Page 82 of Devour
The place is crawling with security, and one wrong move could get us both killed. My men are under strict orders to stay out of sight. They’re close, though—close enough to strike the second I give the signal, I have a tracker in my mouth, so they know where to find me if things go sideways.
She doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t know I was the one who won the bid for her. I watch as the guard drags her off the stage, rage simmering beneath my skin.
“The auction has come to an end,” the host announces. “If you wish to sample yours before payment, the guards assigned to you will escort you to the playroom, and we’ll send her over.”
I’m on my feet instantly, signaling the guard to take me to the playroom. I need to see her. Touch her. Make sure she’s okay.
The playroom is dimly lit; the ambiance clearly meant for sex. A silk-covered bed sits in the center, with various tools laid out neatly on a nearby table. I try not to pace as I wait for them to bring her.
A guard finally drags her in, then leaves and shuts the door behind her. I can see she’s nervous—the way her chest rises and falls, her breasts trembling with every shallow breath.
She stays close to the door, her hand subtly testing the handle. She’s trying to get it open, but I’m sure it’s locked until the thirty-minute sample window is over.
I want to rush to her. Pull her into my arms. Tell her it’s me. But I know that’ll only terrify her more. I want to rip off this damned mask, show her my face, but I can’t.
The rules are strict, and I’m certain someone is watching—or even listening. So, I take a slow step toward her, trying to appear less threatening. Not easy, considering my height and build. She flattens herself against the door like she’s trying to melt through it.
When that fails, I watch her scan the room. She’s searching for something—anything—to defend herself.
Her eyes land on the table filled with pleasure tools. But she’d have to get past me to reach it. Even if she did, there’s nothing there that could truly hurt me. She doesn’t know that.
Realizing the table’s out of reach, she bolts in the other direction—toward the bed. I follow. She’s halfway across the mattress, crawling desperately toward the other side when I catch her by the ankle.
She spins, wild with fear, and lands a punch square to my jaw. Pain radiates through my face, even through the mask. I released her instantly.
I wasn’t expecting that. Rubbing my jaw, I wince. It’s definitely going to bruise. I deserve it—for letting her go through this nightmare. She scrambles off the bed, lunges toward the table, and grabs a paddle. She brandishes it with both hands, holding it like a weapon.
I step off the bed and slowly walk toward her, hoping my voice will calm her—but it’s like she isn’t even listening. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Stay back!”
I pause, hands raised. “Please… just listen to me.”
But she bolts for the door again, twisting sharply to slip past me. She’s fast—faster than I expected. Instinct kicks in. I grab her around the waist and lift her clean off the floor. She thrashes in my arms, the paddle slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.
“Let me go!” she screams, kicking wildly. Her nails rake across my arms, hit my hurt shoulder and side, but I barely feel the pain. I turn, carrying her to the bed. She fights every step, but I manage to pin her beneath me, my chest pressed against her back.
Her cheek is smashed into the silk sheets, her hair a veil across her face. I lean down, my voice soft against her ear. “Kitten… it’s your husband.” She goes—still. So still, I panic—afraid I’ve hurt her.
I ease some of my weight off her until I feel the tremble in her body… and then, a quiet sob. “Shhh, I’m here, kitten.”
“What took you so long?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my mouth brushing her face as I kiss her over and over, tasting the salt of her tears.
“It hurts…”
“I’m hurting you?” I pull back immediately.
“No… not you. My nipples. They hurt.”
I shift her gently onto her back and lower the front of her dress. My jaw clenches when I see the clamps still fastened to her swollen nipples.
“Fuck…”
I reach for one and slowly release it. She gasps, her body flinching. “Let me ease the ache,” I whisper. Sliding down the bed, I lower myself until my mouth hovers just above her chest.
I blow softly over the abused skin, watching her tremble. Then I brush my tongue gently along the edge of her nipple before drawing it into my mouth. I suck carefully—tender and slow—then release it, soothing it again with my tongue.
