Chapter Fourteen
“Distraction, of course.”
Those mocking words echoed through her brain as Verity’s gaze lingered on the face of the first girl. Through the smudged and smeared make-up it took her a moment to place her, then she realised, the girl was one of the bambi-bright duo who had started work the previous week. She lay where she’d been dropped, a broken marionette with its strings cut. The shiny lip gloss, replaced by a slimy coat of vomit and her bright excited gaze now the unfocused, glassy stare of someone who was in no hurry to return to reality. Verity did the maths quickly in her head. One week, two days. Her original estimate had been spot on.
She hated being right.
As a teaching moment, it was effective; the choice before her, suddenly very simple. Without his protection, this was the future she could expect. In all its short and brutal glory.
Somehow, someday, she swore she would make sure he paid for this, but right now, she just wanted to get out of this evening alive. She wanted all of them to make it out of here alive.
Turning her head, she ran her eyes over the feral mob surrounding her. If the boys wanted a show, she’d give them one. Very slowly, very deliberately she pushed her chair back and got to her feet. Her fingers plucked at the knot beneath her breasts and she waited for the attention of the room to settle on her.
Once the noise level dipped a fraction, and she was sure every eye was trained on her fingers, she untied her shirt, slid it down her arms and tossed it towards the centre of the table. It didn’t even have the chance to land, before it was snatched from air and torn to pieces as the men fought over the prize.
Verity felt a shiver run through her and adrenaline began to pound in her veins. This was a dangerous game, and she was well aware that it was only the proprietorial expression worn by Cross that would keep the men from tearing her apart just like that shirt.
Not giving herself the chance to change her mind, she wriggled out of her skirt with a practised shimmy of her hips and let the fabric pool around her feet. The silence in the room was more deafening than the noise earlier as she stretched and ran her hands up her torso, pausing to cup her breasts as she threw her rapt audience a filthy smirk.
Exhibitionism had always been something of a turn on for her, the sense of power of being centre of attention although she’d never played to a crowd as dangerous as this one. And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a certain frisson of excitement beneath the fear.
Clad only in her g-string, stockings and heels she threw back her shoulders and began to move. Circling behind Cross she ran her fingers lightly over the broad line of his shoulders as she passed, surprised by how much reassurance she took from that touch. Playing to the crowd, she ruffled his immaculate hair, returning his annoyed growl with a cheeky wink.
Circuit completed, she turned to face him, studying his face. He was managing to maintain his bland expression as he smoothed his hair back into place, but she could feel the heat building in his gaze. Urged on by the crowd, who were once again whooping and shouting in anticipation, she turned her back to Cross, and placed her hands over his wrists, pinning him into his seat. Facing the room, but managing to avoid direct eye-contact with anyone in particular, she leaned forward and circled her hips, brushing her bottom against his flies.
Evaluating the response from the audience, she chewed the inside of her cheek. She still held their attention, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Hoping to satisfy their base appetites, she moved away from Cross and perched her bum on the edge of the table and licked her lips. Eyes locked onto his she saw him tense as she carefully placed one foot on each arm of his chair and ran an almost steady hand up her thigh.
The expression of blatant hunger from Cross was enough to give her the courage she needed. Cupping her crotch, she leaned back on one elbow and arched her spine, grinding against her own fingers.
Risking a glance, she caught the eye of one of the wait staff hovering in the doorway and received a surreptitious nod in response. But as the woman took a hesitant step forward, the mood of the room shifted again, bored mutters becoming calls for action as the collective attention drifted away from her.
Fuck! This was going to take more than a dance.
Sliding off the table she sank to her knees and slowly crawled towards him. Cross raised a single eyebrow, possibly in amusement as she insinuated herself between his thighs and reached for his zipper. Aware that she was about to cross the one line she set during their brief negotiation, her eyes locked onto his as she slowly drew the tab down.
The party guests immediately registered their enthusiasm for what was about to happen. Equally buoyed and unnerved by the whoops of encouragement coming from behind her, she wiped one sweat-slicked palm on her skirt before reaching into the opening and curling her fingers around his rigid length.
Keeping that hand wrapped around his base, to prevent him from thrusting too deeply she wet her lips and leaned forward, taking just the crown into her mouth. As she swirled her tongue she felt him twitch and jerk against her. She withdrew and rolled her hand up his shaft, then repeated the move, taking him an inch deeper this time. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the wait staff helping the abused girls to their feet and quietly ushering them from the room.
She was nearly there.
Around her the taunts and jeers had now become a howling, feral wail; the ringing in her ear now a sharp, stabbing pain as the volume increased. She couldn’t understand what they were saying but she could read the tone and inflection and her stomach heaved as fear churned through her.
They were mocking her, and she knew that would not reflect well on the man in front of her.
Clearly her oral skills were not giving the audience what they wanted. Hoping to appease the baying crowd, she screwed her eyes closed and pushed further. Nerves getting the better of her, she mistimed her stroke and he brushed against the back of her throat causing her system to rebel with a convulsive retch.
Giving a growl of annoyance Cross grabbed her hair and jerked her off his cock.
“You’ll have to put on a better show than that, if you want to hold their attention.”
One glance over her shoulder told her he was right. Far too many of the guests were now on their feet, some starting to lumber towards her and her throat seized in fear. She needed to do something quickly before the mob decided to write their own ending to this scene.
For once her sharp wits failed her and she realised that her skills alone weren’t going to get her over the line. She was going to need something bigger, something more dramatic. She closed her eyes. Dammit, she was going to need help from Cross.
Catching his eye she made a fractional gesture towards the table behind her, hoping he’d catch her meaning. Cross gave a lazy smile, his eyes widening in an innocent expression that looked entirely out of place on his face.
Digging her fingernails into the muscle of his thigh, she jerked her chin towards the table. “Should we move this more, centre stage?”
For one heart stopping moment she thought he was about to reject her suggestion, then he shifted in his seat and his eyes locked onto hers. Reaching over her shoulder, he yanked the tablecloth like some sort of failed magic trick, dragging the china and glass to the floor.
“Ready for the grand finale?” he asked, the challenge clear in his tone.
Her control of the situation now stripped away, Verity let out a shaky breath. Was she ready for this? Would she ever be ready for this? With sinking certainty of what was about to happen next, but with no way to prepare, Verity steadied herself against his broad frame, raised her face to his and slowly nodded.
Cross wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled her to her feet. The next moment she was airborne, somersaulting through the air before her back slammed into the solid surface of the dining table. Breath knocked out of her, she lay motionless, trying to orientate herself. Around her she could hear the shouts of approval from the mob and the vibrations from glasses hitting polished oak reverberated up her spine.
Winding the long hank of her hair around his fist, Cross dragged her to the edge of the table, until her head was dipped over the edge. Briefly, he crouched down and in a low voice meant only for her ears, she heard him whisper, “You can do this. Keep your tongue pressed down, swallow when I reach your throat and breathe when you get the chance.” Without further warning he straightened and Verity felt the saliva slicked head of his erection push against her lips.
“Open up,” he snapped for the benefit of the audience, using the ponytail, still looped around his wrist, to jerk her head further back.
Barely able to make out his words over the accelerated pounding of her heart, Verity did exactly what she was told.
The next second his wide girth filled her mouth, effectively blocking the scream that was rising in her chest. She gagged as the head of cock nudged towards the plush warmth of her throat, but belatedly remembering the instruction, she gave a convulsive swallow. It wasn’t anywhere close to comfortable, but it did thankfully reduce the urge to vomit.
Seconds later he withdrew a few inches and murmured, “Breathe.”
Verity sucked in a much needed lungful of air. Then his fingers tensed, holding her head steady, as he repeated the manoeuvre, skillfully sliding his length deep into her throat.
Desperately trying to block out the jeers and shouts of encouragement from the entourage, she closed her eyes and focused on the steady, repeating instructions… breathe… swallow… breathe… swallow.
She felt tears seeping from the corners of her eyes but thankfully, either the angle, or the act of swallowing did seem to be suppressing her gag reflex and she felt a surge of hope. He was right, she could do this! As she willed herself to relax, she felt his hand move from her hair to the back of neck, supporting her head and gently massaging the tense muscles as he built to steady rhythm.
After an age, while he availed himself thoroughly of the full, velvet warmth of her mouth, she felt those reassuring fingers beneath her neck begin to twitch. Risking a flick of her tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock she felt him shake in response. Encouraged by this reaction, she repeated the caress praying for him to climax so they could bring down the curtain on this horrific performance. Half a dozen bruising thrusts later he stiffened, leaning forward over the table as he came.
Lungs burning with the need for oxygen she clung onto his hip until he finally recovered enough to withdraw. She barely had the chance to gasp in relief, before he’d swept her back off the table and onto the floor. Bracketed by his legs once again, this time facing away from the rest of the party, she balled her shaking hands into fists and swallowed in pain. Cross took a moment to wrap his jacket around her naked torso before returning to his conversation with the man on his left. Only his fingers, gently tracing through her hair showed that he was aware of her presence at all.
Grateful to be ignored, Verity took the opportunity to gather herself and assess the damage. But her hands and face were sticky with more bodily fluids than she cared to name and any sense of calm or composure seemed a long way off. Then a brilliant white handkerchief appeared in front of her face like a flag.
She should really be the one waving that, she thought. That was nothing less than full capitulation on her part and she stifled a sob. No use crying now. At least it was over, and it could have been far worse. She scrubbed the square of cotton over her face, trying to remove the thick coating of tears, snot and mascara from her cheeks.
Gradually a numbing blanket of shock settled over her blocking out the noise and dulling her thoughts. She closed her eyes, the repeating mantra of - breathe, swallow - the only words remaining in her head. To her surprise they helped a little.
Fingers brushed the back of her neck and she jerked in fear, her eyes flying wide, searching for the next threat. But it was just a square of beef, speared on a silver fork that hovered in front of her face.
Was he seriously expecting her to eat?
She shook her head, but her traitorous stomach growled at the tempting scent of perfectly seared beef and ignoring her refusal, the sliver of steak pressed firmly to her lips. Not willing to make a scene now that the worst appeared to be over, she accepted the offering, feeling the delicate mouthful melt on her tongue. But the act of swallowing made her stiffen with pain. Her throat was raw and bruised and as hungry as she was, she declined the second offer more fiercely.
Thankfully, Cross didn’t press the issue, returning the small chunk of beef to his plate and carefully wiping his fingers on a napkin before signalling to the wait staff for its removal.
A few minutes later the waitress returned and Cross pressed a small silver bowl into Verity’s numb fingers. Vanilla ice cream, she realised as she stirred the spoon through the slightly melted mixture. That little act of random kindness nearly prompted another wave of tears, but she forced them back.
God she was a mess.
And he was a cunt.
But she ate the ice cream.