“What’s wrong?” I leap up from the bed. “Is it Azrael?” Even I hear the concern in my voice, and his gaze drops down to mine.
“He’s told you how dangerous his family is, yes?” he rumbles.
My stomach curdles, and I wrap my arms around my middle. “Y-yes.”
“He needs your help.” He drags his hand over his head. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be asking this of you,” he says, talking to himself.
“Tell me what to do.” I search his face. “Please.”
“You need to forgive him.”
Just what the hell has he done? I take a step back. Whatever I thought was about to come out of his mouth, it wasn’t that.
“Whatever his father makes him do…” He rests his hands on my arms, not forcibly but with a sense of urgency I feel to my core. “Forgive him, Hevan.” He towers above me, but it’s the look in his eyes that tells me everything I need to know—I’m in danger and so is Azrael.
Anxiety coils around my throat, and I feel like it’s strangling me, leaving me breathless, but somehow, I utter the word out like poison on my tongue. “Okay.”
His shoulders relax, and he drops his hold on me.
“Do everything he says,” he mumbles, and we head down the marble stairs. “Behave.” My heart pounds as he knocks on the office door, and I take a deep breath when he pushes it open.
Azrael’s eyes meet mine, and I can already see the turmoil in them. I want to run into his chest and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. I want to protect him. With that thought in mind, I remain stoically still, then lower my head and wait his command like Jensen warned me.
“Come here, Toy.” His voice sounds far-off, cold and detached, and while I shouldn’t like that, given the fact I know we’re not alone in the room, I can tell myself this all a performance and only I see the real Azrael.
I stumble, walking toward him, and the men in the room laugh. My hair acts as a curtain, so I’ve no idea how many of them there are, but what I do know is I can feel them leering, the greedy eyes enjoying my belittling.
When my feet come to a standstill at Azrael’s, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and I hate the fact he’s exposing me to them. He moves closer and whispers in my ear. “Close your eyes and imagine it’s just me and you.”
I shudder and the room breaks out in callous laughter.
“The whore is scared of him. The others weren’t,” someone says with glee.
“I told you he would come good. Didn’t I tell you?” another voice says.
“Yes, you told me, Benito. You told me,” another says.
“Bend over the desk.” Azrael’s voice is devoid of emotion, but on shaky legs, I do as he asks, too terrified to consider doing anything else.
The men in this room are giving the same vibes as those at the auction house, and Jensen mentioned Azrael’s family. Is his father one of them?
My eyes snap shut, and Azrael’s strong hands maneuver me into position, bending me over his desk with a push of his palm, then he holds me in place. The hoots of the men begin, and when the cold air greets my ass, I freeze, realizing he’s lifted the shirt.
Oh shit.
“Give it to her, son.” All I hear is him referencing Azrael as son on repeat. Bitterness fills my bloodstream; what sort of father is he for making Azrael endure this humiliation and torment?
The same savage who forced his young son to have sex.
I hate him.
A belt buckle clangs behind me, and Azrael kicks my legs apart. “You want this,” he mutters, and I’m relieved when his fingers play a part in my arousal. Just his touch is electric, fueling the desire swimming in the shallow depths of my veins, encouraging it to flow and spill over. “You want this, Little Toy.” He says it almost like a plea, and I release a desperate moan.
A whoosh of air leaves him, and the tension in my body follows. I squeeze my eyes closed harder and embrace his touch.
I zone out to the disgusting statements, the chides and whoops of encouragement. Instead, I give myself totally over to him. I sense him. The way he slides inside me with a tenderness akin to his rough self. The way his fingers toy with me beneath the edge of the desk, and the way he delivers the filthy words he knows turn me on.
When his father speaks, I try to block it out, but some of them hit me harder than others. “Come all over her, son. Show her what a slut she is for us.” In my mind, it’s just me and Azrael, but the truth is so much worse.
