Page 31 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

She lifted her chin, newfound confidence beaming from her eyes. “I’m just telling you the story. The story of Carlo and Tatum, best friends…even better lovers.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

She smiled, her lips pale and dry. “And what is it that I’m trying to do?”

I shifted, bringing my cheek right up against hers, placing my lips by her ear. “You think that placing images of my brother fucking you would stop images of me fucking you from entering my mind.”

A rush of air moved across my neck as she sucked in a breath, and I inched forward. “That’s right, little mouse. My mind is filled with images of me fucking you right now. And let me assure you, knowing my brother fucked you does not stop my cock from getting hard when I look at you bound by chains with your tits hanging out. But let me ask you this, Tatum. Did he fuck you like you wanted to be fucked? Did my brother feed your deepest…darkest…most forbidden desires?”

The only sound was that of her heavy breathing, her hot breath coating my skin. With a quick sideway glance, my gaze swept toward Vico and his friends, all still laughing and enjoying copious amounts of alcohol.

I grabbed her hip, and my fingers speared her flesh. “I knew my brother better than anyone else, and I know for a fact he didn’t have it in him to give you what you crave.”

“What do you think I crave?” Her lips were so close, I felt them brush against my cheeks.

Slow, leisurely strokes, I moved my hand up the side of her body, pushing the tattered fabric of the rag back. The closer I moved my fingers to her breasts, the deeper she breathed, the more my cock ached.

“You crave something you’ve never had. I bet you fantasize about it, feeling pain at the exact same time an orgasm rips through your body.” My fingertip slowly circled her nipple, and I pushed my lips harder against her ear. “How many times have you touched yourself, played with your own pussy, fantasizing about what society deems taboo?”

“Don’t—”

“I know my brother never gave you that. Do you want to know how I know?”

“How?” she whispered, and I sucked her earlobe between my lips before letting it go with a pop.

“Because he’s not me.”

Chapter 11

TATUM

I had never hated my body before. I never needed to. But right now, I loathed my traitorous body, cursed every damn part of me that responded to him—his touch, every promise hidden within his words.

He was a bastard, a filthy, twisted son of a bitch who kidnapped women, holding them against their will. He was a man without conscience, a psycho who didn’t think twice about cutting off fingers and gifting them to his prisoners. Yet his touch somehow managed to burn me from the inside out, causing my body to betray me in the worst possible way. The wetness currently pooled between my legs was the twisted evidence of my own depravity. How could my body want him? How could the mere prospect of him giving me pain melted together with pleasure make me want him?

Was it because he looked so much like Carlo, the man I once thought I loved? Was it the similarities between them that started to pull me toward him? Or was I really as fucked up as most people in my family had suspected all these years?

Everything Castello said was true. Carlo was a good lover, but there were nights I craved more, when I wished he would treat me more like a sex toy than a damn porcelain doll. There were times he fucked me from behind when I wished he would pull my hair and wrap his hand around my throat, to squeeze while pushing me to the very edge of what my body could take. I wanted him to tie me up, to make my body his playground, and to not hold anything back. Some mornings I would stare at my naked body in the mirror, wishing I could see the bruised evidence of how thoroughly he had used me. I wanted him to paint my body with his pleasure, branding me, marking me as his. But he never did.

It was a part of me I suppressed every day, a part of me I didn’t want to acknowledge. Like Castello had said earlier, it was all things society had dubbed as taboo, twisted, and completely unacceptable.

And now, during the most fucked-up time in my life, stuck in this horrific situation, the man who held me prisoner managed to make all those cravings and desires come back to the surface.

Castello turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with all the other men. For some reason, I found it horrifying, being there without him. When Vico approached me earlier, swearing at me, degrading me, threatening me, Castello stepped up and put a stop to it. Not that I thought he was in any way concerned about my safety, but rather it being more a way of showing little brother who was in charge. But still…I was secretly grateful. The entire time Vico had his hands on me, I was wound so tight that my entire body went rigid, my wrists twisting in the cuffs, the metal slicing through my skin.

That alone was proof that the wetness I felt between my legs wasn’t because of the situation I was in. It was because of him—Castello. If it wasn’t, my stomach wouldn’t have churned when Vico had his hands on me. I wouldn’t have felt the very unwelcome urge to vomit until Castello arrived. If I was completely wacked, insane, and turned on by merely the danger and the rush of adrenaline, Vico’s touch would have done the same things to my body as Castello’s—but it didn’t. Instead, it sucked every ounce of energy out of me, whizzing my mind into shards of despair.

The second Vico walked away, my body gave in, and the cuffs around my wrists were the only things keeping me from collapsing to the ground. My body couldn’t handle the strain for a second longer. And when Castello’s burning touch replaced Vico’s venomous stroke, my body immediately responded with a deep-rooted lust that had no place inside me.

The double doors of the dining hall flew open, and every eye turned in that direction. The silence that settled over the room of men was deafening, my spine chilling as apprehension grabbed hold of me.

A woman, probably in her fifties, dressed in a black dress, wearing a silver crucifix around her neck, came walking in. Dark curls hung around her shoulders, and the way she walked screamed sophistication, confidence, and determination. The only problem was her determination seemed to be aimed at me, as her dark gaze was fixed on mine with every step she took. She didn’t look left or right, never acknowledging any of the guests. Her only goal seemed to be reaching me, and that made my skin crawl.

“Miss Linscott. Finally, we meet.”

“Who are you?”

Her reply was a swift, hard palm to my cheek. I never saw it coming. I only felt the burn, the sting…the utter humiliation.

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