Page 85 of Twice as Twisted

Baron goes harder, knocking me against the counter as he slams into her. After a minute, her head falls forward, and hersobs abate, replaced with soft whimpers and groans and hiccups. I relish every one of them, rearranging my grip so I can hold both her arms in one of mine. I use my free hand to undo her hair, letting it tumble down, then wind my fingers through the warm, wet tangles. Gripping it, I pull her head back to see the splotchy, tear-stained mess of her face before I smash her lips with mine. I drink her cries of agony like the sweetest venom, feed them to my demon. He’s been hungry for so long, starving inside me. I lick her tears away, bite at her cheeks, her mouth, groaning as I grind my cock against her ass. Releasing her hair, I press one hand to her flat stomach until I can feel Baron’s cock nudging against my palm with every stroke.

With a last, crushing blow, Baron drives her against me, gripping her thighs to keep her in place while he spills into her, bringing a strangled cry and a fresh flood of tears from her.

“You’re ours,” he grunts out, wrapping a hand around her exposed throat and leaning in, until his nose skims her cheek. “Just like you promised. I hope that reminder was sufficient.”

“Let me go,” she cries, struggling to free herself from where she’s impaled on his punishing length.

“We could,” I muse. “But where’s the fun in that? No matter where you go, you’ll still be ours. If you run again, we’ll find you, and we’ll take what’s ours. And we’ll keep doing it until you accept that you were always ours, and you always will be.”

“I can’t,” she sobs, her voice cracking pitifully.

“That’s what you agreed to,” Baron reminds her. “We got rid of Jane. We’re all yours now.”

“No,” she cries. “Not again.”

“But there’s only you, Mabel,” I say, running a finger down her slender waist, her narrow hip. “There was only ever you.”

“This is your job now,” Baron says. “Your purpose. To take our cocks, and our cum, until we’re satisfied. Now get onyour knees for my brother and show us how well your throat remembers its training.”

I release my grip on Mabel, and she crumples to the floor, quaking with fear.

I have one moment to feel pity for her before my demon breaks his last tethers and descends upon her.

eighteen

Mabel Darling

“What’s this?” I ask, sitting up when Duke walks in with a tray in his hands. Boots pops his head up from where he’s lounging on the foot of the bed, stretched out in the sun, and glares at the intruder in annoyance, the tip of his tail flicking.

“Breakfast in bed,” Duke says, sauntering over wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a sleeveless tee. “I figured you deserved it.”

“Isn’t that only for Mother’s Day?”

“Who knows?” he says, dropping a wink and sinking down beside me. “Maybe you’ll be a mother soon.”

He settles the tray across my lap and smiles, his jungle of dark hair tangled like he just rolled out of bed, a lock falling across his forehead, the look in his eyes playful yet earnest.

I shudder and take the ice pack from the tray, slipping it under the blankets and between my legs. “I don’t think so.”

“You never know,” he says. “I know it wasn’t in your plan, but plans change.”

I do know, but I don’t argue. Instead, I pick up the teacup from the saucer and take a sip. It’s mint, my favorite. I can’t help but smile back at him. He’s even more impossible to resist now than he was before. He’s refined his skills, weaponized his charm. But even so, I’m pleased that he remembers everything I ever said to him, even though he’s not the one with nearly-eidetic memory.

Or is he?

I study him as I carefully cut a wedge of strawberry shortcake with my fork, letting my eyes roam over him, the first time I’ve had the chance to really sit still and measure what I’m up against. He’s filled out and bulked up in the past few years, increasing his muscle mass and strength as well as his psychological weapons. He is built like the perfect specimen of a man, the exact physical attributes that my primate brain would choose for breeding stock—broad shoulders speak of his ability to protect both his mate and offspring, as well as building and hunting. His thick, glossy hair and clear, olive skin indicates his virility, and his symmetrical bone structure is pleasing to the eye and provides an unconscious bias toward him, increasing the likelihood that our offspring would also be desirable candidates and therefore carry on my bloodline.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” he asks, letting out a soft laugh and reaching to wind a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’m just looking at you.”

“Well, you better stop, or I’m going to think you want to eat me instead of that.” He nods to the tray, and I pick up a piece of bacon and nibble at the end.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at a scar I can see peeking from the edge of his shirt.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, rubbing it through the fabric. “Just a scar.”

“What’s it from?”

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