Page 68 of Their Cruel Love

“You signed in at reception. You signed for and agreed to those penalties. One million pounds if you fail to attend the next one.”

“Whoa, man. Are you trying to blackmail us?”

“Blackmail? It’s extortion,” Razor adds.

“Same, same. Can I punch him?”

“No. Not yet.”

Razor’s reply makes me laugh. “A pity.”

The man smiles patronizingly at us and our banter. Me, I just want to choke him out, along with everyone else in this hall.

“I will be rechecking what we signed. That is not a reasonable penalty. It won’t fly in court.”

The man inclines his head at Razor’s assessment. “I will ask the office to give you the copies.”

“So you won’t do anything this time anyway?” I ask, semi-cautiously. “No penalty, as you call it?” My blood is threatening to pop from every vein in my body and blow off the top of my head. Which would be tricky to clean up.

“No. Not this time.”

“Good.” My mind clicks a decision into being, one I was leaning into anyway. “In which case, we’re fucking leaving. Ifyou agree to that Razor?” I sent him a frown. “Sorry. I should have asked you.”

“Leaving sounds exactly what we should be doing. Shall we carry Phoebe or let her walk?”

At that the pair of us turn away from the asshole trying to push us around and we stroll the few yards back to Phoebe. She’s watching us with eyes wide enough to swim in—all shiny and cute—puppy dog eyes.

We start to untie her, and I’m suddenly and perplexingly unsure I should be this wrapped up in keeping her, even if she feels like everything I ever needed to make life complete whenever I touch her or hug her. Or fuck her.

We walk out hand in hand, with her in the middle but silent for the moment. She’s still half-naked and reddened in so many spots, where she was clamped or bitten.

We’ve left her barefoot, tucked her shoes into the bag. Being barefoot makes her seem this beautifully naïve virgin. Below stirs to life again, but my cock will have to wait until we get her somewhere more private.

Our switch from public display to this must seem odd to Phoebe, yet she asks us nothing. Why? The doors remain open, and so I wait until we’re out of hearing range before I ask, “What did Bastion say to you?”

“Let’s talk when we stop somewhere?” And she barely seems to think we will disagree and just keeps walking. It’s novel how assertive this girl can be, considering her kinks and her state of dress. Refreshing even. I’ve had partners who expect me to okay every part of their life.

“Sure.”

Razor nods too. “The bedroom would be okay, but why not the pool again? It’s outdoors, pretty, and we can turn on the lights.”

“Okay.” Phoebe looks to both of us, a tiny line forming between her eyes.

“Problem?” I ask.

“Maybe?” She screws up her face. Worried or embarrassed? “I was wondering if we could try that barbed wire stuff? But I also do want to talk.” The last is tacked on hurriedly.

“Hmmm.” I pretend to have to think about this. “Razor. Can we do that?”

The writhing of his face broadcasts outright glee, but he shakes his head, then declares with morbid solemnness, “I don’t know, Marcus, can we do this? It sounds immoral.”

“Definitely fucking immoral.”

“Oh! You two!” She squeezes down on my hand and likely Razor’s, too, thinking she could crush my fingers? As if that would hurt. I give her a fast demonstration of how hard I can squeeze, and she gasps and ducks, tries to pull away.

“Never forget who has the power, girl. We can sit on you and tickle you or worse, any time we feel like it.”

When she doesn’t answer and only moves her hand in mine, snuggling it deeper into my grasp, my heart does that flip-flop, glowy thing it’s been doing the past few days.

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