Page 22 of The Devils of Saint City

Not today, Satan. You’re gonna blow just like your boyfriend did.

Tugging against his grip, I get him back into my mouth and suck like I’m dying for it, and the little fucker breaks. I see it in his eyes.

“Don’t... ever... fucking... speak of this,” he grumbles, grabbing me so just the head of his cock is in my mouth and he can come all over my tongue. I feel every pulse, every spurt of cum that paints the roof of my mouth and drips down, making a mess of me. In that tiny little moment, it feels good. I feel good.

And then I remember who I just tried so hard to please.

Swallowing it all, I sit back on my ass and look up at the two of them. I suppose I should be thankful that neither of them decided to shock me during that just to see how it would feelwith their cocks in my throat, but something tells me they were too distracted to think of it.

“Feel better?” I ask, voice ragged and weak.

“Hell yeah,” Manson croaks just before Ash chimes in.

“Do you? Let me see your fingers.”

“I rubbed most of it on Manson’s balls, but here.” I wiggle them at him, still shiny and wet, then suck them into my mouth.

“Little shit,” he hisses with a frown. “I was going to tell you to do that.”

Good. Another little victory. “Whoops.”

“Whatever.” Ash stands from my bed and moves toward the hallway. “We have to work.”

Manson shoves himself away and watches him leave, then reaches down to help me to my feet. “Remember when I said this didn’t have to be all bad? That was nice... right?”

“Oh yeah, super nice with your little friend over there deathgripping the thing that sends a kajillion volts of electricity through me. Super nice when it was done to prove you two will always have the upper hand. Super nice that neither of you touched me at all except to make yourselves feel better. It was wonderful, Manson. Ten outta ten. Have fun at work today.” I step back, gesturing for him to leave. “I’d tell you not to let the door hit you where the good lord split you, but you stole it.”

He looks as if I just slapped him in the face, but with his signature scowl in place, he brushes past me without another word.

I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut.

9

My clients don’t hold my attention the way they normally do. I don’t always get aroused when talking to them, but I always listen, always respond. Except for today.

Today, I can’t think of anything but the way it felt to be on my knees for them. I’m angry, yes. I’m hurt, yes. Disappointed, humiliated, sad. But I’m still grasping onto those tiny moments, those fragments of time when I felt special.

Kill me now.

When I finally give up working for the day, I clean the house, do another load of laundry, and get some barbecue chicken going in the crock pot. Anything to distract myself, anything to kill time. I want to leave. I want fresh fucking air, to see the moon, to feel the sun. To be anywhere but here.

Instead, I stay trapped and isolated until they come home.

Both of them look as if they’ve been in a fight of some kind. I was almost relieved to have the company when I heard the locks click, but seeing their brooding, scraped up faces and dirty clothes has me nervous to move at all.

Manson is limping, but it’s the blood on Asher’s hands that has my heart rate picking up.

“Can you get the first aid kit, pet? It’s in the bathroom.” Ash shoves Manson slightly to get him to fall onto the couch, then kneels down to remove his shoes.

Fuck. Moving quickly, I grab the kit from under the sink and then slow down as I walk back. Why am I rushing to help them? Why am I helping at all? They hurt me for fun. I should send the person who did it a gift card.

“Rhea!” Asher yells, making me flinch as he snatches the box away. “Why the hell did you slow down?”

“I’m fine,” Manson growls. “It’s just a scratch.”

Of course it is.

“What happened? Pick a fight with someone bigger than you for once?”

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