Page 43 of Their Cruel Love

“Na-uh.” I show the room keycard, wave it before Razor. “Mine is there.” I have to try them. I’m actually nervous about us all staying in the same room, yet I’ve awakened to the potential in this situation. Pushing their limits is my new, exciting game.

“Hah. She thinks.” Marcus unlocks their door.

“Cute but no. How can we torture you if you’re in another room?” Razor tows me with him, and though I try resisting, he’s much stronger, and my wrist burns when I yank. Sighing loudly, I cave and follow them in, towing my bag.

The bedroom is large and furnished with standing lamps, bronze erotic sculptures, and a super-sized bed covered with a speckled aqua-and-mauve quilt. A door-sized gap between the bedhead and front glass wall must lead to a bathroom.

To the left, a low wall separates this bedroom from an area with sofas and a coffee table. Opposite, across the expanse of the bed, a set of room-spanning, glass doors gift us with a spectacular view. I put a knee on the bed and crane forward so I can look. Beyond the doors is a timber-decked patio then the view drops over the resort rooftops and the treetops to the deserted beach, and then to the ocean.

I feel a quiet peace in this moment.

If Milli came here, a thought whispers in to say, perhaps this was a good place…

A good place to die? My brow wrinkles at that jarring addendum.

“Unpack,” Razor says.

The men are commandeering space but leaving me somein the long cupboards. I start to unzip my bag and cannot help but eye them surreptitiously. I’ve agreed to this, really, being here with them, being theirs for a week. This is unpredictable, and if anything like Spain, I may get my mind blown as well as my body groped, fucked, turned upside down. This is a realm apart from my life in Chelsea watching the Thames and all the detritus of civilization float by.

I shake out the dresses I’ve brought and begin to hook them into the coat hangers then hang them in the cupboard. I really should visit the bathroom ASAP.

“We can have a talk after this.” Marcus picks up a sheet of paper from the slim, greenish table that sits beneath a half-length mirror that’s attached to the partial wall. Green-washed, carved dolphins leap across the back of the table. Released from his hand, the paper floats down and he taps it. “Itinerary. Daily. We should keep this secret, Razor?”

“Yeah.”

Their amusement is clear. “Secrets, boys? The staff will tell me.”

“Boys?” Razor pushes up an eyebrow then throws the last of his clothes into a drawer, slams it shut. “We definitely should have a talk.” He comes over to squeeze my ass. “Rules? Do we need some, Marcus?”

Marcus grunts. “Thinking.”

“Slow, man, slow.”

As if they haven’t had time to think.

Rules. If they want me to kneel for them daily or some shit, what will I do? Choose one: spit in their face. Not likely to go down well. Obey them? Boring. Run away? Hmmm, this needs work.

Marcus never even bothered to hide that paper.

I drop my shorts, my little skirt, underwear, and my topsinto the drawers. The thick jacket and leggings stay in my case. Mercifully, they warned us this place was hot. I’m not sure I’ll get to use all this considering this is a kink event. Should I ask? Nope.

Myfirst rule: don’t ask them permission for anything.

Casually, I amble toward the glass frontage, aiming to read the paper as I pass then continue to the bathroom. The room is dead quiet. Razor comes up behind me and wraps his arm around my throat, pulls me into his body, kisses my ear.

“Where are we going? You’re not trying to read this?”

“Read what?” I whisper back, side-eyeing the paper. I get to DAY ONE:Dinner and introduct— before he angles me away.

“Shower time. Dinner is in an hour.” With his arm still about my neck in a mild headlock, he grabs the paper, flourishes it at Marcus then flings it backward. Where it goes after that, I’m unsure. “But first. Talk. And undress and maybe sit on my cock while we do that.”

My dress is pulled off over my head almost before I can blurt, “Maybe?”

I’m mostly naked. And…I flick my gaze along the glass front, searching.

There are no curtains here, nothing to shield our room from the outside, though the glass might be able to be darkened. When he undoes the clip on the bra and slips that off, too, I put my hands over my breasts. I know it’s silly, but I turn, frowning and presenting my rear to anyone out there. He’s dropped to the bed and is sitting there, dragging off his shirt, kicking off shoes, then sitting up to pull off his pants.

“I won’t make you suck on me.” The lack of humor in his expression, and words, is disconcerting. “But you will sit on me. Not so you can come, or me, but to get things established.First of all, you want this. If you don’t…” That trailed-off question is intriguing, telling even.

---