4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Annie
I walk gingerly down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister. I clench my teeth with every step. My body feels like it’s been hit by a truck, and yet there’s a pleasant release of tension in my muscles, like after a great workout. My pussy is intensely sore, my mouth feels like it’s been fucked raw, and the hot bath I just took brought comfort but not the relief I was hoping for.
There isn’t much commotion in the kitchen, which means that most of the girls are already out for brunches, shopping, or visiting their families. It’s one of those rare Saturdays when the cheerleaders don’t have rehearsal, so I guess the girls are enjoying the freedom while they can. But Mireille, the team captain, clearly isn’t. She appears in my field of vision the moment I round the stairs and walk into the kitchen through the open white archway. Light floods the generous space from the large windows, highlighting her expectant grin. She’s holding her mug of coffee, a cappuccino already waiting on the counter top.
“Freshly brewed.” She pushes it in my direction while holding her own mug in one hand. She’s the only one who knew about the true deal I struck with Doreen because she was the only one who understood. She also kept my secret despite all the girls’ attempts to get shit out of her. Of course she wants all the details now.
Securing the robe cordon around my waist, I perch myself on the kitchen stool facing her. My hands wrap around the warm mug, the delicious smell wafting up. I only get to take one blessed sip before Mireille all but lunges at me over the smooth countertop and grips my wrist. I wince as her fingers wrap around the tender skin where the cuffs chaffed it last night.
“Tell me everything. Where did it happen? Doreen’s filthy bar or some place else? And oh, oh, is his dick as big as his big dick energy screams that it is?” She jumps impatiently from one foot to the other as she drags her chair around the kitchen island to get closer .
“He’s…” I run the memories of last night through my mind like a movie, and my sore pussy gets wet. Startled, I set down my mug. I must be really fucked up if the thought of him is enough to turn me on, especially under the circumstances. “He’s really big,” I finish, but the rest of the details lodge in my throat.
I’m not as comfortable kissing and telling as I thought I’d be, especially since this is Carlton we’re talking about. Speaking of kissing, I remember he never did that. Not that I remember, anyway. Sadness engulfs my heart. I hoped at least a kiss would come with the territory, but it seems I should have specified it as a requirement when I made that agreement with Doreen.
Another scene comes back to mind, and this one has nothing to do with Carlton’s brutish sensuality, but with him twisting men’s arms at unnatural angles, their wails and screams reverberating in my skull.
“Please tell me there were spectators.” She takes a sip from her coffee, eyeing me expectantly.
I know she has fond memories of what happened at Doreen’s bar, where she also had more than just spectators. Her secret fantasy was to be used by a whole gang of bikers. She got everything she bargained for and more—a relationship with the one who actually took her v-card. I think they still have group fun once in a while, even though it never happens here. I only ever see him leaving her room.
“Oh, there were spectators,” I say.
“Come on, don’t be fucking stingy,” she snaps. “I got you this deal, didn’t I? It’s not like Micah Royales or any of your friends would have taken you to Doreen to get your pussy filled by the man of your dreams. The least you owe me is a good story.”
More wetness seeps into my fresh panties, and I shift on the stool.
“Mel and Justine call her the sea witch.”
Mireille bursts into laughter. “She is kind of a sea witch, isn’t she? But quit trying to derail me, bitch.” She slaps my arm playfully. “Tell me what happened. How did that beast take you? Is there video? There better be video.”
“There is, but you won’t be seeing it.”
She bends to my ear like a partner in crime. “Yes I will, because you’re going to let me watch it with you in those secret chat rooms you infiltrated like a master spy.”
“I won’t have access to those anymore.” I look down at my cappuccino. “He discovered it was me and he blocked my access.”
I expect Mireille to gasp and ask how the hell that happened, but she doesn’t. She laughs instead.
“That’s right, your cover was blown. Makes sense. After all, he brought you home last night.”
I remember Carlton giving me some sort of sleeping drug to calm me down, but not bringing me into the house.
“I’m aching in places I didn’t know existed,” I say, lifting the mug to my mouth.
Mireille grins. “I bet, after what went down in your room last night.”
The liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and I choke on it. Mireille jumps up from her stool, helping me bend over and slapping my back. My eyes push out of my head as I struggle to breathe and get air back into my lungs .
“What the fuck, Annie?” Mireille shrieks. “You didn’t survive a bunch of pervs to die choking on fucking milk.”
“I…there were sounds coming from my room last night?”
She arches her eyebrows. “Wait. You don’t know?”
“Carlton had to carry me from the car. I’d passed out. I don’t know what happened afterwards.”
She takes a step back as my words sink in. “Oh…oh!”
I brace my elbows on the granite countertop, placing my head in my hands and evening out my breathing. “You’re saying he stayed ?”
“He fucked your brains out is what I’m saying. I’m pretty sure everyone in the house heard it.”
Oh shit.
“Were many of the girls here?”
“I certainly was,” Cecilia Chen-Martin says as she rounds the staircase and enters the kitchen, her shiny black bob falling over the sides of her face as she stares down at something in her hands. “This came for you just now. ”
I blink down at the package sealed with a thin pink ribbon and place it on the kitchen countertop like it’s hot. If it’s from Carlton, then I most probably shouldn’t open it here, but both Mireille and Cecilia are hovering behind me, expecting me to.
I wonder if Cecilia also knows who was fucking my brains out last night. But if Carlton’s identity was revealed, it’s on him. I didn’t ask to be drugged and carried up to my bedroom, and I sure as hell didn’t ask him to fuck me sore. He’s got no one but himself to blame.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Mireille prompts, now closer behind me and looking at the package over my shoulder. “It must be a gift from you know who.”
Cecilia sighs, rolling her eyes. “Please? Like I don’t know it was Carlton Wilde who had that headboard knocking against my wall all fucking night.”
I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment. Cecilia’s room is right next to mine, which means she must have heard everything . Drugged as I was, who knows what I was screaming. I might have begged Carlton to fuck me. And for all of Cecilia’s angelic beauty that makes her seem taken right out of a k-pop magazine, she can be mean and judgmental.
Turns out the contents of the delivery is much less glamorous than the girls expected. Mireille sags onto a kitchen stool in disappointment and Cecilia heads over to the coffee machine while I inspect a tube of ointment and a pack of pills. A small card gives clear instructions: the ointment is for my soreness, but the pills are regular birth control. Even though regular isn’t entirely true. They’re clearly the newest generation. The instructions say I should start taking them on the first day of my menstrual cycle.
I open the box and hitch out the foils, my eyebrows drawing into a frown. Why would Carlton instruct me to go on birth control if he never intends to fuck me again? And who is he to instruct me to do anything whatsoever? My sworn submission to him doesn’t extend beyond the ritual.
I scoff and stuff them back into the box. I’d turn on my heel and go back to my room right now if not for two reasons. First, I’d be looking like a duck in a race, which would cause Mireille and Cecilia to elbow each other and giggle, while calling all sorts of embarrassing stuff after me. Then, there’s my own curiosity about what happened last night.
Cradling my mug in my hands, I do my best to keep a straight face and ignore the soreness between my legs. I wait patiently for Cecilia to be done making her coffee and join us before I begin.
“So, the headboard.” I take a sip, looking away from her. “I’m sorry about that. In my defense, I don’t remember any of it. I passed out when he brought me back.”
“So she’s fishing for information,” Mireille translates. Then, turning to me. “Girl, let me tell you, it sounded like he’d just escaped prison. Like this was the first time he’d had pussy in years.”
“And it sure as hell sounded like you enjoyed every second of it. You screamed his name like your life depended on it.”
I almost drop the mug. Oh God, please no, don’t tell me this actually happened. “I screamed his name?”
Cecilia nods, glancing at Mireille, who greedily waits for more.
“And he liked it too, because he fucked you harder.” She leans closer. “And I did hear him groan, partially because, well—” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I was pressing my ear to the wall to make out what he was saying.”
I grab her hand.
“Cici, I was out cold, I’m completely in the dark here. Just how much did I embarrass myself? Could you make out anything he said?”
“I think he was kissing you because the sounds he made weren’t clear, but he was certainly enjoying himself.” Her cheeks heat up as if the memory turns her on. “A lot.”
“So there’s a chance he’ll want another hit in the future.” Mireille slaps my arm.
My hand flies to the spot. Seeing that she has my attention, she holds up a finger in my face.
“Don’t you dare get your hopes up, anyway. You’ll only end up hurt. Carlton Wilde isn’t one of the Flaming Skulls. He’s a Heathen King. The most traditional of them, I might add.”
“I heard Chase Daytona is the most traditional,” Cecilia puts in, but Mireille waves her off, keeping her eyes on me. The woman loves nothing more than dirty talk, and she rarely ever takes anything seriously, but she clearly means business now.
“He fucking rules the pharma industry and has entire armies at his fingertips,” she continues, her eyebrows dipped low, talking sense into me. “You wouldn’t want that man to set his sights on you for real, because he doesn’t strike me as someone you just break up with when you don’t like him anymore.”
“There’s no universe in which I wouldn’t like him.”
Cecilia opens her mouth to say something, and I kind of feel she might be on my side, but Mireille talks again before she can get a word out.
“Annie, you went into this determined to keep your identity secret. Did you stop to think that, by doing what you did, you twisted Carlton’s arm into something he’d made clear to you he didn’t want? Maybe he fucked you last night while you were passed out precisely to make that point. To show you what it’s like to be taken against your will.”
“I think Annie made it abundantly clear she wanted him in any way, shape or form,” Cecilia manages to get in. When Mireille snaps a vicious glance at her, she jerks back and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m just saying, I don’t think he was punishing her. If anything, he was willingly giving her what she wanted.”
Carlton choosing to fuck me again last night, while kissing me, is an idea that feels dangerously good. I don’t know what chemicals are running through my veins right now, but they feel amazing.
“I…I need to mull this over.” I stand, my muscles protesting, but Mireille grabs my arm. I wince, and her eyes drop down to the marks around my wrists. When she speaks again, her tone is more compassionate.
“I’m just making sure you keep your feet on the ground, Annie. Remember the world we live in.” She shrugs like she’s made her peace with a universal truth. “It’s not fair, but it’s what it is. The Heathen Kings rule the fucking world. They're in the top one percent. Some people can’t even wrap their heads around the kind of power they have. Even if you came from one of the wealthiest families in America, you’d still be small potatoes for them, and their Elders wouldn’t even consider an alliance. Women like us only get to experience men like them in certain contexts. Remember that Micah Royales didn’t even let me give him head. I know that your best friends scored with him and his brother, but that was like winning the lottery.”
Cecilia lowers her head, a little sad but accepting.
“My friends didn’t win the lottery,” I tell Mireille as I slide my hand from her grip, grab the package with the ointment and the pills, and head toward the stairs. “Because they weren’t even playing.”
I slam the door to my room shut and toss the package on the bed before throwing the double doors to the balcony open and stepping out into the spring sun. I grip the banister and take in one deep breath after the other to calm myself down. The spring air, the chirping birds, the knowledge that Carlton fucked me again last night, fully aware of who I was and what he was doing, starts to feel dangerously good.
Maybe this isn’t a lost cause after all.
***
Carlto n
The moment Annie Jones steps into the cafeteria, my back snaps straight. I was keeping an eye out for her, sitting at the Kings’ table up in the gallery overlooking the cafeteria, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m just curious if she remembers what happened in her room a few nights ago.
She walks in like the breeze of fresh air she’s always been, wearing a pastel blue dress and holding an ice cream. I frown at that. She never has ice cream for breakfast. The dress wraps tight on her upper body, showcasing her waist before it balloons down her legs to the middle of her thighs. I’ve always had an aversion to sneakers on a girl’s feet, but they only serve to enhance the cute femininity of Annie’s body.
“Are you listening to me, big guy?” Micah slaps my back, jerking my attention back at him. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
“Nothing is wrong.” I roll my shoulders, broadening myself, my T-shirt’s sleeves straining over my arms.
“You seem distracted,” Sade adds with a suspicious frown. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re showing off that bod. ”
“Nonsense,” Micah says with a wicked smirk, leaning back. “Big boy doesn’t need to show off anything. He is the show.” His eyes run around the cafeteria, making a point.
Yet all I can think about is that Annie is down there. She’s standing with Eva and Mel, licking her ice cream and looking right up at me out of smoky eyes—and I’m not talking about the make-up.
I arch an eyebrow, then glance at her friends to see if they’re seeing it, too. Annie has never been subtle about her interest in me, and I’m sure she told them about her fantasies, but now that said fantasies actually happened, she can’t go around being obvious anymore.
But Mel is busy hugging Justine who just walked in, and Eva gets ambushed by a few of her students. None of the girls even looks at me, which means they don’t know—yet. Besides, if Eva and Justine knew anything, they would have told the two bastards sitting here with me, but they seem none the wiser. Still, there have only been two days between then and now. Saturday and Sunday, which I’m pretty sure naughty Miss Jones used to take care of her roughed-up pussy.
My cock twitches .
Fuck.
I shift in my seat, and Micah laughs.
“The little one still seems to have a crush on you,” he says. “And here I was, thinking she’d want nothing to do with the Kings after the mayhem.”
“If anything, her crush has gotten worse,” Sade puts in. Unlike Micah, who only knows boundless compassion for the love of his life, Eva Brannan, but is ice cold toward all others, Sade seems to feel for the girl. There’s a sort of pity on his face as he looks down at Annie swirling her tongue over that ice cream, eyes fixed on me.
Anger rises in the pit of my stomach, and it’s not because of Sade and Micah. I know how crazy they are about the women they risked everything for, but the other guys in the cafeteria are drooling like fucking hyenas. One of them has crept close, too close.
I narrow my eyes, zeroing in on him. Well, fuck me. If it isn’t one of the bastards who watched me fuck her two nights ago. What the girls never know is that they’re not the only ones paying to be part of these rituals. Rich, bored fuckers from Norton King’s and other universities do, too. They’re usually not aware of the girls’ identity, nor mine. While some of them might guess it’s me, since I’m pretty much the largest guy on campus, they’re way too fixated on the girls getting their holes ravaged by a big cock to waste any attention on the performer. The all-black outfit helps blend in with the dark, gothic environment of the church, and the white mask creates a useful contrast to it, distracting from my large body.
I sit up straighter as the asshole gets closer to her, grinning. His eyes fill with lust as some of that ice cream falls on her chest, staining what I now know is skin that feels like silk.
“Seems like your girl is getting quite a bit of attention today,” Micah remarks. He still sounds amused, but he must notice something is different.
I focus on the hyena prowling too close to my game.
As a Heathen King, I can’t afford to go as blind into these rituals as the spectators do, so I know who each and every one of the participants is. I recognize this bastard as Rainer Kovac. I went on a raid with his brother Aragon back in training camp. Aragon is a King too, but he lives in another state. Which means that killing Rainer would have consequences within the organization.
Still, I’m seriously entertaining the idea right now.
He must have pressed Doreen for Annie’s identity after I refused to let them cash in the other night. Doreen probably sold it to him. That old cunt would sell her own mother for the right amount. Besides, he’s a Heathen King’s brother, his family’s influence reaching deep into Congress. One doesn’t just deny him information. If he wasn’t such a wimp-ass joke of a man, he’d probably have made it into the war camp with Aragon, but apparently he prefers hunting defenseless women to tracking down dangerous psychos in the catacombs of the world’s deadliest cities.
He says something in her ear, two of his chums grinning and flanking him on each side.
Annie’s head snaps to him, her eyes spitting fire.
I stand up and grip the rail, my eyes narrowed into slits as I focus on them talking on the ground floor.
She takes a step back. He steps after her. My fists white-knuckle the fucking rail .
He reaches for her and she slaps his hand away, but that only causes him and his chums to laugh.
“Carlton?” Sade warns.
“That piece of shit is coming on to Annie.”
“And since when do you care?” Micah asks.
“Since the mayhem,” I snap over my shoulder. Then, returning my eyes to Annie. “I’ve felt like she’s my responsibility ever since.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Micah pushes. I picture him cocking his head behind me like a vulture.
“Don’t worry, my brother, not a chance I’ll end up as pussy-whipped as you,” I bite out.
“Oh, I wasn’t implying that, my brother,” the bastard mocks. “We all know how seriously you take your role within the Heathen Kings.” Then, as Damon walks up the stairs with some of our acolytes, “I particularly remember how upset you were when Sade discarded your cousin, and how you almost kicked my ass when I fell in love with Eva. There’s no way in hell you’re guilty of the same sin.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond to his provocation. I love the fucker like a brother, and I know he feels the same, but he likes to piss me off, and I think he finds getting into fist fights with me particularly entertaining, too.
“Careful,” I say, watching Micah’s girl, Eva, step in between Annie and the nastily drooling Rainer, using her position as a professor and a Heathen King’s fiancée to make him back off. I’m really starting to like Eva Brannan.
Once Annie is safe I turn around, facing a grinning Micah and a suspiciously frowning Sade, while Damon assesses the situation from his position behind them, his unnaturally black eyes moving between us.
Fuck, the last thing I need is these bastards finding out what happened. Holding it over me will be their new fucking hobby. Chase and I have established ourselves as the most conservative Kings. We can’t afford to let our control slip, or these bastards will descend like hawks upon a fresh corpse.
I look over my shoulder, almost expecting Annie to be staring at me again, but no.
My stomach sinks.
She’s in Eva’s arms, shaking, and I fucking hate it. She shouldn’t be made to feel like shit for her fantasies or for trying to get them fulfilled. My experience taught me that these kinds of desires are often an outlet for generational trauma, even for decades of abuse throughout a longer historical period. Often it has to do with a deep need to be dominated that isn’t uncommon for modern women who have to fend for themselves and who choose to live an independent life. They love their freedom, they just need balance.
But the dirty fuckers I perform for refuse to see the truth. They pay fortunes to watch women get debased and used in filthy ways because they’re complete assholes. I’m a fucked up bastard too, otherwise I wouldn’t be in those online groups with them or do what I’m doing, but I’m fully aware that my rotten ways are my own. Hearing those bastards blame the women or call them whores by nature to justify their own abusive drives, has me baring my teeth and wanting to rip their throats open. Yeah, I have kinks that make cruel boy toy Micah Royales seem like a cuddly little puppy, but that’s not on the women. It’s on me. No woman asks to be a victim.
Annie Jones? She should have stayed the fuck away from me. She should have never brought me in a position to experience her, should have never exposed herself to my lust. I’m a barbarian, while she remains a sweet girl despite her darker cravings. She’s young now, still experimenting, but once she gets all that out of her system, she’s going to yearn for love and affection. She’s going to want vanilla, and she’ll find a man who’s able to give that to her.
I snarl, deciding to sever ties with her right now. No more thinking about Annie Jones. It’s the only way to do this. I turn away and grab my backpack.
“See you sad lot later,” I throw over my shoulder, walking past a grinning Micah and a still suspiciously frowning Sade. Damon stands aside, characteristically quiet and assessing, while the acolytes fidget and stare.
“Are you gonna leave your protégée defenseless out there to fend for herself among a pack of drooling hyenas?” Micah calls after me, laughter in his voice.
Fucking asshole.
“She’s got your hellhound of a bride to watch after her.”
And I mean it. From now on, I won’t be feeling responsible for Annie Jones anymore.