Chapter 25
The Hoax
Jenna
“Get up and go sit on your chair,” Killian demands in a cruel tone that breaks me out of the weird, fluffy trance I was in.
My body is slow and weak as I press my palms against the table to push up, and the room spins around me when I straighten.
Hands grab me from behind, supporting me.
I’m irrationally disappointed when I see Killian through my blurry vision, still standing at the side.
But then I feel the familiarity of those hands.
Ian. I lean into him and let him help me across the floor to sit at the table.
Killian takes the chair beside me, and I almost want to lean into him, instinctively craving his touch.
Even after everything he’s done—after all these years—I still keep gravitating toward him, hoping.
It’s a stupid hope because when he speaks, his voice is harsh and cold, even more so than when he made me admit that I had masturbated to the idea of him using my ass.
“You’re so fucking filthy you need a towel.”
It’s only then that I realize the chair is covered in terrycloth. Humiliation spreads through me, scorching my insides with ugly burns even as it sets fire to my core.
I can’t come up with a reply. My mind has switched off—a reactor that has stopped spinning. I just sit here, watching through blurry eyes as Ian takes my plate and ladles Spaghetti Bolognese and two different kinds of salad onto it.
“Eat,” he says softly, setting it back down in front of me.
I pick up my fork, but it takes a moment of staring at the food before I remember what I was doing. Neither of the men says more as we all start eating, but I feel their eyes on me all the time.
Gradually, as I get some nourishment into my system and the food awakens my senses, I come out of the haze.
My vision clears, and my brain picks up pace, but it’s like cranking a heavy lever to set the motions going again.
It takes me a while to realize how close I am to Killian and remember how unsafe he is.
I’m more than a little stunned that I forgot, and I glance at him repeatedly with a strange mix of apprehension and desire, all wrapped in a neat little bow of shame.
Whenever I shift on the chair, the butt plug stirs inside me, bringing more heat to that special place deep in my belly that should not be pulsing and pleading for more.
But I can’t help it. Not even being this close to Killian will put a damper on the desire.
If anything, his presence only seems to heighten it.
His fresh scent with hints of eucalyptus keeps drifting my way whenever he moves, and his wild, arrogant energy is as alluring as it is oppressive.
I can’t deny it. As much as I hate him, I crave his attention.
His touch, his eyes, and even his humiliation.
My pussy doesn’t care about my dignity or safety.
Whenever I glance at Ian, he’s watching me with this knowing look that draws heat to my cheeks and makes me shrink in the chair. It’s like he sees it all. Every shameful twinge of desire. I want to hide, yet I bask in the exposure, unable to keep my gaze down.
I have no idea what’s happening to me. I haven’t had a clue all week as I’ve succumbed to Ian’s uncompromising control and let him spank me, fuck my mouth, and make me come at least once a day.
I used to hate him—even more than I did Killian.
He just stood there, watching me with that cold, detached expression, when I came running down those stairs, escaping the worst night of my life.
He was the grown-up, the one who was supposed to be responsible.
But somehow, I knew he had a hand in the whole ordeal.
I didn’t know how or to what degree, but I knew he wanted to get rid of the competition as much as Killian did.
It always did seem like Killian was his sole focus in the world and nothing else mattered.
I always envied that fierce, unconditional devotion.
Maybe that’s why it has been easy to accept it now that he seems to have aimed it at me as well.
I’m pondering just how big a hole I’m digging for myself by trusting him when Killian breaks the post-dinner silence. Grabbing the back of my neck, he leans in close. “Are you wet, princess?”
I want to say no, but Ian’s warning look reminds me of his first rule. So I nod. Because the slightest shift of my thighs makes me feel the shameful enormity of my desire.
Tightening his grip on my nape, Killian holds me in place as he reaches up under my dress.
“Spread your legs,” he demands and brushes his knuckles over my slick opening.
He lets out a hum that carries an edge of mockery.
“You’re wet, but not dripping. We’ll have to do something about that.
” He pulls his hand away and sticks it into the pocket of his slacks.
I yelp when the egg suddenly comes alive, buzzing against my sensitive walls.
Heat shoots through my body in thick waves, and I tense my muscles, pressing my lips together to suppress a moan.
When I glance up at Ian again, he’s still watching, arms crossed over his chest, expression impassive.
It makes me want to slide under the table and hide.
Or maybe stay and soak up the stability of those eyes.
I go with the latter when Killian steps behind me and takes something from his pocket.
“Open your mouth,” he demands.
I try to plead with Ian through my eyes, but he only sharpens his gaze, quietly ordering me to obey.
With a defeated whimper, I part my lips. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what’s coming, not wanting Ian to see the shame that I’m sure will accompany whatever Killian does next.
Killian pushes something inside my mouth.
At first, it doesn’t feel that bad. The thing is flat and round, covered in silicone, simply lying on my tongue.
But when Killian flips it around, pressing it against the back of my teeth, I realize it’s a gag.
A big ring that forces my mouth open and creates a hole that grants Killian unobstructed access to my mouth.
My hands shoot up to cover my mouth while Killian straps it tight behind my head.
But I lose the coverage when he proceeds to attach leather cuffs to my wrists and locks them behind my back.
All I can do is bow my head and close my eyes, but I’m painfully aware that Ian still sees the mortifying display of helplessness.
“Get up,” Killian orders once he’s done.
I keep my eyes down while I carefully push up and step away from the chair.
Gripping the back of my neck, he steers me back to the opposite end of the table, where the humiliation started, and bends me over the same way as before.
He leans down over me and snarls into my ear, “Do you like having all three holes filled?” When I don’t respond immediately, he gives me a shake. “Do you, Jenna.”
“Uuh.” I release a small, vague sound that can be interpreted as both a yes and a no.
And the truth of my feelings is just as ambiguous.
Because Killian’s dominance is as devastating as it is intoxicating.
I want to lean into it as much as I want to fight it.
But there’s no use in fighting. The resistance when I move against the wrist cuffs tells me so—as does Killian’s inescapable grip on my neck.
“Oh yes, you do. The only problem is that your mouth isn’t really full now, is it?”
“Ugh.” This time, the sound is a protest, but it lands like an apathetic shake of my head.
My will has become irrelevant in the storm of Killian’s desire.
All I want is to sink into it and let him do whatever he pleases.
Only a small part of my rational brain remains alert, pushing back against the unsettling instinct and preventing me from crashing into full capitulation.
He reaches under my skirt again, and I moan at the brush of his fingers against my sensitive folds. I want more—badly. The buzzing in my pussy has awakened the whole area, leaving every bared bit of skin sensitive to the slightest touch.
But Killian is not there to give me more. With a quick tug on the string hanging from my opening, he pulls the egg out.
I gasp, startled at the sudden loss. Before I can process, Killian is leaning over me again, dangling the egg right in front of my open mouth.
I start writhing, groaning my distressed protests. “Ooo,” I beg, trying to form a no.
“Jenna,” he demands, a sharp warning lacing the word, yet spoken with a steady calmness that paves the way into my submission. “Lie still and show me how much you want my dominance.”
My mind stills. It’s not because of his commanding tone; it’s the shocking truth of his words—hearing them spoken out loud with such certainty.
At that moment, I can’t deny that I want it—not to myself or the two men watching.
I go still, only managing shuddery breaths as I prepare for the intrusion.
Humming, Killian strokes my hair back and rests his hand on top of my head. Then slowly, almost reverently, he pushes the toy past the gag and into my mouth.
I don’t move a muscle. I just lie there. A trapped rabbit in the claws of the hungry predator. I accept my fate—his terrifying dominance and the subjugation it brings.
The egg lands on my tongue, the taste of my desire spreading into my senses. It brings me one step deeper into the surrender. My vision blurs, and I only vaguely notice Ian move into my line of sight, watching me cast myself into the dust before Killian.
The rational part of me doesn’t want him to see, but the resistance drowns in the thick fog that has settled over my brain.
Killian twists and turns the egg on my tongue, making me lap up every single drop of my desire.
All I can do is swallow the accumulating spit and the taste of myself.
When the egg is finally clean, Killian takes it out and places it on the table.
“Such a shame you’re such a greedy slut; I would have liked a taste too. ”
My brain fires off in different directions. The words are degrading, but his tone is gentle. Soothing. I can’t make sense of it. All I know is that I want more—more of that strange combination, more of him.
He sniffs, and the air changes. “Since you’re such a greedy girl, maybe I should feed you something else.”
Yes, anything, I want to say, so deep in submission I almost don’t care what he feeds me.
But when he starts jostling the butt plug, fear infiltrates the muddy waters of my brain.
Does he mean the butt plug? The question fires off urgent desperation through me, but my reactions are softened by the submissive daze, and the stir of the toy, working against my sensitive nerves, fires off different signals that drag me back into the cloudy haze.
I forget about the threat, so when the butt plug pops free and suddenly appears before my face, it’s like a strike of lightning deep into my foundation. It rips through my brain, obliterating every trace of soft submission, hurling me straight into blinding panic.
I start jerking to get away, but my brain is the only part of me that has woken up, my body still slack and slow. I try to scoot away and turn my head, but Killian simply grabs my hair and lowers his weight onto me.
Pinned in place, I gather all the power my lungs can muster under his weight and scream.
“Enough.” Ian’s sharp demand is a vague sound somewhere in the distance. All I see is that vile thing dangling in front of my open mouth; all I hear is Killian’s mocking voice.
“Shall we have a taste, princess?” He moves it a little closer, and I go absolutely frantic, screaming and banging my feet against the floor.
“Stop!” This time, Ian’s order cuts through the blazing panic—cuts through Killian’s demented dominance.
The plug disappears, Killian drops a quick kiss on my cheek, and gets off me. “Relax, princess, I was just kidding.”
But there’s no relaxing. A state of alarm has me in a chokehold, and I can’t stop crying out and thrashing even when Ian helps me off the table.