Page 133 of Speak

I stand, and head to the pole in the midst of them, and as the song starts, I keep my eyes on Jonas, pretending I’m dancing for him, and only him as the conversation flows, going from accusatory to confusion. They have no idea. I grip the pole behind me and slide down, my thighs spreading, I feel the material of my bodysuit slip between my pussy lips, and I almost hear Jonas’ groan from where I stand. But the one I heard is from the one that purchased me to be his companion for the hour.

My eyes drift to Stephen Prescott. He leans back, arms along the back of the black velvet sofa, baby blues roaming all over me, from my hair to my chest to my stomach to the juncture between my thighs. I slide back up, turning, and bend, feeling my wings part along with my thighs, giving him and his peers, (my Jonas is scowling when I see Damon has finally joined him) a better view as I shake slightly, and a hand comes up to touch from my calf, up the back of my knee, my thigh to the swell of my ass and I peek over my shoulder to see Stephen the tip of his tongue swipe along his bottom lip.

I stand slowly and turn again, leaning against the pole, making him eye-level with my pussy.

“Tell me, Chloe, are your limits so little because you’re new?”

I nod, biting my lower lip, still looking at my men. Stephen’s hands crawl from the top of my thighs, over my stomach, and back down before reaching my breasts. Oh, I hope they punish me. The only one left I know would demolish me for letting anyone else touch me currently isn’t here. But the two that are…

“If I gain your trust-” Stephen swallows as his face nears my cunt, “could your limits open?”

I shrug when he steps even closer- an alarm he was given buzzes, telling him our time is up and he steps away.

“I love a challenge, butterfly.” He growls as the bartender from the lower level comes up to help me down from the table, Damon and Jonas are nowhere to be seen when I’m taken back down to put back in my cage.

Two familiar imposing men approach me, striking in their anger, their annoyance I didn’t tell them where I was going, but I hadn’t needed to, had I? They knew exactly where I was the entire time, thanks to Damon. “Meet us at Damon’s.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Damon.

“You like being watched, little bird?” I growl as soon as Raven is in my grasp.

She whimpers, something so soft, but there’s excitement in the way she whimpers as I push her against the front door. She’s changed out of her expansive black wings, into a tight black mini dress, her faux coat on the floor, I put my hand around her throat, my fingers itching to squeeze.

“Did you like that old man’s hands on you?” granted I am older than her, but the man that had her in his lap today was at least fifteen years older than me.

I can feel her trachea as she swallows under my fingers, big doe eyes looking up at me. She looks exquisite. I run my thumb up the column of her throat and swipe it across her red bottom lip. Her lips part just enough for me to push through and her tongue wiggles as she sucks it in. I’m already so fucking hard from watching her dance earlier, but the sight of her lips wrapped around any part of me makes me so hard it’s painful.

She grinds her stomach against my erection and even though it hurts, she’s just so soft. The ample curve of her hip under my hand, the gentle swell of her stomach against my cock, plush lips around me, eluding me into thinking she needs gentle but she doesn’t. Sheneeds to be stretched and fucked and punished. Rewired and disciplined.

Christ, I’m thinking like Maverick. But maybe that sick beast sometimes has a point in how to handle her.

I move my hand that’s on her waist and pull the soaked fabric from her panties that’s been up her cunt with my index finger, rubbing my knuckle up and down that swollen little bud, soaking my finger in her arousal. The part of my brain that becomes deranged when I have her at my mercy wants to get on my knees and suck that strip of fabric that barely covered her pussy into my mouth and lick it clean.

The other part of me?

I shove two thick fingers into her tight wet heat and suppress a groan when she bucks but she's pressed tight between me and the front door of this lavish house I purchased for her. “I have half a mind to tie you to the that fucking beam,” I arch a brow and her eyes shoot behind me to the wooden beam above us that connects the living room to the den, “all weekend long and use you like a cock sleeve.”

She gushes on my fingers in response.

My grin is depraved. “You’d finally be a little doll, Raven. But you’d bemylittle fuck doll.”

“And mine.” Jonas purrs from behind me. “Would you like that, baby? For us to use you? Breed you? Fuck you raw till you’re so sore you can’t walk for days?”

Another gush.

“You’re a filthy fucking girl.” I whisper, leaning forward and kissing her scarred temple and scissor my fingers in her sopping cunt, the scent of the club still in her hair, all sin and depravity but the scent of her pussy hits me the hardest.

She will never know just how fucked I really am for her. She has an inkling, sure, but she will never know truly, how deranged I am just for her, the lengths I’ve gone through to be here, with her, just like this.

And I’d do it over and over again.

I pull my fingers away from her to unfasten my slacks and boxer briefs and let them fall around my ankles only to step out of them, kicking them away then using both hands I tear that fucking strip of wet fabric, hike her thigh over my hip, position the tip of mydick at her slick entrance, but instead of slamming home like I want to, I fight that urge, tipping her head back so I can look into her caramel eyes while I tease.

Her expression looks pained, and oh so fucking beautiful - tortured as I only giver my tip, slowly, inch by inch to feel every ridge inside of her only to pull back and do it all over again.

“P-please.”

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