Page 12 of The Devils' Darling

“Lovely,” he breathes. “Fucking perfect tits. What a delicious little find you are. My son did well, but he failed to land the catch, as the Americans say.”

I can’t speak because I’m too terrified and traumatized. My words have dried up in my throat, and even my tears have run dry. I’m frozen. Held captive by fear.

He brushes his thumbs over my nipples, and I shudder in disgust. “Ah, you don’t like that, Kitten? Wish it was my son?”

He drops to his knees, astonishingly graceful for a man so big. He licks his lips and pulls me right up against the cage until two metal bars frame one of my naked breasts. Then he ducks his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth.

My stupor breaks, and I reach through the bars to pound on his head and shoulders, trying to get his disgusting mouth off me, but it’s like hitting rock. He suddenly sinks his teeth into the skin around the areola, and I scream in pain. I’m sure he’ll have left teeth marks.

Satisfied, he releases me.

“Feisty,” he observes. “This is good. We want fight in our women. The Bratva don’t want meek and mild little mouses.”

His English is wrong, but I don’t correct him because we’re too busy staring at one another. He with an odd mix of seething loathing and desire, and me with rage and terror.

“You have made me hard now,” he says.

He cups his crotch, and I can’t help but look at the powerful bulge there. Jesus, how big is he?

I think I’m going to find out because he unzips his pants and slowly reaches inside.

I’m frozen and horrified but unable to look away as he pulls his cock out and drops it in front of my face. He’s only half hard, and he’s hung like a fucking horse. Fear courses through me. If he uses that thing on me, he’ll tear me apart. He’s as thick as a beer can, and long, too.

“You like what you see, Kitten?” He smirks. “It is very big, the many women I’ve fucked tell me.”

He’s not wrong, but it’s not big in a good way. It’s freakishly big. No woman is going to look at it and think anything but ouch. I wonder how many of those women he claims to have fucked have spread their legs willingly.

“You’re going to have to loosen your jaw, Kitten. You look tense, and if I shove my fat cock in your mouth right now, your jaw will break.”

Do I beg? I doubt it will work. Cry? Plead? Bargain?

How do I get out of this?

Then a calmness washes over me. I can bite it off. I can bite the fucker so hard, he’ll never procreate again. But if I do, he’ll kill me. I need to understand that choosing that course of action is a death sentence. This is not a well-adjusted man.

He watches me, smirking, arrogant, and I hate him so fucking much. I won’t let him rape me. I’ll die stopping him. This man of all men doesn’t get to have me that way, I loathe him far too much.

“Or we can call my son? What do you think to that?”

I shake my head. “No, leave him out of this.”

Throwing Kirill into the mix will likely get him killed.

Grigoriy growls suddenly, all the vicious playfulness gone as he loses his temper spectacularly. I don’t know what set him off, but he picks up a chair and smashes it on the floor with a bellow of rage. He looks almost comical, with his massive dick swinging about as he breaks the chair. Almost, but he’s far too unhinged and terrifying for me to laugh.

He turns back to me and grabs my nape through the cage. I scrabble at his forearm, using my nails, but it’s useless.

I realize he’s using his other hand to dial someone on his phone, and, after a moment, I hear Kirill’s familiar voice greeting his father. Grigoriy has put him on speaker.

It’s so comforting and intimate to hear him that I can’t stop the desperate sob that escapes me.

Kirill recognizes me instantly.

“Mackenzie?” Kirill’s voice is shocked. “Father? What the fuck have you done?”

“Son.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

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