Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Shit. Shit Shit.
Kiernan’s heavy footsteps echo ominously against the wooden floors as he stalks after me.
His father’s voice calls after him, a stern warning, but he ignores it as he continues on his mission.
I turn, just barely, to glance at the monster who haunts my footsteps.
His emerald eyes are cold, darkness surging through their crystalline depths.
With frenzied hands, I press the button of the elevator, willing it with all my might to open. Maybe, if I am lucky, it will let me down to the main floor without needing a fingerprint.
Fuck. Why isn’t it opening?
“Mo fraochún beag.” His voice is thick with anger, his accent slightly harsher when he utters the familiar Gaelic words that are still a mystery to me.
He’s probably calling me his little sex slave or some shit.
Panicked, my eyes bulge as his broad, muscled frame strides toward me with determined steps.
Backing away from the elevator, I hold my hands up in surrender.
“Wait…” I stammer. “Please. I’m sorry…”
Kiernan’s silence frightens me more than if he were to threaten me. He takes another long step and then another, closing the distance between us with ease. Before I can think to dart away, he bends down and presses his shoulder into my stomach, lifting me.
The world turns topsy-turvy, my hair falling around my face like a curtain.
“Put me down,” I cry out, my fists pounding on his muscled back. Not that it does any good. The man is built like a champion linebacker. How many hours has he spent in the gym to get like this? “Ow.” His hand comes down harshly on the curve of my ass.
Even through the material of my leggings, it burns. Tears blur my vision, threatening to flow. I won’t give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t get my tears. Not when he is the one acting like a brute.
His hand reaches out to press the button of the elevator. It immediately opens with a small chime of a bell.
What the fuck?
He ready does have magic fingers.
“Kiernan,” I plead with him softly, hoping to soften him toward me. “I’m sorry. I was just upset.”
More silence.
Blood boils in my veins at his silent treatment.
At least I am attempting an olive branch.
My hands continue to beat uselessly against his back as he lugs me out of the elevator.
“Let go of me, you asshole,” I swear at him, my frustration mounting until it snaps.
“You can’t do this. Put me down, Kiernan. ”
“I love it when you say my name, mo fraochún beag.” He chuckles darkly. “But I like it more when you scream it.”
“Fuck you,” I sneer. “If you think I’m going to be screaming your name, you are dead fucking wrong.”
The man has the nerve to just laugh, as if I told him a joke.
I can’t deny, however, that the sound is dark and delicious.
It emanates from deep in his chest, the vibrations traveling through my body, causing my thighs to clench together tightly.
Kiernan’s hand comes up to swat my ass again, causing a gasp to fall from my lips as he continues to stride toward our room.
Our room? Why did I say our? Jesus, talk about Stockholm syndrome. I’ve been captive for less than a day. Fucking wonderful.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Opening the door to the room, he slides us in, mindful of my head, and kicks it shut behind him. “I promise you will be screaming my name. Whether it’s in pain or ecstasy is going to be up to you.”
“You think your father will just let you beat me?” I snarl. Another chuckle from below me.
“Seamus and I don’t beat women, Bailey,” he tells me, his tone turning serious. “But we do punish them when they misbehave. And my father has the same view on punishment as I do. You won’t find any help from him.”
Great, an entire family teeming with controlling and dominating men, and somehow, I ended up in the sights of two of them. When we enter the bedroom, he sets me on my feet and tears at my clothes.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I object as I push at his hands. He ignores my futile attempt to stop him, and before I know it, the man has me completely naked before him.
“Do you remember what I told you when I first brought you up here?” he asks as he slowly unbuttons his shirt.
My eyes follow the trail of his hands as he pops one button after another until the broad expanse of his chest is revealed.
Neither he nor Seamus is built as thick as Dashkov, but they hold a lean, agile power that sets my panties on fire. If I were wearing any.
“Um…” I falter a moment when his hands settle on his belt buckle. My inner hussy is priming herself, but I am not about to give it up so easily… again. “Something about being a controlling jackass, if I remember correctly.”
He smirks, his eyes darkening, pupils dilating with uncontrolled hunger. We haven’t fucked yet, but I can feel the tension mounting, and sooner or later, it will snap. The question is, do I want it to?
The clink of his belt buckle sounds in the quiet room, and I lick my lips at the thought of what comes next as he slides it through his belt loops. Dread and anticipation coil in the pit of my stomach.
“Good girls get rewarded,” he growls, pushing me to my knees. The carpet is soft on my skin, and I relish the burn it will give me later. “Bad girls get punished.”
Looking up at him through my long lashes, I smirk as I remove his hardened member from the confines of his black pants, giving it a few strong strokes. The feel of his metal piercings along the shaft feels odd in my hands, but not in a bad way.
If Kiernan thinks I will shy away from sex, he is wrong.
Inner hussy is practically melted on the floor, giddy with excitement about what those piercings mean for our pussy.
There are seven of them in total. Fuck me, my luck is finally turning around.
I am a second away from adopting one of her spread-eagle poses and telling him to take me like one of his French girls.
Maybe that is supposed to be paint?
Nah, my saying is definitely better.
“This doesn’t seem like much of a punishment,” I purr in what I hope is a seductive manner. I don’t have much experience in this particular area, but I am desperate to take some control of my own. To show him I’m not one of the weak submissives he is no doubt used to.
“Remind me later you said that.” His hand tangles in my hair, pulling at my scalp, the rush of pain only increasing the desire pooling in my core.
The snapping of his belt causes my pussy to clench.
The rigid edges bite into my skin as the worn leather wraps around the back of my neck.
Kiernan tugs on it, forcing me to look up at him, my hand still gripping his length. He widens his feet and steps closer.
“I don’t think you’ll be feeling the same way when you’re choking on my cock, begging me for air, mo fraochún beag.”
“Wait…” Before I can utter another word, he thrusts into my mouth. I gag and choke as he shoves his hardened steel rod in as far as he can before sliding out again, only to repeat the process several more times.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. My nails dig into the backs of his thighs as he pistons his hips again and again, each time hitting the back of my throat. It’s a calculated move. He tells me he’ll choke me, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.
And I’m loving every minute of it.
Wetness slicks my thighs as desire pools in my stomach.
Fuck, this is wrong. I researched breath play once for an article I did on a BDSM club that opened several years ago.
The research made it seem as scary as it did erotic.
My interest was piqued, but Drew was never anything but plain old vanilla with me, and the thought of broaching the subject with him turned my stomach.
Spit dribbles down my chin. My lungs burn and my jaw aches.
He’s only been leaving me breathless for a few seconds at a time, but as his thrusts grow more erratic, he slows.
The leather edges of the belt dig into the delicate flesh of my neck, the pain chasing on the heels of my pleasure at watching the powerful man towering above me be brought to heel with my mouth on his cock.
He uses the belt to push in deeper, my nose nearly touching his stomach.
Tears stream down my reddened cheeks as he keeps his cock buried deep in my throat for several moments until I’m pushing at his thighs, desperate for air.
“Look at me, mo fraochún beag,” he growls, removing himself from my mouth.
I lift my eyes to him, unable to disobey the deep, masculine command.
What I see leaves me more breathless than I already am.
Kiernan’s pupils are blown wide, the black pits swallowing up the green of his irises like a black hole.
Fervent hunger and molten desire bear down on me, casting off him in waves, causing my stomach to churn with unease, while at the same time, my heart is exploding.
No one has ever looked at me this way before.
Like they want me.
Need me.
Can’t live without me.
“Good girl.” I flush at the praise. He turns his head and speaks over his left shoulder. “Think she learned her lesson, brother?”
Seamus chuckles from the doorway.
“Only one way to find out.” He saunters into the room with the grace of a panther, licking his lips as he takes in my state of disarray. No doubt my lips are swollen and red, cheeks flushed, and hair mussed. “Stand up, wildcat.” I take his offered hand, letting him pull me to my feet.
In one swift movement, Seamus lifts me from my feet and tosses me onto the bed.
A grin stretches across his face as he pulls his shirt over his head.
My teeth bite into my lower lip, eyes widening as I take in his chiseled features.
The twins are nearly perfect mirror images of one another, but that doesn’t dull the chest-squeezing sensation I feel each time one of them undresses.