Page 90 of Twice as Twisted

When I don’t answer, Baron leans close beside me, his warm breath feathering over my cheek, gentle as the boy I once thought he was.

“Tell him,” he croons. “Tell him you need it too.”

Tears streak my cheeks, and the fear and hopelessness that crash over me are far deeper than the physical anguish. But I focus on my broken toes anyway, letting the pain distract me from what Duke is doing, let it dull me to everything else until I feel nothing but the throbbing, twisted, broken bones, because I am a twisted, broken girl.

“Yes,” I whisper dully. “I need it too.”

Duke groans, his forehead dropping to mine. “Relax for me,mio tesoro.”

His mouth sinks onto mine, and I shrink back into the pillow, but he’s relentless. He coaxes, then forces me to take his tongue too. My eyes roll back and forth, and I find Baron standing over the bed now, watching, those tiny gold flecks in his eyes molten. After a moment, he undoes his belt and drops his pants. While I watch, he slowly removes his shoes, then kicks everything away. The anticipation is torture. I know he’s going to hurt me worse than Duke. He always does.

He stands over us, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt before shrugging it off and hanging it from the bedpost.My whole body clenches, a shudder rolling over me when he approaches. Duke moans, grinding into me torturously deep.

I’ll have to find a new pelvic floor specialist if this is going to last.

Baron climbs onto the bed, a monument of chiseled muscle, carved to perfection like a Roman god. He kneels over me, lazily stroking a hand up and down his excruciating length. When I see them next to each other, they’re not quite so indistinguishable anymore. Duke’s bulked up, adding at least twenty pounds of solid muscle since I saw them last, while Baron’s leaner than his brother but just as hard. His smooth olive skin is unblemished, without the scar I saw peeking from the shoulder of Duke’s shirt. He has only the two tattoos I remember, a swan on the inside of his arm and the words in Latin he shares with all his brothers.

“You want her ass?” Duke asks, pushing up on his hands and giving me a short, vicious thrust that tears a cry of agony from my lips.

“No,” Baron says, kneeling above me in all his naked, sculpted glory. “I’ll take her mouth.”

“Then I’ll take her ass,” Duke says with a gleeful cackle, pulling out and then starting on the back.

I barely feel the pain. I’m captivated by Baron Dolce, like I’m still the naïve girl he hand-picked in high school. But I’m not that girl, and instead of love, all I feel is terror when he straddles my chest, his knees under my arms, and drops his fat, heavy dick on my face. It’s hot against my tear-soaked skin, stretching from my chin to past my hairline. I whimper, fresh tears pouring down my cheeks and temples. Baron’s mouth stretches into a sadistic smile, and his fingers wrap around my throat.

Panic billows inside me like ink from a poison squid, blinding me with terror, with the memories that come floodingback, the pain that drove me off the bridge. It was Royal who saved me that day.

No one’s here to save me today.

After a second, though, Baron’s grip relaxes, and his fingers slide from the front of my neck to the back, cradling it. His thumb strokes my throat, against my racing pulse. Something has shifted in his eyes.

“Look at me,” he says. “That’s right, little monster. Open wide.”

I open, and he leans forward, onto his knees, and grips his shaft, guiding his crown into my mouth. When I close my lips around it, he smiles, but it’s different. It’s not the smile of the boy who would force himself down my throat until I vomited and passed out, then keep going until he had his fill, leaving me to wake up alone in a pool of vomit and blood and semen. It’s a soft smile, not apologetic like Duke’s will be later, when he brings me an ice pack after rutting into me like a feral animal, but shining with some warmth I can’t explain.

“Give me your hands,” he murmurs, ignoring his brother’s grunting and groaning, the way he’s rocking the whole bed with his force. Baron’s eyes stay locked on mine, and he takes my hands and wraps them around his shaft, first one at the base, and then the other above it. There’s still a little too much of his length for comfort, but it’s a mercy he’s never shown me before. He strokes my cheek, the corner of my mouth that’s stretched wide around his girth, then swipes a tear off my temple with his thumb before burying his hand behind my neck again. He tugs a little, changing the angle of my head, and then he starts to move, pushing into the back of my throat while his gaze holds mine.

I shiver, wanting to close my eyes but unable. His is a new expression entirely, a glimpse of some other Baron, though it’s not the haunted look of yearning and regret I saw in Duke’s eyes.This is a tender smile, almost sweet, like the Baron who brought me flowers each morning before class, the one I thought was all a lie.

What if it wasn’t?

What if it was all true?

Baron’s fingers squeeze the back of my neck with a gentle, reassuring pressure, and then he leans forward and grips the headboard with his free hand, rolling his hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. I’m hypnotized by the flex of his abs above me, his pectorals, his square chin and that molten, shimmering heat in his eyes. Nothing else exists. He’s so big he fills my vision, my mind, my body. His skin is soft and salty against my tongue, hot in my hands. His rhythm is the rhythm of the whole world—his steady passes in and out of my throat, the throb in my toes, the stroke of Duke’s tongue as he eats me out, having finished his business first, the crashing of waves in the distance.

“Mabel,” Baron says, his voice husky, and for one terrible, terrifying moment, I think he’s going to say the thing he never says. My eyes widen, and he stills, staring back at me, his eyes dark fire behind his glasses.

“Suck,” he whispers instead, sliding his hand to the front of my neck again.

I obey, and he draws a sharp breath and slides back so only the thick head of his cock remains between my lips. I suck again, and he spills into my mouth, over my tongue, down my throat. I swallow, and swallow, and swallow, and he watches, his palm on my throat, his eyes burning into mine, his crown between my teeth.

From somewhere far removed, I feel my body give Duke what he wants, what he takes from me. I used to hate it, the way he gloated over it, what he said it meant. I used to believe him. Now, I hardly notice it. I’m lodged in my head, and what’s belowBaron’s thighs seems incidental. My whole world is bracketed by them, as if I’ve received an epidural that shut off the bottom half.

Baron grips my wrist, tugging until I release my grip on his length. He drags his tip from between my lips, letting a fat drop of cum spill onto my lower lip before sitting back. He swipes his thumb across it, smearing it over my skin, then dips between my teeth. I suck, expecting a flare of desire, but his eyes remain unchanged, filled with that gooey, melty chocolate warmth. He slides down the bed and settles beside me, and Duke flops down on my other side.

“Damn, that was good,” Duke says, rubbing his palm over his rippled abs. He sighs, folding one arm behind his head.

Baron leans up on his elbow, gently gripping my chin and turning it his way. I flinch, but he presses his lips to mine, lingering, inhaling my scent, tasting himself on my tongue, as if he’s memorizing the kiss, savoring it. When he finally draws away, Duke pulls my head towards him, plunging his tongue into my mouth and kissing me with more depth, more passion, more hunger. At last, though, he sinks back down again, dragging my leg over his and closing his eyes.

---