Page 58 of Devoured
I asked how I could get a hold of Teagen, or if they could put us in touch. But why did I want to talk to her? What would it help? Iris didn’t care about what I did. If I got her closer to her friend, she’d use her friend against me too.
But that was it; I could use Teagen as a way to test Iris, to see where her loyalties lied.
I texted Iris,My penthouse. Now. Then I added the address.She didn’t respond, but in thirty minutes, my phone rang, the concierge requesting entry for a guest. I granted permission and waited in my flat front charcoal slacks, belt still buckled, my shirt off.
A hesitant knock sounded on the door. I opened it. Iris looked up at me, her black hair hanging slightly past her chin, her lips bare, a light pink color. Dark makeup circled her eyes like swirls of squid ink. A plain fitted black shirt and black jeans. Still gorgeous, even when she wasn’t trying.
And it was irritating.
“Hey,” she said quietly. Cautiously. Moving like she was waiting for me to snap. But I already had.Shehad made me. In silence, I went to my bedroom and pulled a pink frilly babydoll from the closet, the tag still on it, feathers lining the straps and the hem. I returned to the living room and handed it to her.
“You couldn’t have gotten it in black?” she joked. I didn’t say a word. “I mean, everyone has their limits.”
“You want to risk your precious club?” I asked. “Or were you planning on eliminating me anyway?”
“What?”
“Wear it,” I said coldly. “Don’t test me, Iris.” She looked around me for a bathroom, still holding onto those boundaries,needingit, despite everything we had been through. “Here,” I ordered. Her big round eyes looked up at me, glistening with questions. I wanted to shake those answers out of her, to make her see that there was only one way this could end. Because she still couldn’t trust me, and I couldn’t trust her.
She slipped out of her shoes, socks, and pants, leaving her panties on. The shirt and bra followed into a pile on the floor. The babydoll went over her head. The color was beautiful against her pale skin, accentuating the hint of pink in her mauve tattoos, but she fidgeted. Hating it.
Which was the point.
I grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the thick loveseat chair, bending her over it. The pink sheer fell around to the sides of her waist. She was decadent.
I unbuckled the belt, pulling it out of the loops. She looked over her back, her jaw dropping as she realized what I was about to do.
“Roland, I—”
“Don’t say another word,” I said. I pulled the belt tight, then wrapped it around her throat, tight enough to show her that I was serious. “You don’t want to test me today.”
She swallowed, her throat pushing against the belt. I let go, letting her breathe easily. She held her neck, massaging where the strap of leather had wrapped around her. I pushed down on her back, making her bend over the armrest, then pushed up the babydoll so that her entire back was showing.
The first strike was to her upper back, the belt wrapping around her side. A purple outline followed where the belt had lain. She tensed up, all of her muscles seizing, but she didn’t say a word.
Good.
Another strike directly under the first. Her head twitched, her jaw straining. Another strike beneath those, harder this time, and she stomped her feet, trying to will herself to be quiet. Irritation swelled inside of me, making my entire body clench. The Valium hadn’t done anything. I shouldn’t have felt frustrated. Shouldn’t have felt guilt. Shouldn’t have felt anything. Should have buried any hint of emotion in a wave of numbness. But instead, I struck harder. She stomped her feet. Ripped into the fabric of the seat. Not daring to tell me ‘no.’ It was always about the club, her precious baby, her home. It was never about any sort of relationship we had made together. And who could blame her? I was the person who had started our agreement under false pretenses.
Another strike, lower this time, on fresh skin, and a hiss erupted from her mouth, sucking it in. I reached over, slamming a hand around her mouth, then breathed down her neck.
“What a whore,” I said. I reached around, her pussy warm through her panties, then slid them to the side, her arousal drenching my fingers. “What would your precious club members think if they knew you were just like them? That you got off on this as much as they did. That it makes you wet to be humiliated. To be punished. To be used.” She pressed her hips into me, a breath escaping her lips, but she stayed quiet. So fucking desperate to be a good girl. To get her club. “You’ll do anything to get what you want.”
I shoved my pants and my boxer briefs down, thrusting my hard dick into her slit. A moan erupted from her, breaking the rule of silence, but I didn’t care. Because nothing mattered. I thrust harder, then grabbed her mouth, covering it, pinching her nose at the same time. She writhed, pushing back from me, but I held her tighter, still fucking her hard as I suffocated her. A few seconds passed, then more. I moved my hips and she tried to resist, but I didn’t let go. She didn’t need air. Not yet. The panic was playing tricks on her. And her fear turned me on.
When I finally let go, she gasped, sucking in as much as she could. A tear ran down her cheek, either from the lack of oxygen, or her fear. I didn’t care which. This time I had a better idea. I grabbed the belt and thrust into her again, wrapping it around her throat. Fucking her hard as I held her neck tight.
“You can make this stop,” I growled. “You know how. Do it. I dare you.”
She tried to turn her head, to look me in the face, but the belt was too tight, and I wouldn’t give her any room to breathe. Anxiety rose in her eyes, filling her to the brim. It made me slow. What was I doing?
No. She had sent someone to threaten me. To kill me. What did it matter what I did to her now?
I pressed as deep as I could inside of her, then squeezed the belt tight, holding it up, making her rise to her toes, my cock and weight keeping her down. She gurgled, her face bright red, filled with blood, grasping at the belt, trying to pull it down, her nails breaking the skin on her face. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
But I felt them:Stop.Stop.Stop.
I let go, letting her fall onto the chair. My mind went elsewhere; it didn’t feel real. Iris wasn’t real. She grabbed her throat, choking and coughing, glaring at me, red ripples in her eyes, blood pockets speckling her cheeks from the pressure, from the resistance, from me. The ripe smell of her fear was delicious and repulsive at the same time. She glared at me. Hated me.
