Chapter 11 #2
His sardonic smile is twisted and cruel. “Oh, she’d take one look at you and join in the fun.” His expression turns contemplative. “Look, I’ve got to fuck you, okay? It’s my role here. The woman gets fucked. The men get killed.”
Killed? The twins and Zane? Dead. No.
Those words galvanize me in a way the threat to my own safety hadn’t. I slam my knee up into his crotch with as much strength as I can muster. He grunts, bending over, and I take my chance.
I run. But I don’t get halfway to the door before he’s on me. He lifts me with one arm, twists me around, and slams me down onto my back.
Weirdly, though, he protects me by putting the hand of his free arm under my spine at the last minute to stop the hard floor from slamming against my upper back.
He looms over me, gripping me tight as I wriggle and try to escape. It’s futile, but I won’t give up.
“Listen, stop fucking fighting, girlie. I won’t hurt you. I promise. You’ll get to live, and I’ll make it feel good.”
Make it feel good? This oaf? As if I could think of that, anyway, when my men are out there being slaughtered.
He goes back to ripping my dress again, kneeling over me now, his legs pressing in against my thighs.
He tears my outfit from me like tissue paper, until nothing but a few tatters remain, and, as he moves down my body, I sob.
Soon his big hands are on my panties. They rip too, and I’m exposed to him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman, what is it with you? You’re like a porno version of a normal woman. This pussy. Fuuuuuck.”
Think, Vani. Think. Think. Think. You need to do something to get out of this.
He shoves his hand between my thighs, and his thick finger runs up my slit, making my insides recoil.
“Big tits, massive nipples, puffy pussy, and those lips, too.”
He runs the finger that has just been over my pussy across my mouth. I twist my head to escape his touch, and he laughs, amused at me as if he thinks someone like me could never do him harm.
A thought hits me. Maybe I can use his arrogance to my advantage the same way I can use his obvious attraction to me. If I can seduce him, I can hurt him. An idea blooms; it’s sickening, but it might work. If I can get his cock in my mouth, I can hurt him.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I force myself to laugh, fighting through the fear and the hatred to make the sound authentic. He stops, staring at me, puzzled.
Licking my lips, so they’re wet, I pout at him.
“Oh, fuck it. Let’s drop the act. I don’t care about them. I’m only with them for the money.” I sigh and run my hands over my breasts. “They like me this way. All plumped up for them. It’s their thing. They’re… weird.”
Is it working, I wonder, or is it too over the top? Either way, I’m committed now.
“Lex is boring. Zane is an idiot, and Saint? He’s so fucking full of himself. I hate him the most.”
His face splits into a grin. “How much do you hate him?”
“Enough to do what you say and enjoy it.”
He frowns. “Why fight me at first?”
“I thought I ought to at least try, you know, for my reputation. You said yourself, though, I’m clearly into this. You felt how wet you made me.”
He watches me thoughtfully. “So, are you going to act on your big words?”
I gulp down my terror and revulsion at taking such a big risk. “You look like a big boy. Let me see what you’ve got.”
Thankfully, like most men, this idiot seems to short circuit when it comes to sex. He eagerly fumbles with his zipper and pulls his cock out as if it’s made of gold. But while it isn’t gold, it’s definitely something that commands attention, and I stare in genuine shock.
“Yeah, it’s big.” He nods. “Massive, in fact. Your fat pussy needs a big cock like this, though. You’ll come so hard when I’m deep inside you.”
Forcing myself to carry on with the sick charade, I bite my lower lip, acting coy.
“God,” I breathe. “That’s amazing. Like a goddamned beer can.”
Then I prop myself up on my elbows and deliver what I hope is my killer line. “Can I taste it?”
“Yes, you fucking can.”
I look at him with big eyes, hoping this is the icing on my acting cake. “You won’t choke me with it? Let me take my own time.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be a perfect… how do you say, gentleman?”
“Yes, that’s it. You be a perfect gentleman for me. Be a good boy.”
Climbing off me, he stands and then helps me to my knees, so his huge, erect cock is at eye-level. Christ, it’s obscene. I feel sorry for his wife.
He wraps his hands in my hair and drags my face to his crotch.
The musky, masculine scent of him is so strong, it’s gross, and bile rushes up the back of my throat.
If I vomited on him, would he let me go, or would he kill me?
His cock is so big that even erect it kind of hangs down, as if his body can’t hold the weight of it up.
Or maybe he doesn’t have enough spare blood to make it stand fully erect.
“Don’t get any funny ideas,” he warns in a growl.
In response, I lick my lips, moan, and blow on the huge mushroom head.
His wide slit flutters right in front of my eyes, and he pulses out a long drool of precum. The urge to puke takes over again, and I fight my repulsion. The hand not in my hair reaches behind him, and I know he’s going for the knife, to make sure I don’t do anything to his precious appendage.
I have very little time, so I lean in, and, in one smooth movement, swallow the first third of him down, almost gagging at the taste.
He groans, and more of that fucking precum floods my mouth. But he hasn’t got the knife—I’ve done a good job of distracting him. He’s drunk on sensations, and I force myself to swirl my tongue around as he pants with pleasure, thrusting in deeper.
Withdrawing just a little, so I have room to do what I need, I take a deep breath through my nose and bite down as hard as I’ve ever bitten in my life.
The world is reduced to taste, smell, and noise.
Hot, metallic liquid floods my mouth, and my ears ring as the man above me roars at a terrifying decibel.
He doesn’t go for the knife, all thought gone as I shake my head like a lioness with her kill.
More blood spurts, and he shrieks in agony.
Noting the knife handle protruding from the sheath, I reach out to try to grab it.
In his shock and pain, he might not have thought to grab his knife, but he does act on instinct, and his massive fist crashes against my head, sending me sideways.
The world flickers like all the lights are going out, and I hit the back wall. Dazed and dizzy, I try to regroup so I can escape him and get to my men.
My attacker’s knees give way, and he crumples then hits the floor. I stare in shock as he starts to convulse. What the hell? Maybe he’s losing too much blood? Did I kill him? I hope I killed him, the sick, fucking bastard.
For the first time in my life, I truly feel like my father’s daughter. Jack-the-blood McGrath’s DNA runs through me deep, and I want to stand over this man and howl my victory to the world.
I don’t have time, though. I stand and stagger to the sink. I turn on the faucet and hold my face beneath the water, rinsing my mouth out quickly because the taste of his blood and precum is making me sick.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I almost faint. What the fuck? My hair is wild. My dress, or rather the ragged pieces that are left, hangs from my shoulders. My mouth and chest are covered in blood.
I look like a witch. Or a vampire.
Something else my father taught me leaps to the forefront of my mind.
If you’re ever in trouble, Vani, and running isn’t an option, don’t fight, just act crazy. Truly feral. You’d be amazed at how many people that delays enough for you to get away.
I glance at the door and, sucking in air, prepare to go save the goddamn day.