10. Ivy
Chapter ten
Ivy
Poison.
Through the fog, a little spark of clarity breaks through.
Monty.
Monty called me poison, and he spoke it like a pet name, like a term of endearment.
I never understood that nickname, and I don’t understand anything about this moment.
There’s no way that Monty would do this to me, is there?
“I—” I open my mouth, trying and failing to come up with words. My thoughts feel disjointed the way they usually do after I dissociate. I’m trying to get a look at the eyes behind his mask, but it’s distorted by the paint covering the mesh screen—the big X over one eye, a large, solid circle over the other. There’s a smaller X for a nose and a huge curve that hides his mouth behind a wickedly painted smile.
“Bring her back over here.” One of his friends says. I recognize the voice as the one who gave my husband choices, his words in my ear as he asked for direction on how best to violate me.
“No.” I whimper, and then I immediately hate myself for it. My body is too tired to fight, my head aching the way it does after a dissociative episode.
He ignores the plea, dropping the cloth he’d been wiping my face with, and gathers me in his arms to take me back out to the room, where my husband still sits, tied to the chair. One of the masked men—the one with the monster face painted on his mask—paces back and forth with his hand on his head, like he’s trying to rake it through his hair. The other seems to be watching as I’m brought back in and set on my feet in front of Cody. I’m shaking, apparently, which makes it hard to stand still as his eyes rove over me like he’s looking for any sign of damage to his property, as if he’d care.
“I want to hear your wedding vows, doc.” The ringleader behind me commands, placing a hand on my shoulder that makes me bristle.
“I—” Cody’s mouth falls open, his eyes darting to mine. “I don’t remember them.”
“Come on, you can’t have been married long. Your memory’s surely not that rusty.”
“It’s been four years!” My husband snaps. “I don’t remember what they—”
“How about you?” His knuckle brushes against my throat with slow intention, and a shiver that has no business happening laces my spine. “Tell me your vows, Bambi.”
Bambi.
I suck in a breath that makes me choke on it, my throat threatening to close.
It’s true, then. What the one said to me in the kitchen, calling me Poison. That would be Monty—the only man who’s ever tried to tell me that being called Poison was actually a compliment.
But Bambi? That name I understand, and it’s because he told me I was always running.
Killian.
Oh my god. Killian and Monty, and that means that the man standing slightly off to the side is Theo. It has to be.
Realizing I know the identities of the men out to torture me doesn’t offer me much comfort. I know these guys, and they’ve been cruel from the start, confusing me with kindness that dulled their cruelty, only to be more vicious the next time our paths crossed. They made my summers here both highly unbearable and also slightly tolerable. They bullied me, teased me, pushed me around, and made me cry.
And after years of dancing around our attraction to one another, they all took me together, shared me, and then they left me.
They weren’t there when I needed them, proving they weren’t the good guys part of me thought they may be, down deep, beneath it all. They didn’t even try to help when Cody’s dad showed up and dragged me away to my new life.
I was dumb enough to believe they cared. I was dumb enough to think that they’d look for me, that they’d find me and bring me back here so that we could pick up where we left off, ignoring the world and living in our own slice of heaven. I was stupid; I probably still am considering I’ve stayed with Cody this long. But I’m not stupid enough to believe that knowing who they are means anything. It doesn’t make this any less real, and as Killian’s hand slides to my breast, his thumb running over my nipple and coaxing it to harden beneath his touch, I know they’re not going to give up the game.
“Vows, Bambi.” Killian snaps, pinching my nipple and making me squirm; though this time, it’s different than before. It stirs something deep in me and awakens the resentment I’d nearly forgotten I had for them.
“To have and to hold…”
I swallow as he skates down to grab a handful of my pussy, trying to stave off the humiliation. I can’t help jumping as he cups me in his hand, but I don’t know if it’s the threat or the promise that makes my stomach twist.
“What next?”
“For better or worse.”
“Mmm.” He nods, his breath hot on my neck through the mesh in his mask. “Tell me, Bambi. Is this better or worse? Another man holding your pussy? Seems better to me, but…”
I clench my teeth together, refusing to dignify that with a response. “For richer or poorer.”
“Yeah,” Killian chuckles darkly. “That’s a good one for you. How’s your inheritance? You’ve got daddy’s money, so I guess you’re not too concerned about the ‘or poorer’ part, huh?”
“Fuck you.” I snap, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to spill. They make my vision blur as I stare at Cody’s feet, refusing to let him see me in tears. He doesn’t fucking deserve them. None of them do.
“Patience, Bambi. I’ll fuck you the way a husband should, teach him a thing or two. But I think there are more to your vows, hmm?”
I suck in a breath at the idea of him fucking me in front of my husband. “In sickness and health.”
“Hmm. You’ve got that one down, I think. What kind of sick fuck kicks his wife in the pussy?”
My face goes hot at the realization of how much he knows now, and the betrayal somehow hurts more than the original injury. I glare at Cody. “You told them?”
“That you’re a dumb whore who gets herself off to fictional characters in books?” He sneers. “I did now.”
Shame burns me from the inside out, making my stomach churn and my body hot. There’s silence between us all as I marinate in the awkwardness, wishing I could flip myself inside out to stop their gazes crawling over my skin.
The one with the intricate painting on his mask steps toward me, and I brace myself, waiting for him to throw me on my knees and demand a performance or something. Instead, his knuckles brush against my hip, ever so lightly, as if he’s trying to offer me a little bit of solace. It wouldn’t help right now.
As if being naked in a room with almost every man I’ve ever done anything with wasn’t bad enough; they know my secrets. Not only do they own my most intimate moments, they now have access to the ones that came along after them.
“Sorry,” Monty says, clearing his throat. “You’re saying you kicked your wife in the cunt because she was… masturbating?”
I’m going to die of shame before any of them can kill me, but I almost would rather take a knife to the chest or drown in the bathtub. My mother’s puritanical values pretty much started and stopped with carnal knowledge. When she found my vibrator and realized I gave myself the occasional orgasm, she locked me in the basement without clothes for a month, telling me whores didn’t need clothes since they spent their lives naked on their backs.
Maybe there was something to her sentiment, given where I am now.
“She’s disgusting.” Cody agrees, nodding. “I mean, grinding herself all over the pillow like that because of a book . Fucking gross.”
Killian’s laugh murders another piece of my dignity. “I’m not so sure you like women after all, Doc. Tell me, do you like the taste of your wife’s pussy?”
Cody stutters, glancing around at the masked faces to try and determine the right answer. “I—I never—”
“Please,” I whisper, a tear dropping from my cheek and rolling down my breast. This hurts worse than any of the things they did to me before I finally fell into their trap. “Please, stop.”
“You’ve never tasted your wife’s pussy?” Theo asks. And now that I know it’s him, I can hear the surprise in his voice.
“What have you done with your wife?” Monty demands, stepping in front of me so that he can demand an answer from Cody.
Killian’s voice sounds excited when he laughs. “Have you ever fucked your wife at all?”
“Of course I have!” Cody spits, his face turning a worrisome shade of scarlet. “I’ve fucked her plenty of times.”
“Is that true, Bambi?” Killian taunts, squeezing my thigh. “Has your husband fucked you plenty of times?”
I don’t know why I lie, but I do. “Yes.”
The truth is, we’ve never been intimate very often, even before he started to get physically abusive. I think I’ve repulsed him from the beginning, and he always treated sticking his dick in me like some sort of torture.
“And does he make you come?”
“Yes,” I lie again, but the fractional second before I answer speaks louder than my whisper.
More laughter resonates in the room, and I don’t look up to try and decide exactly who it’s coming from. “Well, no wonder she had to ride a pillow to get herself off. You’re not doing it for her, Doc? What kind of husband are you?”
“A shitty one.” Monty answers for him. “Four years without anyone to give her orgasms? Of course she took matters into her own hands.”
He growls, shaking his head. “Women are made to give pleasure. She doesn’t fucking need—”
The clap cuts his words off as Theo strikes him across the face.
When he moves out of the way, wiping his hand on the back of his jeans as if the contact disgusts him, I see a bright red handprint blazing across Cody’s stunned face.
The silence is thick with shock for a minute before Theo clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, raising his hands like he’s showing they’re empty. “I just wanted to see what it must feel like for you when you do that to her. It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Cody growls. “And why the fuck do you care about what happens with my wife?”
The three men share a glance, though I doubt they can really see each other beneath the mesh wire of those masks. I don’t dare breathe; I don’t dare draw any attention to myself as I wait for their answer. Because I don’t know why they’re here or why they’re doing this. Were they bored? Do they hate me so much that they want to ruin me? Is this just about soothing their need for violence?
“Think of us as your therapists.” Killian answers finally. “If you’re good, we just may save your marriage. But in order to do that, I need you both to be honest with me. You can do that, can’t you, Bambi?”
I shake my head, trying to deny the heat his fingers are chasing through me as they dip between my legs and run along my slit.
“Come on,” he whispers. “You can do it. Play the game. You always loved games.”
I stifle the sound that tries to crawl out of me and swallow it back down as he increases the pressure.
“What game?” I gasp, my shoulders shaking as he penetrates me with a single finger, dipping deeper inside this time than before.
It’s the most I’ve had in over a year since my father-in-law has been abroad, and I can’t stop myself from clenching around him, my body meeting his. The gasp makes it obvious if nothing else did, and I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the pleasure flooding in that space. When he retreats, I try to catch him, to hold him inside me so I don’t feel so empty. But I’m no match for him.
A hand on my shoulder is enough to cost me my balance, making it easier for him to push me onto my knees. He walks behind me, and I hear movement that makes my heart beat faster as I imagine him burying himself inside me. Instead, something falls to the floor next to me—one of the fugly denim throw pillows with some unbearably cheesy sentiment cross-stitched on it. A glance over at it shows me the Bible quote.
“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
“Ride it.” Killian commands, leaning back against the couch with his arms spread and his head tipped back, prepared for the show he’s expecting.
“What?” I crane my neck further to see if maybe I misheard him. But he only stares back at me—I assume he’s staring back anyway, given that his mask is pointed in my direction.
“Ride. It.” He repeats, slower this time, enunciating both syllables. “I want to see what’s so fucking disgusting, so show me.”
“No.” I shake my head, swinging my leg out to stand. It’s Theo who catches me this time, pushing me back to my knees. And then he grabs the pillow, folding it in half, and taps my thigh, indicating for me to spread them apart. I shift just enough to give him access, and he wedges it between them.
“Ride.”
Humiliation eats at my stomach like acid, and my skin is burning with the weight of all their eyes on me, even if I can’t see them.
“I can’t.” I shake my head, trying to bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
“You can ride the pillow, or you can ride the axe handle.” Killian says calmly.
My eyes flicker to the fireplace, where the red axe is propped up against the grate, ready to split the logs piled up in the nook. My eyes widen as panic fills me, not even sure how he thinks I could accomplish it. The handle is thick and coated with a rubber grip, and attached to the bottom of it is a wickedly sharp, shiny blade.
I don’t know these men. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m not willing to take the chance that he won’t grab the axe and shove it up my pussy if I don’t do it myself.
A few more tears slip down my cheek as I lower my hips to straddle the pillow. The ridged seam catches against my clit and I suck in a sharp breath, easing myself slowly back and forth along it. I’m facing Cody, just the way I was when they put me here, and the contempt on his face makes me hate myself almost as much as I hate him.
“How long?” I ask, closing my eyes to try and keep the rest of the tears in.
“As long as it takes.” Killian says, as if that were obvious. And I guess it should have been.
“Show your husband what it looks like when you come, Tiger Lily,” Theo says softly, in a voice that’s clearly only meant for me. My stomach tightens at the old nickname, at the gentleness in his tone, at the confusing spike of arousal his words give me.
A small moan passes my lips as I sink deeper into the pillow and tilt my hips down. The rough surface feels wrong against such an intimate space, but as I grind my clit back and forth along the fabric, my breathing growing faster and jerkier, it also feels so damn right.
“Ah,” Killian clicks his tongue. “That’s it, Bambi. Ride the pillow. Show your husband that good whores deserve to orgasm, too.”
The heat reaches deeper, and I clench the pillow tighter. I can’t get any balance with my arms still tied behind my back, but I’m so close. And I’m fighting the orgasm as much as I’m craving it, because even if I do this and he lets me up, I know they aren’t done humiliating me.
But I’m not sure I’d stop right now if I could. The heat is spreading fast, pressure building deep inside of me as I work myself toward the edge.
“She’s close,” Monty breathes, and I wonder if I’m imagining the huskiness in his voice. “She won’t last long now.”
A moan rolls through my throat, and I toss my head back, the blood rushing in my ears as the crescendo builds. I’m about to combust, the pleasure too much to take, the clenching of all my muscles making it hard to keep going.
“You’re divine, Tiger Lily,” Theo moans, and I want to open my eyes to see if he’s got his cock out. But I’m too focused on getting to the precipice with the right momentum so that when I launch myself over, I can freefall.
“Fuck that pillow like the whore you are.” Killian commands, his dark voice such a stark contrast to the gentle cadence of Theo’s whisper. “Show your husband that you don’t need his limp dick.”
The mention of my husband watching should bring me more shame and make me fight harder not to come. Instead, those words undo me.
Pleasure explodes throughout me, the heat spilling from deep in my core and rushing over my skin as I reach the edge and promptly hurl myself over it. I don’t realize I’m screaming until the ache deep in my stomach eases and the blood pumping in my ears calms enough to let me hear my own sounds. It wanes naturally as I rock myself through the orgasm, grinding through the aftershocks until the earthquake in my body comes to a stop as I do, taking a shaky breath to replace the one I’d been holding onto as I chased the orgasm.
“Fuck.”
I don’t know who muttered that, but I do know it’s Theo who catches me against him as I sway forward, too exhausted to maintain my balance anymore. His hand tangles in my hair, rubbing circles on my scalp as he holds me against his thigh, my face buried in his jeans as he gives me the minute of rest I need to recover.
“Your wife comes like a porn star,” Killian says finally, his voice piercing the relative din of silence. It sounds strained, but he seems to realize as much and clears his throat so that it’s stronger this time. “You’ve been missing out, Doc.”
“I’ll say.” Monty groans. “That may be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen… or at least a close third.”
He doesn’t mention the first two, both of which I can take a guess at, and I’m idly grateful for it.
“Shall we show him what else he’s been missing out on?”