“That’s right. Moan for me, Briella Darling,” he says huskily before sucking my nipple harder, tugging on that invisible string to my clit.
His erection strains against his pants, throbbing against my lower thigh. Wetness grows inside me. My hips rise as he lowers his hand to lift the sundress and tucks a finger inside my panties.
The Initiation was just two nights ago. They gang banged me, used me every which way. Blood, cum, sweat, and piss. How can I want this in any way? I excuse it as a survival strategy, sick and twisted trauma bonding, and Stockholm Syndrome.
But I did say nothing was off the table. I’m still sore, but the way he’s rubbing my clit, fingering my hole, and licking my nipple, all I can think of is wanting an orgasm.
“Well, now, what’s goin’ on here?” the Scottish voice taunts.
The moment shatters. I buck against Seth, muttering a string of curses and protests. He sighs but climbs off me before sneering at his partner. I’m flushed from head to toe, but I yank my sundress up and zip the hoodie up to the neck. It shouldn’t surprise me that Rory is still naked—he has no shame, then again, why should he? Though his skin is glistening from the lotion.
Jude stands behind him, chuckling and looking down at me. “Are we growing on you, Babydoll?”
I stick my nose up. “Yeah. Like fungus.”
Seth laughs.
“Time for bed,” Raphael reiterates, and I turn to look at him, wondering which bed I’ll be sharing tonight.
“Pick me, pick me!” Seth raises his hand.
Raphael shakes his head.
“Jude?” I ask expectantly.
“No.”
Hmm, shouldn’t be Vincent. I stiffen, my spine prickling with fear. “You?”
Raphael’s jaw is iron, and his eyes are green steel. Oh, god. He and Rory exchange a silent test of wills with a language all of their own. But Rory inevitably sighs and shakes his head with a breathy laugh. “Bloody hell.”
Oh, shit. “Fuck this!” I try to run, making a beeline for the hall. I’ll lock myself in the bathroom. I’d rather spend an hour under the faucet, contracting poison ivy, before sharing a bed with the crazy guy with a cock like a machine gun topped with barbed wire.
With an evil grin, Rory dodges, blocking my way. Fear ices my blood as he touches the small of my back, then steals my breath when he sweeps me into his arms. What. The. Fuck? I’m so stunned by the honeymoon hold, I forget to struggle.
“Now, now, Lass, don’t go soft on me,” he chuckles darkly and heads for the door.
“Raphael!” I shout, scratching at the socio, slapping his face and head, finding my strength even though everything hurts.
“Kinship Law, Firecracker.” Now, he throws me over his shoulder and smacks my ass. I whimper from the still-raw welts as he opens the door.
“Rory.” Raphael’s voice deepens, stopping the redhead. “The lightest discipline, followed by heavy worship.”
“Why?!” I shout, burning my eyes against the alpha’s, hot, angry tears stinging my throat. “I thought I was your Queen! Your goddamn goddess!”
Raphael braces one hand into a solid fist. The other calm at his side. “Even hell has rules, Briella. No bad blood—however long it takes to purge, heal the wounds, and form scars.”
“No!” I scream, pounding and scratching at Rory’s back as he carries me outside, slamming the door behind us, plunging us into darkness. “No! Get your filthy fucking hands off me!”
I rake my nails against his back, shrieking like a caterwauling cat. When he growls, gritting his teeth in pain, I remember how they whipped themselves and cauterized the wounds. Some have opened, bleeding beneath my hands. A small comfort. But there will always be bad blood between us. It’s not just bad. It’s rotten, poisoned. A constant fire in my veins.
When he yanks open his cabin door, I’m bombarded by the scent of vanilla and lavender. I’m stunned by how clean it is. Like he purged everything the goat must have done. And more. No more clothes on the floor. Not one trace of shit. Even the dishes are clean and put away.
Candles flicker all along the wall ledges, casting moving shadows. But I can’t focus on anything when Rory dumps me on the bed. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he bends at the waist, hands on his knees, leering down at me.
“One of us is overdressed, Lass.”
My eyes go wide. The moment he reaches for me, I kick him hard in the gut. He doubles over with a groan, and I roll over, scrambling to the opposite side of the bed as he recovers. The adrenaline dulls my pain.
