Page 72 of Their Cruel Love

“Anyone I know?”

I’m sure Razor isn’t going to say.

The scent of fresh blooms filters down, a rich, tropical perfume. Marcus tucks a blossom into my hair then moves away. Beside him is a small pile of plucked flowers.

“Is it anyone you know?” I can tell he’s thinking of what to say and from the very corner of my eye, I see Razor dragging off his shirt, then reaching for his belt. The metal bars in his pierced nipples gleam, his tattoos writhe as his muscles shift—beautiful embellishments to this beautiful man.

“You don’t have to say.” Marcus leans over my back, his fingers tracing, manipulating. The softness feathering my skin is from blossoms being threaded under the wire. When he sees me looking, we exchange smiles then a soft kiss.

He’s decorating me with wire and blood, and I wonder idly if I’m still a girl or have I become a mildly gory work of art.

“What did they mean by that penalty?” Marcus has switched topics when I’ve been hoping to know more about Razor’s almost bride.

“I don’t remember anything like that, and I read the fine print.”

“Then why say it? To intimidate and make us do what they want us to?”

“Or…there is something that we’re missing.”

“Maybe. They’re playing a game, and we can’t see the board.”

“Or all the pieces.”

Then Marcus is kissing across my ass and tracing the path of the wire, with teasing fingertips and mouth. I turn my head and smile, wriggling a little but not much. I don’t want to stick a barb in his tongue.

During the long pause that follows, I burrow my waythrough the meaning in those last words. They were talking about the penalty that I overheard.

“Maybe…” I say, and I’m slurring a little. “It’s just to scare us.”

The pad of wet feet near us draws me to look.

I heard a splash, ages ago, and only now do I realize Razor went AWOL. He’s returned from the pool, is wiping water from his face, shaking his head, and toweling it off.

“Maybe that’s why.” Marcus slides off the bed and stands, begins to take off his clothes—shirt, pants, underwear. “But a million pounds is so ridiculous. And lot of people are sue-happy. Insult their grandmother, and they sue for mental distress. Why risk us doing it?”

“Because…” Razor drops his knee to the bed, then crawls to me, leaning in to kiss my ear then down the line of my jaw. Cool water drips onto my skin. His words are quiet and as intimate as they can be, despite this strange discussion. “Maybe they know we aren’t ever going to tell tales or leave the island?”

That is chilling. I freeze, until the sagging of the bed tells me Marcus has shuffled up between my legs. I did wonder whether to ask for the vibe to be used on me. It would be the perfect ending for being made into this wire-wrapped creature. For him to fuck me instead…better. Best?

I peek across my back. Though Razor takes the collar and uses it to anchor me before he wriggles lower on the bed to kiss my mouth, I glimpse Marcus. Cautiously, he lifts me to tuck a heavy pillow under my stomach, then another, and unsticks the barbs from the bed as I try to bunch my knees under me. He obviously wants to fuck me. At the thought, my arousal peaks and I feel my lower lips swell and unstick from each other.

For him, I bow my spine, presenting my ass higher.

I swear I can feel my wetness leak while I wait for him to move. A subtle breeze sneaks up and cools me there. My throat closes down. The anticipation of being fucked is rising, tightening, sending lust shivering up and down my spine.

He cradles his erection and approaches, thumbs my cunt apart even more, opening me up so as to fuck me. The barbs down there must make this hazardous, and he pushes on some of them. I wonder if it’s to bend the points away from where he plans to be.

Leaning closer, he makes his cock nudge at my lips, penetrating me by the smallest of fractions, but it’s enough. My gasp is soft, my mouth opens, closes, so unexpected this crash of sensations, no matter that I watched him do it.

“How?” I whisper, worried, questioning Razor about his previous answer and this danger-fucking…both.

“Never fear, he won’t be spiking his dick. Or if he does”—he chuckles—“it’s all on him.”

“The danger of your cunt biting me back only makes you more pretty, more fuckable…moremore,” Marcus harshly breathes the words as he thrusts slowly inward.

I groan and twist my upper body so Razor and I can kiss more easily. TheFucktoytag jingles against the collar. His hands explore my upper body, roaming over my exposed breast, steering around the wire, and sometimes not. He presses it, and I wince then shudder out a whimper as Marcus speeds up his thrusts.

My nipple is suffering, and blebs of the red stuff have smeared across my skin. Razor moves in to kiss me from there and up my neck. A heated trail of softness. The miniature lance of the wires. The surge of cock inside me.Again, again.Desire blossoms, running riot through me.

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