Page 60 of Wicked Court

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Cav’s abrupt departure leaves me shaking, vulnerable even in the aftermath of our encounter.

The sconces cast long shadows across the dungeon, and within moments, they morph into the shape of my next tormentor.

Another cloak steps forward, his presence filling the void left by Cav. There’s a glint in this one’s black holes, a gaze that speaks of violent intentions and the greed to dominate completely.

“Which one are you?” I ask hoarsely. “Wilder or Kaspian?”

He ignores my question.

“Let’s see if you’re as resilient with me,” he murmurs, and I steel myself for the firestorm that’s about to come.

As he looms over my head, I catch sight of his hand moving down to cup my breasts, squeezing both of them roughly with a single grip. It stings and hurts, pulling at the flesh like they’re not mine anymore.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you,” he drawls with a voice like whiskey and smoke.

He doesn’t alter his voice. Maybe because Cav tried and failed as soon as he said too much.

The masked face comes close to my chest. He adjusts it, exposing his mouth so his tongue can flick out and taste the droplets of sweat beading on my neck before trailing over my collarbone.

His hand finds its way between my legs again, roughly rubbing at the swollen heat between them.

“Tell me where the fucking necklace is,” he says.

His rough fingers probe deeper into my folds, as if searching for the answer hidden within my wetness. I’m growing wetter still under his touch and I wriggle, both with temper and craving.

“Am I going to have to fuck you for the answer?” he asks, more to himself.

His free hand grips the opposite side of my waist harshly, pulling my hip against his hard cock as he continues to probe my folds with unforgiving fingers.

My body responds to the touch, clenching.

The smell of him—smoke and sin, musk and sweat—envelops me, turning the air heady and sweet.

His hooded head lowers towards my breast. I can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing against my skin...

I try to push away from him, but our bondage holds me tight, unable to escape even an inch.

Wilder—it must be Wilder—groans slightly against my flesh as if savoring every moment of this power trip over me. His tongue circles my nipple before flicking it between his teeth, extracting a moan from somewhere deep within me.

I twitch under his attentions, instinctively pulling away from the overwhelming sensations, only to feel his other hand clamp down on my hip, holding me still.

I buck against him helplessly, feeling the unyielding stone beneath me grow damp from our combined needs.

“Tell me where it is,” he demands through gritted teeth, “or I fuck you right here and now.”

Part of me wants to tell him and stop this. Another half is tortuously curious about how far I want to push him.

I’m so swollen, so tied down and desperate, and I can’t even touch myself to relieve the ache.

“It’s just a necklace!” I sob out, my voice cracking. “Why is it so important? Why do you want to torture me for it?”

Wilder laughs under his breath.

“Just a necklace,” he mocks. “Was Maverick ‘just a death’?”

He climbs onto the slab, then kneels until his legs are on either side of me. His mask and hood make his weight even more threatening.

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