds.
“Are you for real?”
“Does it look like I’m not?”
“You can’t decide who I can speak to, when, or how. If I want to speak to my father, I will. If I want to see him, I will.”
“You will speak to him when and if we say so.”
“Take the phone, darling, and call it a win. For now,” Veronica says.
“I’m not stupid. You want me to take a phone that’s been bugged or something?”
“The phone is not bugged, Livia. You have our word,” Callen says. “We’d like you to have your privacy when it comes to your cousin and the girls in your Fairytale Femme Fatales group.”
“We have other ways of keeping you and tracking your phone and listening or reading your conversations with them is not one of them,” Mason adds.
“Let me tell you something, darling girl. These three are way too arrogant to use conceit. And they’re also too smug to lie. Trust them if they say so.”
I’m so confused but somehow I believe what Veronica says about them. And if that’s the case, I’ll definitely be speaking to my father no matter what they say.
Although it’s become more and more obvious that they believe my father is working for Kirill Yenin, the man I was supposed to marry and who happens to be a mafia boss. And contrary to what they say about Kirill Yenin, he is their enemy, and I’m just a pawn in their game.
I’ll find a way to speak to my father anyway, so their restriction is not only utterly ridiculous, it’s also moot.
“I have work, so I’ll need my car.”
“Again, what part of being an Ursid bride are you not getting?” Mason asks, stroking his jaw. “You don’t leave this house to go to work. In other words, you don’t work anymore. You don’t need to. You have unlimited funds available to you at all times.”
“So that makes me your prisoner?” I ask, at my wit’s end, ignoring the part where he says I have all the money in the world at my disposal. I would rather die than take a cent of their blood money.
“You can stop me from working at The Elliott, but I am very much going to show up for work at Jimmy’s. He can’t replace me so soon. He needs time. I’m not going to destroy his livelihood because of this. I am going in, and you can’t stop.”
Tension fills the air. I won’t back down from this. I simply won’t. Jimmy Keppler is seventy-eight years old. Jimmy’s BLT is the only thing keeping him alive. The diner caters to a small, regular batch of customers, so it’s not a thriving business.
There are two waitresses. Me and Jimmy’s wife, and she’s seventy-eight as well. I work there every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for lunch hour, which is their busiest time, and Babs—Mrs. Keppler—can’t handle it all, as she still helps Jimmy do all the cooking.
It’s all they have, and they live in the hope that business will pick up again so they can retire and at least live modestly. If I had any money, I would give it all to Jimmy and Babs, so they could retire and live the rest of their lives happily. But I won’t desert them when they need me the most.
Jimmy is very particular about who he allows in his kitchen. He gets extremely anxious around new people and if I leave, I don’t know who’ll be able to replace me. I don’t want to think of destroying Jimmy like that.
After they lost their only daughter to cancer, Jimmy’s PTSD just became worse. Their daughter also worked at the diner which meant it was only Jimmy and Babs struggling on their own for a while.
When I applied for the job after something like twenty candidates before me, Jimmy reluctantly said he would give me a chance. I’ve been with them since then.
I raise my chin, not backing down one bit.
“Fine,” Deacon says begrudgingly after what feels like an eternity. They don’t ask me what I do at Jimmy’s because they already know everything about me.
Weird doesn’t cover my life right now, and I can’t believe I’m negotiating the very things that made my life what it is.
Veronica leads me upstairs, requests fresh food be sent up for me in an hour, then insists I take two painkillers and drink a giant glass of cranberry juice.
“My job is to make sure you’re okay. I’ve been given that job by Ursid men because they don’t trust anyone else with their most precious commodity. You are their most precious commodity, Livia, darling.” She touches my cheek and gives me a motherly smile.
“Now, by the looks of you, you’re pretty small, and they’re pretty big, and I know you have some discomfort down there, some tenderness, which is a given, and I bet it doesn’t help that they spanked you on top of that.” I turn blood red. How does she know?
“So take the painkillers, drink the juice, and sit in the tub for a bit, all right? After that, a huge breakfast will provide sustenance, and we will get you back to feeling yourself in no time. You just have to trust me.”
I’m so tired that I just nod and let Veronica take over. There’s so much going on in my head that I can’t pick one thing and concentrate on it.
“Good. Now just one more question. When was your last period, darling girl.”
A frown of disbelief settles on my face.
“They didn’t—they didn’t. I can’t be pregnant. They only took my virginity, they didn’t––”
“Yes, of course, I understand. But I do like to be prepared as your PA and I need to know everything. And also, this is pertinent information for them to know as well.”
“I don’t see how my cycle is any business of theirs.” I stiffen.
“It’s information they need. If I don’t supply them with that information, you might be putting yourself in line for another spanking.”
“About nine days ago,” I say begrudgingly.
“Thank you. Some battles you will just not win when it comes to them. Remember that, darling girl.”
While Veronica draws the bath for me—she insists on doing it for me—I slip into the hidden shower cubicle of the enormous bathroom and lather myself up. I take great pains to make sure there’s no evidence left of what Mason did to me.
But every accidental touch and every heavy spray of water from the handheld shower head reminds me of their touch, and fresh wetness gathers at the entrance of my pussy.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life. But then, I hadn’t met three arrogant, bossy crime lords before, either. I haven’t had to play a series of bobby-trap games where my life was at risk at every corner. And if I wasn’t at risk of dying, other licentious things were happening to me.
I’ve never had my virginity taken, and now I can”t, for the life of me, erase every single sensation of them being inside me that sits in my head and consumes me. I can’t stop myself from reliving the feeling, the pain, and the wondrously curious need inside me they invoked. It’s the same with the feeling of coming around them and knowing they could feel it too.
I’ve never been spanked before. I’ve never had someone put their fingers in my butt with honey butter. Dear god.
And I’ve never been married before, but here I am, seemingly stuck to them for god knows how long. When will they decide to end their vengeance on Kirill Yenin and release me?
Veronica has laid out a pair of silk pajamas for me, and I don’t argue with her because I basically have nothing of my own to wear.
“All you have to do today is stay in bed, read, watch some trashy TV, and rest.”
That’s all I can do since she just re-informed me that I’m not allowed to leave the house unless I am doing so with one of my three husbands.
Essentially, I’m a prisoner, and there’s nothing I can do about it for now. One glance outside onto the massive land on which the palatial house stands tells me there are guards everywhere preventing me from leaving. There’s even a bodyguard standing outside my bedroom door.
I went looking for a fairytale and ended up with a nightmare.