Page 39 of Eden's Deliverance

Scarlett McKenna is a bitch, but every encounter seems to break her down more and more. Soon, we’ll have her exactly the way we intend to. Then, she’ll officially beourbitch.

The fact that she already thinks about us while she’s getting fucked by some other dude is a start, but we need to break her enough that she can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.

We need to leave a stronger impression.

14

Scarlett

I am in hell.

My chest is on fire, throbbing violently as Casanova sucks on the only mark left that hasn’t been transformed from a blotchy red to a vivid plum. My pussy is soaked, but I’ve only managed a few fruitless attempts at rubbing my thighs together for friction before Broody gets pissed off and digs the knife into my throat.

“Please, just go.” I have nothing left to do but plead. I have no physical power here, only verbal, and we’ve seen how that plays out. “My roommate will be home any minute, and she’ll call the cops if she notices I’m gone.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, darling. You’ll be lucky if she makes it home before morning.” His hand disappears behind his back, but the brush of his fingers through the fabric of my skirt makes it clear what he’s doing. There’s no hiding it. The second he touches my slick pussy, his shoulders twitch in surprise. “Why are you such a little liar? Drop this fucking douchebag you’re with, it’s not a dating pool. Come back to us. Let us take care of you.”

“All you want to do is cut me up. I don’t want to play your fucking games.” The blade bites into my throat, but I don’t care. I’m fucking livid.

Do I want to go to the Red Room and let him ravish me?

Sure.

Will I?

No.

The fucker keeps threatening and manipulating me. I have half a mind to tiehimdown, edgehimout, take what the fuck I want fromhim, and then leave him there.

That’s actually not a bad idea, if I could pull it off. Not that he would let me. I doubt he’s ever let a woman take control in the bedroom, and that’s fine. Maybe it’s not his thing, but what he’s been doing isn’t really my thing either.

Except, maybe it is and I just don’t want to admit it.

Despite hating their fucking guts, there’s no escaping the absolute rush of excitement I got from being chased. And the knives? They’re a little hot. Like, it’s a crazy kind of hot, sure—the kind you read about in romance novels with stalker tropes.

There’s something to be said about the thrill of using a weapon like that in an intimate setting, the trust that has to go into allowing your partner to play with your safety. I don’t trust them, but the way he knows how to instill the fear of pain only to replace it with pleasure, is pure genius. He knows how my body works.

In some ways, even better than I do.

Casanova removes his hand from my skirt and bends to hover over my face, pressing his wet fingers against my lips. I don’t know what happened to my composure, but when he tries to push them into my mouth, I let him.

“Let us in, Ruby. You promised,” he lures.

I try to speak, but his fingers press against my tongue and secure it to the bottom of my mouth. Broody pulls the knife away as Casanova’s thumb closes around the underside of my chin, using the new grip to turn my head so he can reach my ear.

“Doyou want to hear that it worked?” he asks. “That seeing him eat your pussy, when it should have been me, infuriated me so much I wanted to hurt you? To steal you?”

It must be the cool air that’s making my nipples harden, definitely not the arousal at his words or the way his hot breath makes me shiver. It’s definitely not because of the way my flesh erupts in goosebumps when his tongue peeks out to run along the shell of my ear, or the cocky tilt of his head when he sees my body’s reaction to him. It’s most definitely not because he’s fucking his fingers into my mouth, pushing at the barrier of my throat until I gag.

After a few thrusts, he pulls his fingers out and reaches back down to my pussy so I can talk again—well, as best as I can after the initial shock of them stretching me open.

“I don’t…I don’t want anything from y—” When his fingers curl up into my G-spot, I throw my head back with a gasp. I hate him for knowing exactly what I need.

“Let me taste.”

Opening my eyes to stare straight up at Broody, I wonder if I heard him correctly. He’s never expressed any real interest in me aside from my first night at Eden, which I’m sure was just a fluke to get me warmed up for his friend. But he looks hypnotized when he leans forward—knees sinking heavier into my palms—as he waits for Casanova to oblige.

To my surprise, he does, removing his fingers and plunging them into Broody’s open mouth. He licks them clean, sucking enthusiastically until Casanova pulls them away.

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