Page 19 of The Devils' Darling

Kirill must realize I’m right, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder. He’s the one freaking out here, and I thought it would be me. He needs my strength now. He came for me, and I can’t let that be for nothing. I want out of here, and the only way is to give his crazy father what he wants. I am convinced that Grigoriy Stepanov is insane enough to actually let us go if he thinks we’re going to keep trying to make a baby and that we’re married. I even find the strength to make a joke of it in an attempt to break through to Kirill.

“You made me come in front of the entire canteen. Don’t go shy on me now.”

He barks out a soft, surprised laugh, but it turns into something that sounds almost like a half-sob.

“Let’s show these fuckers what real connection looks like,” I say.

He’ll have to take me in this position, with me on my knees. It means I’ll be facing these two bastards, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’ll close my eyes and pretend they’re not there. Or picture them as Dom and Tino.

The thought creates a tingle between my thighs, and I find myself wet. Perhaps the sick things we’ve done in the past have primed me for this.

Yes, Dom and Tino watching Kirill fuck me—on my knees, my face and breasts pressed to the bars. That, I can work with.

I reach for him, take his hand, and draw it around my body to cup my bare breast. My nipple crinkles under his touch. I won’t tell him how his father’s mouth was on me, how his disgusting tongue laved me, how he exposed his huge cock to me. It won’t help.

“Come here. Come closer. I missed you. I need you.”

He shakes his head against me. “You don’t understand. I can’t do this. Not with them watching. Not with you like this.”

“Just pretend it’s your bed, and you’ve chained me to it. I know you like that. Remember the last time? I was in a similar position, wasn’t I? When you used the hairbrush on me.”

He’s close enough that I feel his cock jump.

“Mackenzie,” he groans, “don’t.”

I reach behind me and cup his dick over the top of his jeans and give him a squeeze. He grows harder.

“I’m wet for you. Feel me.”

I move his hand from my breast, down across my stomach, and beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. He pushes his hand between my thighs and slides a finger along my slit, finding me wet and wanting.

He lets out a primal sound deep in his throat and curls his finger to push inside me. I gasp. Acting from a place of need and desperation, his other hand cups my breast, his fingers tweaking and rolling my nipple. He presses against me, on his knees as well, so the front of his body melds with the back of mine. I sense his urgency, how, in a matter of seconds, he’s switched from refusal to need.

I’ve read about how when you’re in a dangerous situation, sometimes adrenaline and other hormones can make you horny. Hell, look at all the baby booms in times of war. Maybe this is that effect, or perhaps we’re just so primed for one another, we can’t resist no matter what else is going on.

Either way, the fact that Kirill’s body and desire have overridden his reticence and his morals is strangely hot.

“That’s right,” Pale-Eyes says, “now it’s getting good.”

The rasp of a zipper greets my ears, and I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see these two men masturbating over us.

Kirill continues to thrust his fingers in and out of me as he kisses and bites my neck and shoulder. He grinds against my spine, showing me how hard he is.

“I want your cock,” I tell him. “I want to feel you. I want your cum inside me. I don’t give a fuck if these freaks are watching. I’ve been so alone and cold. I need to feel you.”

It’s actually a comfort having Kirill here with me. It’s wrong I’m grateful for him being dragged into this hellhole, too, and being placed in danger now as well, but I am grateful. I’m less afraid with him here.

Kirill pulls down my sweatpants, and I push them off my feet. He doesn’t remove my panties but yanks them to one side. It means I’m not completely naked, but as good as.

I twist my head as much as I can, and watch from the corner of my eye as he undoes his jeans and yanks them, together with his shorts, down his hips. His cock juts out from his body, thick and erect. His length is ridged with veins, the head smooth and darker in shade.

“That’s right, fuck her,” Rufus encourages. “I want to hear her come.”

I reach behind me to stroke Kirill. “Ignore them,” I tell him. “It’s just us. Only us.”

The position is awkward, with my face still pressed to the bars, but I do my best. He’s rock hard now, and his breathing is harsh in my ear. Beneath that, I hear the whack of flesh on flesh, the beating of hands on cocks. I do my best to push them out of my mind.

“Fuck,” Rufus groans. “I want a taste of that pussy so bad.”

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