Chapter 49 Neve #2
Faust Darling was quiet, yes, cold, sure, but he was pure. Good. In nearly four years of studying the psyche, in my own fascination with what motivates people, what repels them, what makes one a murderer, he never crawled across my list.
If anything, I pegged him as too naive. Too trusting. He seemed to think of Sylvan Connor as a harmless fly, buzzing around his orbit.
All along, Sylvan was a falcon, the protector to the dragon hiding his fire.
I hit Faust again, and again, and again, until I feel I might faint. Then a wave of dizziness passes over me so extreme, my knees buckle, and I sag in Faust’s arms. My vision goes gray, then it fades to a frightening black, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Ah, there you go, North. It’ll be easier now, choking the life out of you—”
“Stop.” A cold, clinical voice pierces the darkness in front of me.
I can’t see, no matter how much I blink, how much I try to find my feet. If Faust wasn’t holding me—gripping my throat, my waist—I would collapse.
Then who knows what they would do to me.
Faust doesn’t let me go, but his hold on my throat loosens. It was never enough to kill me, but it was enough to hurt.
“Breathe, Neve,” Sylvan says, and he sounds annoyed. Agitated. I hear the creak of Faust’s deep gray wooden floors and I know he’s coming closer. “Breathe in through your fucking nose and breathe out through your pretty little stupid mouth.”
I gasp then, and my eyes fly open, air rushing into my lungs and filling my chest, my brain. The black of my vision fades to gray, then white spots, then it clears as I blink rapidly.
“Keep breathing.” Sylvan is there, in a black blazer, a white collared shirt, tailored pants. He looks like a vision. A dream. His white-blond hair is messy, like he’s run his fingers through it and pulled.
Or else, someone else has.
“Faust.” Sylvan snaps his captain’s name.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him this way; unsure of himself.
Anxious. Edgy. His light eyes land on Faust’s fingers around my throat, where I’m sure number 33 can feel my pulse jumping, betraying my fear.
“Let. Her. Go.” Sylvan speaks each word clipped and cold, as if he’s traded places with Faust for the night.
And in my mind, that’s what’s happened.
They are not playing the roles I assigned them, based on careful observation and hours of study. They are not at all who I thought they were.
“Why?” Faust asks softly. He shifts his arm up along my waist, so his forearm is just under my breasts.
Sylvan takes notes, his glacial eyes dropping down to my peaked nipples beneath the sheer black shirt I’m wearing. The one I donned when I thought this was some other sort of liaison.
“I know what you want to do to her,” Faust continues, speaking plainly. It’s the voice I’d imagine he’d use in a huddle. Still quiet, still calm, but matter-of-fact. Direct. You wouldn’t find video of him screaming in a locker room.
He would whisper, and everyone would lean in to hear what he had to say.
Sylvan takes another step closer. I watch the strong column of his throat roll, his gaze darting from my breasts to my face, then jumping to Faust. His hands are in the pocket of his pants, but I see the veins on his forearms beneath the rolled up shirtsleeves.
He’s a timebomb.
That’s the Sylvan I know.
But who is Faust?
“I know what you want to see. Her breathing stopped. Her body broken. Is it the blood you long for, or merely the death?”
My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense against Faust at my back.
He responds to my movements, his forearm pressing deeper against me, his thumb grazing the side of my neck.
Then he slides his palm up and grips my face, pushing my cheeks in, my lips forced together.
“Look at him,” Faust demands as Sylvan goes completely still.
“Look at his gorgeous eyes and think about all the horrific things he wants to do to you.” Faust slides his arm down, past the hem of my skirt, then back up.
He cups me, his fingers pressing against my hole, only my sheer stockings and cotton underwear stopping him from getting inside.
“Does it make you wet, North?” He turns his head and breathes against my ear.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Your pussy is sopping.” Then he curls his fingers, and we all hear the rip of my stockings.
But only I feel him push my underwear aside and feel just how dirty I really am.
Because I want it, and I’ve never let anyone know.
I gasp, my cheeks heating as Sylvan watches me, a pained expression on his handsome face.
His brows are lifted, his lips parted, and he no longer has his hands in his pockets.
They’re curled into fists, and those veins against the back of them are so fucking hot.
I wish I knew what each of them were thinking, what this is, but—
“Can I?” he whispers.
The first return to the Faust I thought I knew. Understood, at the very least. Asking for permission. Acknowledging my battle with self-respect and limits, and how, with them, I thought I’d gained some grasp of self-worth.
I battle with myself as I lock eyes with Sylvan. His throat rolls as he swallows. He looks like he wants to lunge for me, save me, help me.
But I’m not so sure I’m not where I want to be.
“Tell me you won’t hurt me.” I command the room, I realize. Maybe Faust isn’t who I thought he was, but he’s still allowing me to be in charge. Make the final decision.
Sylvan cuts his gaze to Faust, waiting for him to answer me. And it looks like my blond boy will only allow one answer. The right one.
“I won’t hurt you, unless you want it.”
Sylvan’s shoulders seem to relax marginally, and he looks at me again.
I’m in charge.
“Then touch me,” I tell Faust.
He doesn’t wait. He pushes one finger inside me and I tense. “Clench that tight little cunt around me,” he groans. He pushes another finger in, and a small moan leaves my lips, still pressed awkwardly out from his grip on my face. My head lolls back against his chest and I seem to sag in his grip.
Pleasure overtakes me as he curls his fingers, hooking them inside of me and hitting the spot I need exactly.
“Fuck my fingers, Neve,” he snarls, waking me from my revelry. “Bounce up and down.”
I clench my teeth and lock my knees, refusing to move. His words send sick pleasure coursing through me, but he’ll have to work harder to get me to obey him.
“Faust,” Sylvan says again, and his voice is hoarse as he takes one more step closer. I could reach out and touch him now, but I only have one arm free, and I don’t know if the man I’d be reaching for is better or worse. “Let her go.”
His care turns me on as much as Faust’s cruel words. Another raspy moan leaves my lips.
“Bounce on my fingers or I’ll cut him from head to toe while you watch, Neve.” Faust’s words are monotone, and the threat is scarier because of it.
Fuck.
“Faust, no.” Sylvan.
“Ask politely,” I snap back, but my voice is breathy.
Sylvan’s brows raise a little, and a small smirk forms on his lips.
Faust turns his mouth to my ear. “Put on a show for us, my love,” he says softly. He curls his fingers higher and I gasp. “Fuck my fingers while we watch.”
My knees bend a little.
I rock my hips, clenching myself around Faust’s fingers as I ride them, knowing I look awkward, knowing Sylvan is watching me, knowing my cheeks burn with shame. But the pleasure? It’s worth it.
“That’s a good angel,” Faust says softly in my ear, a low laugh mingled in his words.
“I’m not an angel,” I gasp out.
“No?” Faust teases. “Then tell me what you are.”
“A whore.” The word comes unbidden, a buried truth. A name I want to hear mirrored back from him.
He’s rigid behind me, but only for a heartbeat. The devil doesn’t struggle long against sinning again, does he?
“Such a good fucking whore,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Be meaner,” I beg. “Worse.”
“Neve—” Sylvan’s plea, but Faust cuts him off.
“Fuck my fingers faster, you fucking cunt.”
Another moan tears unwillingly from my mouth at his humiliation, and I obey. It’s exactly what I wanted.
Sylvan’s eyes feel heavy on me but I close my own, chasing the feel of Faust’s strong fingers inside me. When he adds another and his thumb works my clit, I have no strength at all to stand, and it’s his broad body behind me that’s keeping me up entirely.
“What do you want now, baby?” Faust murmurs, and the switch in tone undoes me.
“Worse,” I plead. “I can take it.”
Sylvan says my name again, a strangled sound from his throat: “Neve.”
“Doesn’t she look pathetic like this, Sylv?” Faust whispers, his tone pricking at something in my intuition. But if this is what they brought me here for, I’ll take it. They should know I’m as fucked up in my fantasies as they seem to be.
I’m so close, right on the edge, and when I flash open my eyes at the sense of a shadow falling closer, Sylvan is there.
And for the first time, one hand pinching my nipple, the other planted on my hip, he leans in and kisses me.
It’s deep and dangerous and messy. I’m still riding Faust’s fingers. Still chasing the wave. Our teeth clash, and then I’m there, and Sylvan presses his temple to mine, then slaps my breast with a downward motion, causing me to cry out in pleasure.
And he says, “Say my fucking name,” in a way that’s half a command but mostly a plea.
And I do.
I say it.
“Sylvan, fuck.” With my free hand, I reach for him, my arm up and slung over his shoulder, my nails grasping at his shoulder blade.
My pelvis is arched, and Faust is praising me and humiliating me all at once.
When I come, I feel it everywhere, head to toe, and I’m shaky when Faust slows and awareness filters back in.
Sylvan is still holding my breast, my hip. Faust’s arm is still around my waist, his fingers cupping me.
The tension seems to fall heavy again in the quiet as I fight to blink open heavy lids, and icy eyes connect with mine.
And Faust says, his cheekbones pressed to mine so we’re both staring at Sylvan, “Do you want to hurt her?”
Sylvan’s nostrils flare, and he cuts his gaze to Faust. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Confusion seeps into my brain. I thought the setup was this moment, and that, I was down for.
But there seems to be real anger in Sylvan’s tone, and even Faust’s body behind me is tense.
“She could die happy now, you know.” Faust speaks as if I’m not here.
I grab his wrist and yank his hand away from my thighs. He laughs but allows me the motion, only to grip my jaw softly and guide me to look at Sylvan.
Something flickers behind Sylvan’s gaze.
He slides his palm up, over my collarbone, the silk of my shirt leaving little to the imagination when it comes to his touch.
His path continues higher, over my throat, my jawline, then he grazes Faust’s fingers, before he clamps down on his wrist. I can feel his knuckles along my skin from his hold as his eyes cut to Faust’s.
“If you betray me once,” he says in a dead tone, “you’re next.”
And just like that, whatever made Faust so strange, so different from how I’d assumed he was, seems to vanish.
It melts from his body in waves, I feel his chest relax, then his fingers on my jaw. He’s caressing my face instead of keeping me prisoner, using me as a hostage.
I frown in the darkness of the entryway, my skirt a mess, my body like a pawn between these two hockey players.
“What the fuck is going on?” I snarl, my voice throaty and raw. “Did you…” I stare at Sylvan. “Hurt Ace?”
Sylvan’s eyes flash. “Why? Are you upset you didn’t get to fuck him?”
I take a breath. I don’t speak.
Faust kisses the top of my head which only confuses me more, and I see life return to Sylvan’s eyes.
Then a loud buzzing sound fills the silence, my question going unanswered. I startle, because I feel it more than hear it. And it takes Sylvan saying softly, “Your phone, Neve,” for me to understand where it’s coming from.
I keep most of my notifications off so I know when my phone rings, it’s important. Quickly, I dive my hand into the shocking side pocket of my mini skirt, and with shaky fingers, pull my cell out.
It’s Nolan.
He’s calling me, which is unusual without a text first, and his notifications are prioritized, so I would’ve seen it.
When I swipe to answer the call, allowing myself to lean against Faust now that I know he’s really not going to kill me, my eyes connect with Sylvan’s.
This close, he undoubtedly saw the name on my screen.
Brother.
His eyes seem to change somehow, or maybe it’s the way his brows knit together and I watch a bone in his jaw shift.
I hold eye contact as I press the phone to my ear.
“Nolan?”
“I’m at Blackwell’s. Get your ass over here, now.”