Chapter 11 Briella #2
“Hmm, Babydoll, you feel so damn good,” Jude says against my mouth before his full lips capture mine. Slower than Raphael, more seductive. He kisses me like a gentleman even as he defiles me.
A thick, slippery finger dips inside my stretched anus, and I buck against Jude, moaning as Rory works that wet finger in slow, torturous circles on my inner walls.
The pressure inside me mounts again. Jude grips my throat and crushes his mouth to mine, forcing me open to taste me.
Then, he turns to the alpha and jerks his chin. “Chains?”
Out of the corner of my eye, Raphael nods.
In the next second, the chains holding me to the ceiling go slack.
My arms are limp and useless. But it hardly matters when Jude rolls me over with his dick still inside me before fucking me against the cold ground.
I cry out at the friction against my ruined back.
But at the same time, there’s a relief from the cold floor against the gashes in my skin.
“Good girl, Babydoll,” he praises me when I clench around him. “Just keep sucking me in. I’ll give you what you need. Seth,” he summons the lumberjack. “Do her tits. I’ve got her clit.”
“No,” I whimper, crying more. How can I possibly come again?
When his fingers come down on the swollen nub, still inflamed and puffy from the pussy suction, I release back-to-back moans. The next thing I know, Seth is gripping my left breast, kneading it, testing its weight before he lowers his head to capture my nipple between his lips.
A cruel hand grabs my hair and yanks my face toward his.
“You like that, don’t you, dirty little Lass?
” Rory rakes his teeth along my jaw while Seth sucks my breast and licks circles around the tip, and Jude drives himself deeper into me.
All under Raphael’s monitoring eye. His cock is still hard, and I whimper at the thought of him taking me again after the rest.
I spit in Rory’s face, baring my teeth at him.
Despite his growl, Raphael warns him, “Not yet, Rory. You’ll have your turn soon.”
Rory drops my hair, pushes away from me, and lets Jude finish.
My shackled hands are so weak, but they twitch, my fingers curving until I can take some power in all this.
My fingertips skim along Jude’s honed ab muscles.
They flex beneath my touch. He’s scalding my inner walls.
They hurt, and there’s no escape from the pain.
One more thrust and pressure from those piercings targeting my core. I shatter, my inner muscles pulsating all around Jude’s cock. The pleasure takes the edge off for just a few moments before the pain overwhelms me again.
Jude finishes, nutting deep inside me with his lips pressed to my brow. “Thanks, Babydoll.”
Like I had a choice.
“Vincent,” Raphael says.
Vincent hesitates, sneering, still leaning against the wall. “I don’t want to,” he says despite how hard his length is. It’s too dim to see if he has piercings.
Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let hope fill me. Not when Raphael narrows his eyes, hands balled into fists. “Vincent. Fuck her. Now.”
With a grunt, Vincent stalks over to me. A whimper escapes because he turns me over, grips my hips, and presses his dick against my center from behind. Ready to rut me. I suck in a deep breath right before he thrusts, injecting himself deep inside me.
“Fuuuck! Please no more!” I plead as the tattooed giant plows into me, deep, hard, and fast. My pussy is on fire. And every thrust feels like a lightning strike.
Even if he doesn’t want this, Vincent grips a handful of hair and yanks, forcing me into an arch so his dick can go deeper.
So hard, my tits swing and bounce with every movement.
His chest slaps against my wreckage of a back, chafing the ripped flesh.
His hips put more pressure on the expander.
I take slow, deep breaths, but nothing helps.
Warm hands cover my breasts, distracting me momentarily from the pain.
I look up through wet, blurry eyes, finding the warm brown eyes of Seth as he massages my sore breasts and leans in to kiss my neck.
Soft touches of his lips, and I soon realize he’s following the trail of Rory’s teeth marks. He thumbs my nipples, and I gasp.
Jude covers my mouth with his. It’s all too much. My inflamed center getting pounded to hell, the sensual torture of Seth’s fingers plucking and pinching my nipples, and Jude’s dominant mouth conquering mine.
Then, Seth slides one hand lower, roaming across my belly until he reaches my lower lips. I can’t tell if they’re wet with my fluids or their cum. But when he touches my clit, I hiss, arching my neck.
“So pretty and puffy,” Seth says, still gripping one breast while working my clit from side to side before rubbing circles around it. “Can’t wait to taste you, Briella Darling.”
“Keep your digits off my dick, Bunyan,” Vincent warns, voice rough.
Seth smirks and adds two fingers, rubbing my clit harder, quicker.
Jude pauses from my mouth but doesn’t lose my eyes. “Switch, Seth.”
With his tongue still tasting me, Jude lowers his fingers to the swollen knot. Vincent grunts, but he doesn’t warn Jude away.
Seth cups my other breast and curls his thumb around the hard bud.
My whole body shakes as Vincent delivers short, fiery bursts of thrusts. I look to the side. I find Raphael’s dark, carnal eyes. Everything conspires against me, ripping my consent away. High on pain and pleasure endorphins.
My inner muscles flutter. A deep groan resonates from Vincent’s throat.
“Yeah, you feel that sweet pussy, don’t you, Vincent?” Seth eyes him with a wicked smirk while pinching my nipple. “She’s about to come, boys! Come on, Briella Darling, fall apart for me, you’re so goddamn beautiful!”
I hate how his praise sends me over the edge. I hate how I’m still seeking Raphael through it all.
More plucking of my nipples. Another searing kiss. And Jude rubs three fingers against my clit.
When Vincent crushes his hips to my ass and comes, shooting his release into me, I orgasm, coming hard with strong pulses of pleasure that surge through me, filling my body with heat to numb the pain. For a few blessed moments, the pain disappears.
As soon as Vincent finishes, he shoves me forward.
I fall over, worn out, strung out, fucked to the near-killing point.
And still, I have no regrets. No regrets about biting Jude, throwing rocks at Rory, or taking part of his ear off, or swinging that axe.
I don’t regret staring into the abyss of Raphael’s eyes.
At least they give me a couple of moments, and I curl into the fetal position on the rocky ground, still wet from the hose.
My lungs constrict. My throat seems to fill up with dry ash. I haven’t felt this level of pain in years. But those years were worse. Because Raphael may be a psycho, but he doesn’t pretend.
Most of all? He doesn’t make me pretend.
Put on a happy face, Gabriella. Don’t let them see your fear. Don’t let them see your vulnerability. Don’t laugh at them. Don’t curse them. Never fight them. Become a numb machine.
The meds messed with my mind, blurring my memories, eclipsing my thoughts with a chronic, slow-moving fog.
I don’t feel numb. I feel raw. Real. And deep beneath the superficial pain burning through my flesh and blood… I feel alive.
When I start to shake, struggling for breath, panting and wheezing through my nose, strong arms lift me, pulling my worn and bleeding body into his lap.
I don’t need to look up at him. Warm, black hands, callused and rugged, tenderly wrap around me, anchoring around the back of my neck until I’m pressed to his chest, to his pounding heart.
“Breathe, Babydoll. Breathe with me. Slow breath through the nose. That’s a good girl,” he soothes me as I break down, crying in his arms.
What’s happening? All I know is the emotion welling up in me, rushing in waves.
“Now…” he sinks his fingers deeper into my curls and looks down, capturing me with the dark, moonless night in his eyes. “Place your hands on your chest between both our hearts. Feel the beats. Good girl. Tell me your favorite ice cream flavor.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the others, but Jude gives my head a little shake, summoning my eyes. “No, Briella. Look at me. Tell me.”
Cheekbones. Yeah, that’s what I’ll nickname him. I shouldn’t be thinking of nicknames. I shouldn’t be humanizing them, especially when they are gods in this place. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome. Whatever it is, it’s fucked up. But they’re letting me be fucked up.
With trembling lips, I answer, “Rocky Road.”
“Seriously?”
I nod.
“Well, then. Now, describe your current environment,” he directs me. “Name five things you can see.”
I flick my eyes on each of the men around me and burn my eyes against Jude’s. “I see five pricks who need a personality transplant. And one who thinks he’s a therapist.”
He rubs circles along the back of my neck, and I hate how it and his heartbeat and his deep chuckle all ground me. “Former combat Army medic,” he corrects me with a devilish smile. He was in the fucking Army? Before I can ask more, Jude says, “Name four things you feel.”
I whimper, glancing down at my shackled hands between our chests. “Your heartbeat, my heartbeat, your muscles, including the one between your legs that’s getting off on this.”
“Three things you hear.”
I blink, then close my eyes and say softly, “Your heavy breath. The clinking of the shackles.” I flex my fingers. “And… the sound of Rory’s thoughts mourning his missing ear. Oh. Now, he’s growling.”
Jude’s laughter is deep and throaty, comforting. “Two things you can smell.”
“Blood. Sweat.”
“And one thing you can taste.”
Before I can speak, he captures my chin, tilts my head up, and claims my mouth in a slow, seductive kiss, inviting me to taste him. And I do. I let him open my lips and flick my tongue with his until I respond, accepting, surrendering.
I’m losing myself. Pieces of me break off. And yet, other pieces, long since buried, crawl out of their graves and show me all their pretty, broken selves. Begging for these gods in hell to look at them. Never fix them.
But maybe…they could look at all the tiny, jagged smithereens of my darkness and find something beautiful in them.