Page 59 of Obsessed Kings

The women remove the lids from each box, exposing the most glorious handbags that shimmer and glow in the gentle store lights. Plush leather, crocodile, snakeskin, and even woven wicker bags display themselves to me, each handcrafted by French artisans.

My Kings stand up, take the Birkins, then place them on my arms. There are so many that I nearly collapse to the floor under the weight.

"Holy shit." I burst into laughter, twirling like a princess, my auburn hair flowing over my shoulders as my men keep me standing. "These could put one-hundred broke bitches like me through Saintswood."

"I can’t wait to see Trace’s face now." Brock kisses my cheek, which sends a burst of warm fuzzies shooting through me.

Colt rubs my lower back as Rook runs his fingers through my hair. For the first time, the vibe between us shifts to loving and carefree. They’re not just looking to ruthlessly fuck me today and leave me in a puddle of cum.

I look at Colt, affection radiating from his icy black eyes. Brock’s expression is equally doting, and he stares at me like I’m the most precious girl in the world. Rook is captivated by the bags on my arms, and he frets with them as if he worries they’re not good enough for me.

They take me to Cartier and Tiffany next. They buy me dozens of Love bracelets speckled with diamonds and countless sparkling rings.

When I walk down Fifth Avenue with my dozens of orange, crimson, and turquoise bags, the stares I receive could murder me.

"Fuck all these bitches who want to kill you right now, baby girl." Brock’s gruff voice reassures me. "They’re not worthy to kiss the ground under your feet."

I’m the envy of all these rich women who used to be able to buy me one-hundred times over.

I never have to worry about not being enough again.

SIXTEEN

COLT

Our whore had fun shopping.

She was the envy of every rich bitch in Manhattan.

I’m excited as fuck to see the Saintswood sluts’ jealous faces when they lay eyes on her in her finery.

Now, I’ve got something else on my mind.

We all do.

"On your back."

Olivia turns her wide eyes up to me after we step into the limousine parked outside a boutique pastry shop we grabbedbeignetsat after we finished shopping. Her gaze is so innocent and trusting. She really thinks that we’re not going to destroy her after buying her the world.

I'm not sure why she wouldn’t expect us to plug every fucking hole in this limousine and rail her like the slut she is. We shelled out four million dollars on jewelry, bags, shoes, and designer clothes. Every bitch at Saintswood would kill to go on a shopping spree like that. Many of them likely have. They murder their sugar Daddies by giving them heart attacks after they swipe their plastic at the Louis Vuitton register. Olivia isn’t a murderer like them. She’s a filthy slut who needs to take our cocks.

I kneel straight in front of her on the leather seat. My bulge is massive in my pants. I wasn’t hard when I bought her shit, but the thought of destroying her amongst all these bags of priceless possessions does something to me. She’s a whore. A whore we spoil and use.

Olivia’s eyes narrow. "Like hell."

"She wants to fight, eh?" Brock lunges toward her wrists and pins them to the leather seat. "Fight harder. Show us what you’re made of."

Olivia thrashes on the seat, her eyes brimming with fury. "You can’t do this to me. Not after the day we’ve had."

"That’s where you’re wrong," I inform her. "We spoil you for one reason only. You’re our slut. You need to look like royalty if you’re going to be worthy of associating with us. Bitches like Trace can’t insult you. You’re nothing more than that. You’re our filthy whore we dress in French silk and diamonds so we can destroy you. We wouldn’t destroy any old girl. Only a dirty whore wearing luxury. A whore whose pussy deserves our cocks."

Rook runs his calloused thumb across Olivia’s lower lip. "Tell us if you’re a good girl or a bad girl."

Olivia snarls at Rook, attempting to snap his thumb with her teeth. "You can’t humiliate me this way."

"We can and we will." Brock tightens his grip on her hands, his fingernails digging into her wrists. "You were made for us. When the gods stitched you, they created this angel pussy to take our cocks."

I release my shaft from my suit pants, every hard inch swinging up, looming dangerously in front of my whore’s eyes. She looks in horror as my head throbs, spitting out a violent droplet of pre-cum, one that splatters on the brand-new skirt we purchased her, staining it. "Suck my dick, bitch."

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