Chapter 30
Peighton
“Say it so my head hears it,” says Gustav.
“I trust you.”
He reaches to my desk and grabs a candle. It’s long, red, and the smooth wax is unburned.
I gasp, eyes widening as I strain to look back.
“You’ve slithered under my skin,” he says, voice low, almost trembling. “Like an asp with wicked motives.”
I shiver hard. Something inside me answers him, something dark and needy and willing to be wicked for him if he asked. My lips part as a whimper escapes, and I glance back. His eyes are blown wide, breath harsh, jaw clenched like he’s fighting something only he can hear. The bruising grip tightens.
Then warmth hits my backside. A wet sound. He spits on me. My whole body jolts. The violation sends heat flashing through me so fast I gasp again. His thumb drags through it and circles my tight asshole, slow, testing, obscene. I can’t move. I can’t think. My mind blanks into pure, trembling want.
“You want someone else here,” he says.
My head lifts in shock. “No.”
Another slap. Harder. I flinch and drop my cheek back down fast. He wants obedience. Total obedience. My pulse pounds loud in my ears.
Something hard touches me. Then it pushes inside. I grunt, fingers clawing at the floor. Pain blooms. Not unbearable, but sharp enough to make my eyes water. He pumps the candle once, twice, slow and punishing, and my legs tremble uncontrollably.
“Who is this?” he asks.
I choke on confusion. “What—”
“Name a man.”
A trap. I know it instantly. My pulse skews sideways. The first name that rises is Brutus, because we had been talking about him earlier, because his face flickered through my mind for a single second of weakness and I hate myself for it. I stop it from leaving my mouth just in time.
“No one,” I whisper.
His breath snarls above me. The smooth object pushes deeper, the girth thickening. I cry out. His hips move in rhythm with his hand, the dual stimulation maddening.
His fingers slide between my thighs and stroke my clit, slow and taunting, gentle in a way that makes the intrusion even more overwhelming. My body splits between agony and pleasure until I can’t separate either one. The contradiction makes my hips shake.
“Say a name.”
My body is climbing fast, unbearably fast, because of his hand, because he knows exactly how to undo me even while threatening to ruin me. I can’t hold back the moan that rips from me.
“Say it,” he growls.
“This is a trap,” I pant.
“Everything is a trap,” he says. “Who is he?”
I hesitate, body trembling under him. My orgasm is climbing fast, humming at the edge, needing only a nudge. He slows just enough to keep me there, hovering, desperate.
“Who is he?” he repeats, thumb never leaving my clit. “You want to cum, devushka? Say a name.”
My walls flutter. My climax teeters. The pressure behind my eyes is blinding. My voice shatters into the air.
“Boris.”
It’s too close to Brutus, but in my state of mind, it’s the only one I could think of.
His breath hisses. “Oh? You love Boris’ cock in your tight little ass, do you not?” He shoves it deeper.
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. He circles my clit with ruthless precision. Pleasure spirals through me so violently that my thighs quake. I spread them further, completely at his mercy. I try to speak but it’s weak.
“Yes,” I manage.
“Say it properly.”
My entire body bows, trembling, helpless.
“I like… Boris’ cock,” I choke out, ashamed, humiliated, desperate to finish, desperate to please him because I want him to keep touching me.
“Where? All of it. Fucking say it.” He rolls his hips, his thick cock straining me. He stops. Waits.
I close my eyes, because I know what he wants.
“Say it. All of it. Now.”
My throat tightens, but the words tumble out:
“I love it. I love Boris’ cock in my tight little ass. Okay?”
He pumps the object and immediately, I groan in pleasure.
Gustav doesn’t stop. He gives me what I begged for, fingers sliding, his cock pummeling, in sync with the wicked version of Brutus in my ass, threading pleasure into pain until the three merge and I unravel.
My climax tears through me like something ripped out of my soul.
I cry out, shaking hard, the cold floor wet under my cheek, my body convulsing around him.
“That’s it, little slut.” He moans, loud and deep. “Milk my cock. Milk his.”
He doesn’t move.
I lie there shaking, breath ragged, terrified of what comes next. Because I know I’ve given him what he wanted, but may regret it.
He eases out of me slowly, careful, then pulls the object free with one steady motion. I whimper, a tiny, exhausted sound. He gently tugs my leggings up over my shaking thighs.
I don’t move. My cheek still rests on the floor, eyes unfocused, expression dazed and frightened.
“Look at you. So well behaved. Staying still like I want.” He crouch beside me and brushes a damp strand of hair from my face. My lips tremble. “And you spoke your truth.”
Tears pool in my eyes. “Gustav. I would’ve said anything. You made me. I can’t… I can’t say no when you touch me.”
“I know, but it was hot, right?” He grins. “And my wife was scorching.”
I exhale a sigh of relief and sit up with a big smile.
“Want to know what the other gift was?” I ask.
“Hm?”
I clutch my hands together and say the real truth on my heart. “I’m… I’m in love with you.”
His eyes double and his body stiffens. He looks around, panicked, yet I just sense he’ll say it back. I know he wants to. I know he’s dying to be that much closer. His rapid search of the room for either a way out or the courage to say it stops when he freezes.
He squints. Toward my bed. Toward my pillow. “Is that… your phone?”
“I—” His searing glare steals my words.
Ice courses through my veins, because unlike before, there isn’t any doubt in his eyes.
There’s rage.
Oh, shit.