32. Chapter 27
They’re teasing us.
They have to be.
“Can you imagine being able to get off like that?” Viper asks, gripping his dick as he leans in and watches the camera. “Consecutively? One right after another?”
I’d feel like we were being invasive, hovering around the monitors with arms crossed, watching them, but they know we can see them. They know we’re keeping tabs on them via the many cameras around the mansion. So right now, they’re both well aware we’re somewhere, watching as Cora spreads Delilah’s legs and slides a finger into our Princess.
For the third time this morning.
They’ve spent most of yesterday and all morning in bed, petting each other. I’m not sure what happened between them last night, but whatever it was has led to this. Maybe acceptance or a way to cope with their situation. Possibly a silent agreement to make us all pay for keeping them hostage. For… God I don’t fucking know what, but if they keep it up, I don’t know how much longer Viper is going to last before he stalks in there and demands he be allowed to join them.
Hell, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last before I go in there and force Cora’s face between Delilah’s thighs until she comes all over her mouth the way she should be.
Considering what we’d like to do to them, their little make-out sessions are tame. Kissing, nibbling of hard, rosy nipples. Fingers sliding into each other, rubbing over their pink cunts. It’s innocent and sweet compared to what we’d do to them if we lost control. It wouldn’t be this light petting. No delicate little cries. Delilah loves it rough. Hard. I’ve heard her scream out her release so loud it was like we were tearing apart a wild animal.
Cora’s sweet laugh rings out, bringing me back from that night, as Delilah arches her back, squeezing her eyes closed and comes, gripping Cora’s wrist to make her stop.
“Do you think a man can die from having a constant hard-on?” Viper asks Breaker.
“You got off this morning, asshole,” Breaker says.
“Not with that wet cunt,” Viper says, pointing to the screen. He moans and leans back on his heels.
I glance at Breaker, catching his scowl before it evens out, and he focuses back to the screen. Maybe Breaker helped him. Fuck, that thought makes my dick even harder.
“Seems she’s right,” Reaper says from behind us.
We all turn, stepping away from the screens, guiltily.
“About what?” Viper asks, glancing back at the girls. They’re both up, pulling on dresses and socks.
Reaper enters the room, mask in hand, and leans on the desk, face illuminated by the glow of the monitors. “About you three being perverts.”
“Us?” Viper laughs. He points to the screen. “Those two just performed for us.”
“Wait. Us three?” Breaker asks, grabbing his mask from the pile on the desk. “You’re worse than the three of us combined.”
Reaper pushes off the desk, standing upright. His lip curls into a wicked grin. “Never said I wasn’t.”
Viper picks up his mask and slips it over his head. “Come on. It’s time for breakfast.”
***
We find the girls out in the garden at the front of the house, both women bundled up in thick sweaters, their little feet tucked into the leather boots we provided for each of them. When Cora spies the three of us, she leans in and says something to Delilah, who spins, a little frown turning her pretty lips down.
Our boots crunch on the white marble chips of the paths we restored last month, the four of us headed toward them in a line. Slowly, we’ve been renovating the mansion. Viper has been adamant about getting the house in shape, putting in most of the work himself. He has this dream of it being a home. An actual home. Something we’ve never had. We’ve only ever lived in hotels or short-term rentals after the school, as we moved from job to job. Nothing permanent. Nothing like what he envisions for us when we complete this mission.
Except, I don’t know when or how this one will end.
“Feeding time?” Delilah asks as we surround them. “Come to gather the livestock?”
Cora saunters over to Breaker and Viper. Both men watch her with wolfish intensity. Before she can make a sassy comment or tease Viper more than she already has, I grip Cora’s arm and jerk her toward me. She gives out a little squeak of surprise and Breaker’s glare should unnerve me, but this is getting out of hand. We’re losing control and not only of ourselves, but of them. We’ve been too scared to hurt Cora more than life already has, that we’ve been too delicate with her. Because of that, she thinks she can sass us left and right and get away with it.
“Where are you taking her?” Delilah’s panicked cry almost makes me let Cora go, but I remember we’ve been too soft on them. When I don’t answer, she marches forward, placing her hand on my chest to stop me from moving. The look I give her makes it drop.
I grip her by the nape of her neck and pull her to me, pushing both girls ahead as I walk them back toward the house.
Viper laughs. “There’s the Striker I know.”
Neither woman says a single word as I march them through the house and into the dining room where their food sits waiting. Viper darts forward and grabs the chair in front of Cora’s plate, pulling it out. I deposit Cora into her seat, then grab the chair across from her, waiting for Breaker to sit before slamming Delilah down into his lap. She grips the table and stares up at me with big blue eyes, like she doesn’t know who I am.
Seems she forgot.
I think I did too. We’re all so wrapped up in them, in this mission that feels like it’s going off the rails as each day passes, I think we’re all forgetting our roles.
We took them for revenge.
Wecontrol them. Not the other way around.
“What a strange form of foreplay,” Cora says, scooting her chair closer to the table, her eyes sliding up and down my body with open appreciation.
I exhale an exasperated breath.
“I thought you remembered how rough we play, Baby Girl,” Reaper says, dragging Delilah’s tray toward him.
“You boys know we like it rough.” She winks at me. “I just didn’t know Strikey-boy was into domination.”
“He’s into more than domination,” Viper says. His eyes slip over me, making me wonder what he’s picturing, that he’s giving me such a… heated look.
I rip my gaze away, ignoring how that look made my cock thicken and say to Cora, “I’m sure Princess can tell you we’re all into unusual forms of foreplay.”
Delilah’s cheeks turn beet red, but then Reaper shoves a bite of food past her lips and her embarrassment turns to anger, eyes flashing with irritation.
When we do this, he always starts out this way. Like he can’t stand the sight of her, but then after a few bites, his movements soften.
“Um, yeah,” Cora says, sandwich paused halfway to her mouth as she watches Reaper break off a piece of bread and Delilah opens for him. “Can someone explain what’s happening right now?”
Before I can say power play, Delilah says, “I tried to stab Reaper with a fork, and now they won’t let me feed myself.”
Cora’s lips press together, eyes dropping to her sandwich.
“Open,” Reaper growls, holding up more food.
Delilah’s eyes narrow.
“You do this every day?” Cora asks.
I can’t tell if it’s fascination or confusion in her tone, but she takes a bite of her sandwich and leans back in her seat, chewing as she watches their interaction.
Reap presses the food to Delilah’s lips but she doesn’t open, her entire body going stiff. The glare she gives him would melt a lesser man.
Sometimes I hate it when Reaper’s right. They are stronger together.
He was right to keep them apart for so long. Our lives would have been a fucking nightmare if they’d spent this first week here plotting against us and attempting to escape.
Although chasing them both down would have been fun.
But keeping them apart meant we could focus on each of them individually. And in turn, they focused on us.
“Open, Kitten,” he says again.
“No.” She slaps his hand away. Reaper goes motionless. Viper’s eyes grow wide. Breaker looks my way, as if making sure I’ll intervene.
Reaper grips her cheeks and shoves the food into her mouth. I expect Cora to sit up and scream in outrage, so I’m surprised when she chuckles, picking up her food again.
“This is insane,” she says, taking a large bite and smiling as she chews. “You guys realize this, right? This is completely nuts.”
It is. We know damn well Delilah won’t use any weapon on us. She’s not afraid of us or even wants to harm us at this point. Even though Reaper would never admit it, we’re only doing this because he was nearly pulling his hair out whenever I retrieved her plates and the food was barely touched.
And because it’s an excuse to be near her. Touch her.
God, we’re fucked.
Reaper picks up the napkin, wiping his hands. Delilah tracks his every single movement like he’s a predator and she just stumbled into his den.
When he leans over and grabs the fork off the tray, handing it to her, her blue eyes dart to me.
Looks like this predator just invited her in.
Reaper, it seems, thinks they’re ready.
“Trust me with a fork now?” she asks.
“No,” Breaker says, lifting her off his lap to stand. “I’m pretty sure Reaper will never trust you with anything that can be used to stab him, but I doubt you want Cora witnessing what happens when you don’t listen.”
“What happens?” Cora asks Delilah, eyes wide. She looks at each of us, then up to Reaper. “What happens if we don’t listen?”
He tucks a curl behind her ear. “To you, nothing Baby Girl. You’d never try to stab me.”
Viper leans forward, crossing his arms over the table, watching in rapt fascination as Reaper picks up Cora’s sandwich and tears a piece off, offering it to her. She leans forward, and grips his wrist, enclosing her mouth around his fingers, sucking on the tips as she takes the bite. Reaper runs his thumb over her bottom lip when she backs away, looking up at him with a smirk.
We all pretend we don’t notice. Viper suddenly becomes interested in his hands. Breaker situates Princess back in her chair, handing her the fork again, but catches my eye when he passes by.
Seems they haven’t been watching the camera’s as intently as I have.
Reaper hates being touched. The only time he’ll allow anyone to touch him is during sex. We know better than to even sit too close to him for too long because he’ll either end up moving or glare holes through our skin until we’re uncomfortable enough to move.
But he touches lets her touch him constantly.
Seems these two women have slipped under his armor.
I don’t have to wonder when it happened.
I know the exact date.
***
After the girls eat, Cora goes up to their room and Delilah walks back to the garden. She spent most of the last few days out here, walking around, picking little flowers she leaves in a water glass on the dining room table. Even when it rained a day ago, she stood out here, face to the sky, cold rain pelting her skin. I wonder what she thinks it was washing away.
I stand in the doorway watching her pick flowers, adjusting my mask, wishing I could just take the fucking thing off. But it’s too soon.
Everything is too soon. I don’t think any of us know what we’re doing. Lately, when I’m around them, there’s this chaotic thundering in my head and chest, and I know, just know, they feel it too. I can’t seem to be more than a few feet from one of them at any given moment. I’m as bad as Reaper, obsessing over them. We all need distance. We’re trapped in this house with two defiant, beautiful women we want to fuck, but every day we grow closer and closer to getting what we want is another day we lose sight of our original plan.
We took them, Delilah specifically because the best way to get to Rune was through the only thing he ever loved. The second thing that is. He loved his wife to the point of madness. When she died, when she was shot? He went insane and has never come back.
Even when he tried to rip apart the person responsible for taking her, it didn’t heal that place inside him. Instead, it’s now just more people with gaping wounds that can never be healed.
Hurting Rune won’t make us feel better. Hurting his daughter makes us no better than him.
But turning her against him? Turning Cora? Making them ours?
That will completely ruin him.
Delilah bends down and picks up a red flower, and my heart skips a beat. Sleek black hair falls around her face. It reminds me of Reaper. I can imagine them together again. Hair tangling as she rides him. My hands on her ass, spreading her for me. Viper in her mouth. Or maybe Cora laid out, a perfect picture of Aphrodite in the flesh, taking Breaker as Reaper kisses her pink mouth. But then I remember that possessive flash Princess displayed that night and wonder if she’d even allow him to touch Cora. That’s if he even wants to. Something in me thinks maybe he finds her appealing, but not quite like he does our Princess.
My hand slips down and I grip my hard cock, fully aware that I’m falling to pieces as the day’s progress. We all are. If this morning is any indication, we’re all struggling with their proximity. With waiting until the time is right to show Delilah the truth about her father. But we’ve been careless. Too soft.
But Reaper seems to think she’s ready.
Cora is already there. Breaker was right. She needed a softer hand. She already trusts us enough to know we’d never hurt her. Just the thought of her being harmed makes my stomach sink. Pretty little flower. She comes across so delicate. Like the poppies that grew in the fields by the school. But just like them, her frailty is deceiving. She’s intoxicating and capable of bringing a man to his knees.
They both are.
As I watch Delilah now, I think Reaper was right in his tactic. She was there that night. I don’t know how much she remembers. I doubt much. She was only ten. But trauma has a way of sticking to your memories like an extra layer of skin. It hardens over time, making it difficult to penetrate until no one can slip past and you’re just a hard shell. Trusting no one. Not allowing anyone too close. Until you’re nothing but concrete skin and bones made of rebar.
Rune has made her into a stone version of himself. And we have yet to crack her open.
When I shift, my movement catches her eye, and she stands upright, holding the flower to her nose. My feet move before I have time to think, boots crunching on the hard packed dirt of the driveway, then whispering across the lawn. As I step under the stone arch of the entrance to the garden, she drops the flower and backs away.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so stern with her this morning. Maybe she needs a softer hand too sometimes.
“Come to manhandle me again?” she asks as I stop in front of her, blue eyes darting to my hard cock, then to my masked face. If she only knew. “Tossing women around seems to be your kink.”
“Never,” I spit out before I can think. God. My mind is a mess. How can wanting to spank her ass raw and simultaneously want to protect her be normal? Then again, I’m not normal. None of us are. We were made to be brutal. Even the way we care is harsh.
“Or do you need the others before you can—” her words cut off as I grip the back of her neck and pull her forward. She crashes into me, her hands landing on my biceps as I lean down and press my nose to her neck and breathe her in. She smells like spice and sin and everything I shouldn’t crave.
Giving in to the primal need, I jerk the row of buttons securing her dress and rip them apart. The plink of the little metal buttons hitting the gravel starts a gnawing in my chest. Her gasp sends an electric jolt through me. I turn my head, resting my forehead on her frail collarbone and watch my fingers trail under the torn fabric, over her pale skin down to her bra. Right now, I’m grateful for Viper’s fetish with cotton undergarments. It’s so thin, I can see the hard rosy nipple straining against the fabric. When my hand catches on the material, I skim over it and cup one breast, pinching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger through the cotton.
The guttural groan she releases reminds me of the night in the woods when she begged us to please her.
I know I need to stop. I know it, but all logic flees as my senses flood with her. Her scent, her warm body pressed to mine. I can almost taste her, like she’s imprinted on my mind. Gripping her jaw, I turn her head to the side, giving me better access. She breathes out, hands sliding down to my forearms. I expect her to push me away, but her fingers dig into my shirt and I groan at the feeling as she presses her body to mine.
She’s killing me.
“Striker,” she whimpers.
I hate my name, but every time she says it, it sounds like a praise.
She presses her face to the side of my mask, whispering my name again, and I feel the single word through the fabric as I pinch her nipple harder. A shuddering moan slips out against my temple.
My mind screams to slam her down and take her. Lift her dress and sink into her wet heat. Right here on the hard stones. So she’s marked, skin raw and red, not just by me but by the marble chips at her back and the entire fucking situation we’re in.
With my free hand, I skim over her waist and cup her ass. She groans, melting against me. I can’t seem to stop myself. Every little sound she makes drives me higher and higher. I tilt my hips, grinding my hard cock into her belly, growing harder when she gasps. I press my face to her neck, hating the mask. I just want to press my skin to hers. Feel her everywhere. Strip our clothes and feel every inch of her flesh against mine. Press my lips to her cheeks. Her nose. Take her mouth and suck on her pouty bottom lip.
“Fuck,” I grate out, aware I’m out of control and not caring. I want her so desperately don’t think even the world ending right now would stop me from tasting her skin.
I suck in a breath, filling my lungs with her scent all over again. I want to drown in it. Bathe in it. Fuck her until I’m drenched in her sweet flavor.
Pressing my mouth to her ear, I say through the mask, “Close your eyes.”