Chapter 11
Vani
I dry my hands and pause to check in my reflection in the mirror.
My eye makeup is still in one piece, and the guys haven’t kissed my lipstick off me yet.
I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that later.
I’m still feeling a little sore and swollen from yesterday, but I love that feeling, and I’ve even helped it along a little.
It reminds me how hot we all are together, and how lucky I am to be able to get a repeat performance whenever I want.
Behind me, the bathroom door creaks open. I turn with a roll of my eyes, preparing to tell Saint to leave me alone for just five minutes, but my breath catches in my throat.
The huge, hulking man who enters is most definitely not Saint. In fact, he's even bigger than Zane.
The white apron he's wearing is smeared with red, which I can only hope is food coloring, and which makes me think he must be the chef.
It matches the red on the Christmas hat tugged down low over his forehead, which droops to one side, the white bobble at the end almost touching his right shoulder.
His eyes are dark and menacing.
“This is the ladies,” I blurt stupidly, as if he's unaware.
He doesn't speak and he doesn't stop moving. He closes the door firmly behind him and stalks right up to me. Slow and deliberate, getting all up in my personal space.
I take a step back, but he just follows.
We repeat this process like some sort of deranged dance for a few more steps until my back hits the wall.
My heart pounds wildly, and I’m almost dizzy with adrenaline.
I know I should open my mouth and scream, but some crazy part of me is still trying to convince myself that this huge stranger is simply in the wrong place and doesn’t mean me any harm.
He leans forward and, with big, meaty fingers, pinches the material of my long red dress at the waist. It’s not as expensive as last night’s dress, but I still thought it was both sexy and classy when I picked it out.
Plus the color matches the red of the bottom of the boots Saint bought me, and sets off my dark hair.
“This is a fancy dress you have on,” he says in a rich, accented voice that’s laced with gravel. “I think it would look better off you, though.”
I let out a squeak and try to recoil. This man clearly means me harm.
Think Vani, think. You need to act right now.
My brain kicks into gear, and my body follows.
I dodge to the left, but he copies my movements, a grin spreading across his ugly features.
I do the same movement to the right, hoping I can squeeze under or around him.
He’s fast, though, for someone so big, and he slams his hands either side of me on the wall, bracketing me.
“Now, now, don't be like that. We've not had time to get to know one another yet.” He winks at me, and there's something horribly lewd about the action.
He moves one meaty hand from the wall and settles it on my hip. As he pushes his big body into me at the same time, something hard and massive presses against my stomach.
No. No. No. This can't be happening.
I think of my three men, still waiting for me at the dining table.
How long have I been gone? Will they have noticed I’m taking too much time?
I remember my comment about needing to pee and inwardly cringe.
Maybe they’ll assume I’ve ending up with a UTI from all the sex and won’t want to embarrass me?
“Listen.” I attempt to speak firmly but calmly, and do my best to ignore the way my voice wobbles. “You don't want to do this. You have no idea who I'm with. The men who brought me here will skin you alive just for what you've done so far. You really need to consider if you want to go any further.”
His chuckle is deep and resonant in the space around us, echoing slightly against the tiles.
“Ah, you innocent little creature,” he says, almost jovially. “The entire reason I'm in here with you is because of the men you are with.”
“What do you mean?”
My heart is beating so hard and fast that I fear I might faint. I lick my lips and swallow, trying to concentrate on keeping myself calm enough not to pass out.
“They were warned not to come back to Paris.” He shakes his head as if he's dismayed.
“But the fact is that, once more, the twins are here in France. It is so sad that they disobeyed their family and came. Why do you think they were sent away to America? They are collateral now in the war between families. Which means you are collateral.”
He leans ever closer and drags his thick, wet tongue all the way up my neck. I shudder in revulsion and try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge.
“Please don't,” I whisper.
Anger whips at me instantly. God, how pathetic I sound. Why did I say that? As if I can reason with someone like him.
“Oh, but why not? When this is going to be so much fun.” He snaps his teeth at me.
His big hands grab the top of my dress and rips it right down the middle.
I cry out in shock as the now ruined dress hangs off my breasts and exposes my midriff. But thankfully not my panties.
“Wow.” He licks his lips and smacks them together luridly. “Look at those.”
I push against his chest, fight or flight kicking in. But he wraps his big hand around my throat and presses me against the wall, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. Soon, even my gasp is cut off on a pained wheeze as he squeezes the air out of my windpipe.
“I could crush your throat in a second, pretty girl. Don't make me.”
I can't get out of his hold, and I can't breathe. If I thought I was panicking before, it was nothing as compared to now. My legs start to kick out at anything, not because I'm trying to fight him, but on instinct because I cannot breathe.
I need air. There's none coming into my lungs, and, as sparks fill my vision, my eyes roll shut.
The pressure of his hand against my throat is suddenly gone, and I bend forward, coughing and choking as I suck in great, big, beautiful, sweet breaths of air.
He’s moved back to give me a little space and, as I glance up through watery eyes, his smirk makes me sick.
Still, I can breathe, and I have room to maneuver.
My moment of relief is short-lived, however. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back violently. Severe pain burns through my scalp, and I scream. He holds my head in place, tipped up so my eyes meet his.
“Now, my pretty little thing, let me play.” With his free hand, he pulls a knife from a belt sheath and taps it against my cheek. “Try one more thing, and I’ll cut you the fuck up. I don’t like doing that. Beauty shouldn’t be destroyed, so please, Ivani, don’t make me.”
The way he says the complete version of my name, as if he knows me, terrifies me.
He puts the knife away, for now, tucked back into his belt holder, and turns his attention to my breasts.
His tongue flicks out, wetting his lower lip in a habit he seems to have, and he rubs both hands together as though warming them up.
He takes hold of both my breasts, one in each hand, and squeezes them together in my bra, pushing them up.
I scream again and batter at his arms and hands and shoulders, but he’s like a mountain, and everything I do is ineffectual.
He grips the edge of my bra, and I know he’s going to pull it down, exposing me.
Shit, shit, shit.
I didn’t tell the twins, or Zane, but while I was getting ready, I sneaked up to the sex room, and used the pump on my nipples, and the other one on my pussy.
It had taken all my resolve not to masturbate, but I didn’t.
I wanted to be all swollen for my men when we got home and let them give me an incredible orgasm.
It means I’m swollen, and also wet—not for this fucker, but for my men.
The neanderthal who has me cornered pulls the satin of my bra down with surprising gentleness. I’d worn one with a little padding to hide the nipple situation, and as he exposes them, his eyes widen.
“Fucking hell.” He stares at them and groans before pressing his other palm to his crotch. “Holy shit, girl. These tits.”
I glance down, and a whimper escapes me. My nipples have gone down a little bit, but they’re still excessively red and swollen.
“You want these sucked so bad, don’t you?” he growls. “Don’t tell me you don’t. What the fuck did you do, have one of those prancing idiots suck them for you before you came out?”
He rubs his thumb over one of my nipples, and I close my eyes in horror and revulsion. They’re so sensitive from what I did that even though I hate this man, and he disgusts me in every way, it sends a bolt of arousal to my core. I whimper and turn my face, shame dousing me.
He laughs. “You fucking like that.”
He flicks them again, and again, making my clit throb against my will. A hot tear trickles from between my closed eyelids and down my cheek. Where are my men? What’s happening to them? If this asshole has me cornered in here, does it mean something terrible is going on with them?
He ducks his head and draws one of my swollen nipples into his mouth.
I scream again and batter at the top of his head and shoulders with my fists, but he barely notices.
He keeps me pinned to the wall with his huge body.
He bites, lightly at first, then harder, and my scream turns from one of fear into pain.
I grab his stupid Santa hat, ripping it off his head, revealing a thinning hairline.
He lets my nipple pop from his mouth and swipes his thumb over the top again, circling it with his saliva. I think I’m going to vomit.
He stares at them admiringly. “Are these natural? The nipples, I mean, or do you take a supplement? I’ll have to get it for my wife.”
“You’re married?” I swallow, hard, and cling to a thread of hope. “Please, don’t do this. What would your wife think?”