Page 44 of Eden's Deliverance

“Thisiswhat I want, aren’t you listening?” Despite the condescending tone of his voice, his hands travel underneath my shirt and run along the skin of my back so sweetly, I almost want to give in.Almost.“This is what it means to come to the Red Room. Giving your life to someone else, letting them hold it in their hands, to play with it—”

“To take it?” I ask contemptuously.

He cocks his head, hands freezing in place at the same time. “Why would we do that?” He seems genuinely curious, likeI’mthe one who’s crazy between the three of us.

“Why wouldn’t you? All you guys have done is torture me, and you won’t stop unless I go there. I can only imagine my life ends where my self-respect does.”

He smiles at the comment, grinning in a way that makes me want to either slap or kiss it off his face. “We’re just boys on a playground, Ruby. We want you,so we torture you. We only want you to want us back…and you do, even when you hate us. So, what’s the problem?”

“That’s juvenile. You’re a bunch of fucking children if you really think that w—”

I scream when he lets me tilt backwards, but then his hands are on me again—one pressed to my mouth and the other hugging my waist.

“Watch it,” he warns, "I’m just saying. You want us, we want you. You like being tied up. You like being hit. You even like it when he spits on you.”

If my senses weren’t completely heightened, I might have missed the way his fingers twitched at the last statement.

Is he jealous of Casanova?

He continues, “I think you’re afraid of how much you’d enjoy it if you gave in. We aren’t blind, I saw the look on your face when he cut you. There’s nothing wrong with this lifestyle. It’s not for everybody, but I think we all know itisfor you. So, we’re going to try something. But I’m warning you, if you scream, Iwilldrop you.”

His hand leaves my mouth, traveling down to grab a fistful of fabric in the center of my chest. I don’t have time to register what he’s doing until he leans forward with his arm extended, using his grip on my shirt to dangle me over the edge of the railing.

“Wait, wait!” Grabbing his wrist with both hands, I try my damndest to claw up his arm so I don’t fall. “Please stop, please.” I’m trying not to scream but the tears are flooding my cheeks and I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. He has me floating in midair, suspended at a 45-degree angle with nothing to keep me from plummeting to my death.

Broody doesn’t say a word. He wedges himself in between my thighs, bringing the arm that was supporting my waist down to finger at the cloth of my underwear. Another wave of terror washes over me when I feel his fingers dip beneath it to run along my pussy.

There is no way. No way in hellthisis his idea of pleasure, for himself or me. If he makes one mistake, I’m dead. If I alert anyone, I’m dead. If I squirm too hard, I’m dead. There is no way I get to walk out of this alive.

If he doesn’t want to stop until I orgasm, we’re going to be here all night. Nobody has ever been able to make me come from just their fingers—only I have. Even Casanova has only brought me there with his tongue, whether his fingers were involved or not.

“Please, I swear I’ll do anything else, but I can’t—oh. Oh,fuck…”

Okay, maybe I was wrong.

Somewhere in the middle of my plea, Broody stuck two fingers in my pussy, and is now working some sort of magic on my clit with his thumb. As much as I wish he would move the fingers inside, he’s keeping a nice, steady pressure and moving gracefully over my clit in small, circular motions.

I’m not saying I trust him, but the fear of falling has gotten muddled somewhere between the ecstasy of his fingers and the satisfying rumble humming from his throat.

Without the threat of death at the forefront of my mind, it just comes natural to lay my head back and moan along with him, drowning in the euphoria of it all.

I wrap my calves around his hips and ride his fingers until the electricity creeps its way to the top of my spinal cord, erupting in a display of fireworks that shoot from my mouth in the form of a silent cry. My limbs turn from stone to jelly, and if I fell right now, I think I would die happy.

Unfortunately, he rips me forward instead, catching me around the waist when I fall from the railing. I don’t have to say anything—not that I could, anyway—he just scoops up my immovable body from behind the knees, cradling me in his arms while I lie here lifelessly.

I don’t know if it’s an adrenaline crash, but I can barely keep my eyes open. As he carries me to the bed, I unintentionally slip further into unconsciousness. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is my heavy blanket being laid over my body, then an even heavier kiss being pressed against my temple.

“Happy Birthday, Scarlett.”

17

Scarlett

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks since Broody came to my balcony. Three weeks that I’ve been going to Eden with The Prince to ‘have my fun’ as Casanova said to. Three weeks that I’ve had to fake orgasms, because it’s no longer within my power to keep those men out of my mind. The Prince isn’t enough anymore.

I think they know it, too.

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