Page 129 of That Sik Luv

He shakes his head, disappointed by my lack of agony, as he continues trailing the oil until it meets the tops of my thighs. My arms pull against the cuffs, and I breathe roughly through my nose, my body quivering from the unrelenting torment. The heat scalds as it rests into the fabric of my dark denim, and I witness the faint steam billowing from my lap, cementing the pain.

Her. Think of her.

Her delicate fingers safely trailing my abdomen with their gentle touch. Safe.

Once the glass is emptied and poured over me, he places it and the cloth on the table. His eyes sear my body harder than the oil as he takes his hand and rubs himself over the cassock.

“I think he’s ready for his lap dance now, don’t you?” Callum asks, a smirk on his face as he eyes my burnt, oil-painted thighs. “I think we all are.” He eyes the rest of the men.

Bishop Caldwell takes a seat in a leather recliner to the right of me, his eyes burning holes through me while he continues his demented self-pleasure.

Callum stands to the right of me with his arms folded, and Alastor takes a seat next to Saint. The lights to the main stage turn on, an amber glow highlighting the stripper pole on the platform before us.

“You’ll get a kick out of this, son.” Callum nods to Saint before his eyes fall upon the stage in line with everyone else.

“Ah, yes. My sweet, sweet Brandi,” Alastor hums in approval.

“Fan favorite,” Callum laughs beside me. “Let’s taunt this motherfucker, shall we?” He smiles at the men. “Dangle this last piece of pussy in front of his face before we fuck her shit loose.”

I blink more blood out of my only working eye when I see Brandi’s silhouette on the stage before us.

It appears she’s dressed in her normal attire to appease them. The short, green and black plaid skirt, the white tied-up top, the stockings clipped, the oversized crucifix dangling from her neck, and the short black, chin-length wig to set it all off.

Her back is facing us as the bass of the music pounds through the small exhibition space. A sexy, slow-paced song begins as Brandi grips the top of the pole behind her. She slithers her body before the pole, seemingly making love to the air around her as she continues her enticing tease, her body rolling with an intoxicating energy.

The men are fixated on her, fallen into her trance. A tiger beneath the facade of a kitten. But I’ve never known Brandi to hold a beat, only take cash and allow wicked men to continue indulging in their sins.

I study her movements carefully, watching her sink lower and lower on the pole, her legs parting until her thighs are spread wide and she’s balancing on her platform heels. She arches her back, squatting down on her heels before straightening her knees slowly until she’s folded over. Gripping the pole behind her, she slides up the length of the shiny metal, the hem of her skirt lifting to expose the edge of her round, perfectly toned ass with the pole directly between her cheeks.

The men groan and chuckle with delight when she slowly steps around the pole in her heels, prowling like a majestic lioness, stealthy by nature.

She’s staring down at the stage as she circles; the short hair of her black wig covering her face.

She won’t look up.

“Take his ass to church, Brandi!” one guard hollers.

The music explodes into a wild erotic beat just in time for her to rest her chin on her shoulder, half of her face hidden behind the pole.

One piercing blue eye and an entire galaxy of untold rage.

She peers back at me with the most seductive, most possessively savage stare.

Within that one look, my entire world shifts on its axis.

I’m frozen. Breathless and completely in awe as I gaze back into the eyes of my existence.

That one look says it all.

We’re like us.

Chapter fifty-six

Den of Demise

Breathethroughyournose.

Visualize his hard eyes staring into mine, empowering me without words.

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