Page 19 of Brutal Surrender

His motivation seems to be the opposite. At times he simply lets his cock rest on my tongue as my drool builds up. Meanwhile, the area between my legs get wetter and wetter.

He must catch the scent of my arousal because he smirks. “My pet likes being a cum receptacle.”

Reaching between my thighs, he gathers some of my moisture and studies how it glistens on his fingers. Withdrawing his cock, he wipes his fingers on my tongue.

“Like how good you taste?” he asks, pressing down hard on my tongue.

When he removes his fingers, he pauses. I see a vein in his neck throb. He shakes off whatever causes him to hesitate and resumes his fucking, pushing my head down over his cock and shoving himself into my throat. Tears slip from my eyes as I continuously choke. I try to relax, but he thrusts in earnest. I start struggling with my breath as my nose starts to run and spit steadily leaks from my mouth. The one upside of the spider gag is that it prevents his swollen knot from stretching my mouth and cutting off more oxygen.

“Remember to swallow,” he says before blowing his load into my mouth.

It’s hard to with my mouth open. Suppressing my gag and cough reflex, I try, but most of it dribbles onto my body.

Grabbing the hair at the top of my head, he forces my head back to look at him. His gaze takes in the tears, cum and spit. My nose has started to run, too.

A muscle along his jaw ripples. Gone is the anger and hate. He looks like he’s about to apologize.

But I think that’s my imagination because he releases me and says, “You didn’t swallow it all. Guess we’ll have to practice more later. Put her back in the cage.”

Reggie and Cho lock me in the cage without removing the spider gag. I lay on my side, my arms still bound, my mouth and throat sore. At least I get to close my eyes. More and more, I begin to imagine what it would be like to be with Isabella.

Chapter 10

Vincent

Iwake up with a splitting headache. Worse than any hangover I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some bad ones. The first few weeks after losing Irene, I drank myself into deep stupors, like I was trying to murder myself with alcohol. I had never been in such a dark place before. I almost killed Cho for the stunt he had pulled, for taking away my last seconds with her, even though I knew Cho was doing it to save me from the cops.

My uncle had stepped in while I was beating Cho black and blue, telling me that killing the best bodyguard ever wouldn’t bring her back.

“How do you know about Irene?” I remember asking Uncle.

“I interrogated your driver,” Uncle replied. “You could kill him instead of killing Cho.”

Uncle went on to tell me that if I became head of the Black Dragon Triad, I could avenge Irene’s death. There would be no one I couldn’t touch. I would have command of all the resources I would ever need, which would come in handy since the cops couldn’t solve anything. And they tried. Even though I had the precinct captain in my pocket, I didn’t expect much from law enforcement. They have constraints.

I don’t.

After Esen found the gunmen who had shot up Irene, I had them tortured to within an inch of their lives. But they weren’t professional hitmen, just a pair of a lowlifes who would probably lose a game of blackjack to monkeys. With the heavy-duty assault weapons they were given, brains and finesse weren’t necessary. A two-year-old could have hit the intended target.

The only info they gave up was what the go-between looked like and that he went by the name Kenji. Esen managed to track down Kenji and found him rotting in a morgue in Hanoi. It’s been a dead end to this day.

Stumbling out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom and down four capsules of ibuprofen. I might need something stronger. I should be doing my morning qigong, but I won’t be able to do the movements well with the way I feel. Nauseous, I sit on the cold marble floor with my back against the wall. My head pounds too much for me to tell which part of my head hurts the most, so I try various acupressure points.

The throbbing eases enough for me to get up and stand over the sink. The doorbell rings, reverberating inside my head. Glancing at the monitor built into the wall, I see it’s Ming and buzz him in.

“You look like shit,” Ming comments after entering the bathroom.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I mumble as I splash water onto my face.

“That’s never bothered you much. We should get you checked.”

“I’ll be fine. I just woke up with a headache.”

“At least get in an acupuncture session. I can have Suyin—”

I wave him off.

Ming remains concerned as he hands me a towel. “Every time I come in, I find you in the bathroom looking like some pregnant woman with morning sickness.”

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