Chapter 31 Rory
Rory
“DO YOU WISH HIM PUNISHED, brIELLA?”
Playlist (Smash Into Pieces feat Citizen Soldier)
“Six Feet Under”
Twenty-five hours.
Twenty-five hours of shitting everything out of my arse.
The shower isn’t just welcome. It’s fucking necessary as hell.
And I don’t give a damn if I use all the hot water.
I practically empty the body wash, coating my skin even before I turn on the water.
My scalp tingles annoyingly when I use the shampoo.
Must be my body adjusting after everything.
After getting out, I wrap a towel around my lower half, comb a hand through my wet waves, and emerge from the bathroom, hands clenched, veins throbbing in my forearms. My blood boils at the thought of getting that little Lass up against a wall, grinding my cock against her tight pussy, edging her for twenty-four hours until she begs for me.
I stop in my tracks when Raphael confronts me in the main bedroom. His bedroom. His bathroom.
“What?” I snort.
“You have chores, Rory.” His jaw hardens, eyes narrowing with that ice-to-bones deadly stare. “There’s a buck hanging in the butcher shed waiting to be skinned and stripped. Two chickens, too. We need that meat prepped before the next freeze.”
I scratch my jaw with the heel of my hand, smirking like the bastard I am. “Yeah? Thought maybe one of my chores today was bending that little bitch over and giving her the spanking she’s been begging for.”
“Stay away from her.” His voice cuts the air like a blade. No growl. Just pure control. And somehow that’s worse.
“Aw, what’s the matter, boss man?” I cock my head. “Afraid the rest of us are gonna figure out how stiff your cock’s gotten over her? Every one of you, dicks wrapped tight around her little pinky finger. Simpering fools.”
Raphael steps forward, slow and deliberate. The temperature in the room drops like death just exhaled. I don’t get the chance to flinch before Raphael rips the towel from my waist and grips my dick and balls, fingers digging in like a vice. The pain rockets, sending me to my knees.
Should have fucking known better. But I’m the dog who yanks on his chain the most. I don’t want to be alpha. I just want to be myself. And Raphael allows that—to a point.
“Your dick will be wrapped in a cock cage for the next month if you do not obey me, Rory,” he warns, squeezing harder.
All the blood drains from my dick, from my body. I fume through my nostrils, but I give a sharp nod.
He loosens his grip. “You have until sundown to finish your work. And if I see you within ten feet of her before supper, the next thing hanging in the butcher shed will be your balls.”
I laugh, but it’s short and sharp, covering the fact that my skin just crawled. “Fine, fine. I’ll play butcher boy. But don’t blame me if I start carving hearts into the meat, thinking about her sweet little ass.”
He says nothing. I’ve already lost this round.
“FIRECRACKER!” I curse at the top of my lungs, slamming my shed door behind me while marching toward the main cabin.
I don’t know what the hell she did. But I know she did something.
I spent most of the day in the shed. Didn’t even go to my cabin.
Raphael brought back a couple of hares from one of his traps, so he’s kept me busy.
He knows me focusing on the blood dripping down my hands, the carving of flesh helps with my temper.
I thought it was mighty sweet when Jude brought me a sandwich around lunchtime.
A sandwich she made. Regular Snow White, just like Seth said.
Except I make better sandwiches.
Now and then, I caught a glimpse of her outside the window—with Seth. Guess Raphael put her with him today since they’ve meandered around the complex together. His eyes practically sparkle every time they land on her. Goddamn pussy-whipped bastard.
But as today went on, my skin started turning red, fucking burning, stinging, itching. My scalp burns the most.
She rolled right into another goddamn prank.
I wash my hands and arms for the hundredth time. Nothing is helping the symptoms. Redness. Itching. Swelling. Just seems to get worse, and I can’t stop scratching.
Stomping out of the shed, I march down the connecting bridge and up the mother fucking steps until I wrench open the cabin door to the kitchen and charge inside.
Looks like they just finished dinner since Jude is doing the dishes. Seth and Vincent sit at the table, relaxing with their coffee. And there is the fucking purple-haired Jezebel, drinking tea at the table and sampling one of my goddamn scones.
They look up at me with confused expressions.
“Why, Rory,” she feigns innocence, eyeing me up and down with a devious smile. “You’re looking as red as your hair. And ear.”
The others blow laughter through their cheeks. I lunge for her, seizing those violet curls. Should’ve known that bloody fuck, Vincent, would stop me, holding me back from strangling the life out of that vixen. She grins like a smart ass. Smart ass, I intend to fuck again.
“Dude, what the hell?” Vincent grunts, getting his arms around me.
“Hell is right.” Every inch of my skin itches. My arms, my neck, my chest, and…my beast of a dick. Nothing was spared. And my head is burning like a fekking fire pit.
Jude turns off the water, dries his hands, and approaches Briella, touching her shoulder in question.
She shrugs and picks up her teacup again.
Like a dainty she-devil. “Tincture in the shampoo. Poison ivy leaves in the faucet and oil in the body wash. Good thing none of you others used it. You’re all on alert. ”
Jude whistles low. Seth applauds, reprising his offer of marriage. Raphael sits at the head of the table with that knowing, psychotic smirk.
“You bloody little banshee!” I struggle against the fucking giant.
The Initiation was one night! How many more nights of these hellish pranks is she planning? Poison Ivy will take two weeks to heal. Minimum. My blood boils in my veins. Nothing else I want to do but slam my cock right into her tight pussy to spread the poison. Too bad it doesn’t work like that.
Growling against Vincent, I pin my eyes on hers, fuming, “Ye’re on alert, Lass,” I warn Briella, and she turns to me, crossing her arms over her chest. “When day five is up, my dick will make your sweet little cunt as red as a firecracker.”
Briella flicks her eyes to something behind me.
That’s when I realize Raphael’s head chair is empty.
Oh, hell. A second later, I’m face down on the floor…
with Raphael gripping the back of my neck and digging his knee into the base of my spine.
Fucking deserve it for threatening to break the two-week Kinship Law rule.
I spit and thrash, but one fierce tug of my hair, and my scalp explodes with pain.
Everyone looks to Raphael.
“Do you wish him punished, Briella?” the alpha asks, tilting his head toward her.
She kneels before me, beaming like a rosy sun. Bring it, Lass, I think to myself. Bury me, but I’m not done with ye. I’ll get back up every time. She hates me. She can join my damn club.
Her tits are half spilling out of that sundress, and I fantasize about taking a crop to her pretty pink nipples. I bare my teeth as she flicks a lock of my hair from my face before looking up at Raphael.
“No.” She shakes her head, standing and straightening with pride. “Between this, the laxative, and his cabin, I’d say I’ve punished him pretty well for a while.”
Cabin? “What about my cabin?” I snarl, bucking against Raphael, who finally lets me up.
She returns to her seat with a wicked smile.
I rush outside, not stopping until I get to my cabin and jerk open the door.
Christ! Save me from this accursed little witch!