Page 34 of Brutal Surrender

Her body convulses violently as her orgasm tears through her. I feel it against my cock.

With a final thrust, I explode inside her, filling her with my seed.

“Jeezas,” she murmurs between ragged gasps.

I remain in place to let my heartbeat settle before letting her leg down.

She smiles up at me. “That was lovely, darling.”

My body needed that release, but I wasn’t able to enjoy Aaliyah as much as I expected. Worse, the fucking did not eliminate my desire.

I still want to pound Ramona into oblivion.

Chapter 17

Martina

Isit in bed waiting for the warmth to die down after Vincent leaves. I don’t want to be in heat around him and wonder if there’s any chance he would allow me to take omega blockers. It shouldn’t affect him any. If anything, it would feed his sadism to make me enjoy sex less.

A crew member comes in carrying a tray with a glass of water decorated with a lime wedge.

“Your electrolytes,” the young woman says as she sets a coaster and the glass on a bedside table.

Misty stands within earshot, but I decide to chance asking, “Do you know what happened to the previous crew?”

She smiles and shakes her head before leaving. I glance at Misty to see her reaction, but she remains stone-faced.

How can I find out what happened to Brady? It would be amazing if they just let the initial crew go, but Vincent is not the sort to leave a stone unturned. He’s always wanted to know who I was working with. And even if they did simply release the crew, Brady might try and come back for me. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing. Rescuing me might get us both killed.

While I mull over the possibilities, I start biting my nails—a habit I had pretty bad as a kid till Isabella started painting my nails to get me to stop. It worked.

When a tall, burly Asian man enters, I immediately tense. He wears what almost look like scrubs.

He hands me a towel and says in broken English, “Take down robe, then use this to cover. Lay on stomach.”

I don’t move.

“Tuina,” he explains. “Massage.”

My eyes widen. I’m getting a massage? I take the towel from him. He turns around and, while he applies a balm to his hands, I do as he said. He adjusts the towel and puts his hands on my shoulders. I tense.

“Relax,” he tells me.

It’s not easy. I wonder if I’ll ever relax at a man’s touch thanks to Vincent.

The massage is deep and even painful at times. He finds knots and tender spots in places I didn’t realize were sore, like my upper buttocks and the webbing between my thumb and pointer finger. When he’s done, however, I feel rejuvenated.

The acupuncturists arrives. She has me turn onto my back. Now that I’m awake, the thought of having needles stuck in me is a little nerve-racking because I’ve never tried acupuncture before. She takes my pulse in different places around my wrist, then presses her hand on different parts of me before inserting the needles. The needles look scarier than they feel.

“Rest,” she tells me. “Try to sleep.”

The masseur had left earlier, and now the acupuncturist leaves too. For an hour I lay there with the needles sticking out of me, half dozing. I feel myself floating, existing somewhere else, kind of like a dream. Is it a dream? Vincent is there, not that I can see in physical form, rather it’s more like the essence of him. The location is not his yacht. But somewhere familiar. Comforting even. I’m not afraid of Vincent here. It’s strange.

When the acupuncturist returns, I realize I had fallen asleep. She removes the needles, then she checks my pulses again.

“Heart is a little better. Lung is still very weak. Your life has much grief, yes or no?”

Her question surprises me because of the empathy in her voice. I haven’t heard that since stepping aboard Vincent’s yacht.

---