Walking away from Simon’s desk, I come to Tavish’s. His chair still sits as he left it when he rushed into my arms earlier. It’s pulled away from the desk and spun toward mine. I start to straighten it, but my hand stays as the screen comes to life as a notification pops up.
Since coming to Scotland, he’s been less strict about locking his screens. When I asked him about it one day, he said there wasnae anything on there he felt he needed to hide from me and he wasnae worried about the staff because they never came in here.
“That’s because they caught us fucking too many times,” I whisper.
Sitting down in the chair, I pull myself toward the computer. I click on the notification, and the message scares the hell out o’ me.
Hey, Baby Bird! If you’re getting this, get the hell out of Dodge. Your big bad is on his way.
Is there someone watching us?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TAVISH
Her words freeze me,inside and out, as if Samuel actually followed through on tying me to the towline on the boat. Shock washes over me. My mouth gapes open like one of those enormous whales you see on the Discovery Channel, swimming through the ocean, slurping up all those tiny, little fish.
She cackles, her laugh sounding like a hyena. Devious. Sinister. Samuel closes in, taking her mouth with his. His hand travels from her jawline to her… yeah, not going there. Trying to keep from drawing attention to myself, I let my eyes close on their activities, and I dropped my forehead to the bed, covering my ears to drown out the sound.
The bed dips, shifting under me, but I don’t move. Or I try not to. I hope they’ll forget about me if I stay as still as possible. Keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I try to ignore them, but I realize neither of those things is going to happen—them forgetting me and me ignoring them.
Fingers slide into my curls and tangle with my hair, gripping it in their fist. I don’t know whose hand it is. I’m close to getting sick. The gaggy feeling that’s been threatening since Samuel appeared before me in the hidden passages at the castle is giving way to spasms in my stomach and the back of my throat. I wantto move away. I need to, but I can’t bring myself to even think about actually following through because I’m afraid I’ll see who was touching me.
Heavy breathing slides into panting and gasping. The bed shakes as they move on it.
Yet all the while the hand fisted in my hair stays clenched down, only letting up slightly in time with their movements. The sounds they make—the grunting, the groaning, the whining and moaning—speed up and slow down, keeping pace as the bed moves rhythmically, bouncing forward and back, and at times, up and down.
Tears spill over my lashes and dampen the bed under me as the cadenced movements happening next to me continue. I thought life with Samuel before was bad, but to be forced to take part or be present while they fucked was so, so bad.
The woman, whose name I still don’t know, breaths hitch, then restarts only louder, breathier, squealier. She’s gasping for air and they’re thrashing on the bed. Whoever has their hand on my head pulls at the hair locked in their grasp, tugging me toward them. I don’t want to go. I thought I was upset with where I was, but now I’m really upset. I want no part of what they’re doing, but they take that choice away from me.
Another hand fists my hair and the two hands, one from each of them, yanks my face off the bed, dragging me toward the woman. She’s riding Samuel’s…eww, and they both still hold on to my hair, forcing me to watch him slide in and out of her as they direct my gaze at their… joined sexes.
Tremors barrel through me, causing me to shake. They’re so deep and violent that the shaking must be visible. They don’t seem to notice, or they don’t care. Probably both.
“Kiss her, boy,” Samuel orders, and I shake my head from side to side violently.
He grunts and pushes me toward her. She helps him by grabbing my throat with her hand, the long black nails digging into my skin as she pulls me to her by my hair and neck.
Her lips slant over mine, and her tongue flattens over my lips as she licks at them. She makes pass after pass, pressing harder and harder, trying to force her way inside. I shake my head, trying to get free from her, but she’s determined. The hand in my hair grabs my face, squeezing it as she presses my cheeks against my teeth. Samuel pinches my cockhead, squishing the spongy tissue until my vision swims.
Where did my pants go?
They’d jostled me so much and I’d tried to ignore everything going on around me after that first hand gripped my hair that I don’t know when or how they removed my pants. Everything is so overwhelming that I’m losing track of things big and small.
She is still licking at me, and I try to keep my teeth clenched together, but another squeeze from him and her biting my lip until blood spills into my mouth and down my chin, and my jaw slackens in pain. I gasp. She takes advantage, and her tongue dives in, making slurping noises as she fucks my face with it.
The distraction that I didn’t know was a distraction disappears as white hot pain lances through me. Samuel has buried his fingers in my ass dry. Three of them, if I have to guess. The onslaught of pain threatens my strength and consciousness, and my vision dims.
I fight it. I fight so fucking hard to stay present in the situation because, as bad as this is, blacking out from the pain and leaving myself at their mercy would be so so much worse.
Samuel’s pressing against my asshole again. I don’t know what it is, but I’m dry and clenched up and he’s not getting my body to do what he wants.
“Angel, pull him across me, facing you.”
She does what he tells her, and her breasts brush against me. I shiver in disgust at the unfamiliar contact. I try to back up, but she yanks me closer, pressing her front to mine as she moves over Samuel. She’s moaning and writhing against his crotch. His arms bracket my hips as his hands grip hers.
I’m really sobbing now. She doesn’t care. She ignores my upset, going back to licking at me and thrusting her tongue in and out of my mouth that she’s forced open again.
