Lords of Wrath: Chapter 31

The presence of Daniel’s thugs and Augustine hovering by my side are the only explanation for why I don’t go darting for the door at the sight of all the people streaming into the amphitheater. Hundreds of them. Almost all of them are men. Some of them look drunk. Fat. Old. Sleazy. They’re noisy, but I barely hear them over the blood pounding in my ears, and every step I take is focused on settling the contents of my stomach.

I’m pretty sure if I puke, Daniel could find some way to turn this into a snuff film.

I’m still tucked in the shadows waiting for the signal from the video and sound crew, and I refuse to look for the man I’m supposed to sleep with, but I know he’s nearby. He’s big and mean-looking, a lot like Killian, but with none of the polish. Pretty Nick is the exact kind of South Side guy I don’t want to find myself beneath. Did they dress him up like sex doll, too? Doubtful. He’ll be the hero in this bizarre show, while I’m nothing but a prize. Just thinking about him makes me sick. I belong to three men. They might be cold and cruel, but even after everything we’ve been through, this still feels like a betrayal. I made a promise to the Lords—written in ink, but also in blood.

Augustine’s been chilly to me all day. Well, almost all day. She seemed perfectly nice until Dimitri showed up. Now, she keeps throwing me these quick, sour glances. She tosses me one of these now, her mouth pursed as she looks me up and down.

“You’re going to have to do a money shot. You know what that is, right?” At my lost expression, she sighs. “It means he can’t cream pie you. He has to pull out and,” she makes a crude gesture, fist pumping, “bust on your face. In your mouth. On your tits. Whatever he’s feeling.”

I look away, feeling my face pale. “Oh.”

Augustine flicks a hand, all the bracelets on her wrists jangling around. “Just keep your eyes closed. Dicks aren’t precision instruments.”

I press my lips together. “Right.” I happen to already know a thing or three about this.

Something in the distance catches her attention and she cranes her neck, face twisted into outraged disbelief. “No fucking way,” she says under her breath. “What the hell did he do to—” Her words clip off, and she inhales, jaw setting. “Well, I don’t know what he did, but it must have been big.”

I frown at her. “Huh?”

“Either he has something on Daniel, or that boy just sold his soul.” She rolls her eyes toward the crowd. I don’t know what she’s referring to, but it looks like she’s trying very hard to not seem affected by it. “Either way, he showed up. That’s more than anyone’s ever done for me. Hell, or half the other girls in this place.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s time,” Augustine says, getting a signal from one of the crew. “I’d tell you to pretend like the cameras weren’t there, but that’d be terrible advice. You’re putting on a show. Give Daniel what he wants, or the payment will be worse than this.”

She pushes me with a hard shove, and I stumble through the curtain. The energy of the crowd immediately shifts, going from anticipatory to predatory. Augustine’s right. Not only does Daniel have expectations about what’s to happen, so does every man in this room.

I haltingly make my way toward the place Daniel had referred to as ‘the pit’.

That’s exactly what it is, too.

I have to walk down three steps to get into the sunken area that holds only a large bed, three cameras mounted to tripods, and a table with supplies. Condoms, lube, rags, toys. Futilely, I try to tug my skirt down.

One of the men shouts, “Yeah! Show us them titties, baby girl!” and I lock up, feeling like I might be sick.

Suddenly, my ears are filled with the sounds of loud, melodic rock music. From the corner of my eye, I see a figure join me on the platform, and I physically recoil. My throat tightens, fight-or-flight impulse kicking in. I can’t do this. I can’t bare myself in front of this pack of wolves. They’ll take me apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left for myself. I want to run, hide, scream.

But when I finally find it in me to look up, I don’t see a wolf.

I see Dimitri.

He’s standing by the bed with that impassive expression I now know is just a shield. He left here over twelve hours ago, but he came back. Must have, because I feel the heat of his eyes blazing toward me, and I can’t do anything but stare back at him, wide-eyed and frozen in shock. He’s changed, no longer in the soiled, blood-stained clothes from the night before, but a fresh black T-shirt, his leather jacket, and dark jeans. For a solitary heartbeat, I think he’s here to save me. To break me out. To take me away from this place and set me free.

But nothing’s ever been that easy, has it?

His muscles are coiled and tense, and the words Augustine just said echo in my ears.

He showed up. Sold his soul.

What has it cost him to be the one standing here?

We approach the foot of the bed from different sides. I try not to look at anything else. The white sheets, the two pillows. I hate that I think of Daniel’s words from before—the ones about my mom. The things she must have done, the men she must have let inside her in order to support me. She’d probably think little of something like this. Perhaps she’d tell me I should be grateful it’s only one man doing the fucking, and that it’s a man I know and am attracted to. A man who, just hours ago, I’d been down to do this with willingly.

I know it’s just a sick manipulation tactic on Daniel’s part, but god.

It’s effective.

When we reach the bed, separated by nothing but an arm’s length of hot, stuffy air, Dimitri slips off his leather jacket, tossing it up near the pillows. I watch him look at the bed, shoulders tight, and visibly gather himself. A lot like I’m doing. It’s hitting me that Dimitri has his own issues performing in front of a jeering crowd.

Issues that I’ve exploited before.

“Pop that cherry!” someone shouts from the crowd and all my bravado threatens to crumble. That’s when Dimitri turns toward me and cups my cheeks. All my questions about what he’s doing here and how this happened die before they ever make it to my tongue, stolen away by the strangeness of the cold plastic he’s pushing into my ears. Wireless earbuds, I realize. The sound of music fills my head, blocking out the crowd, the intrusion of the cameras, my own panicked thoughts. Instantly, I’m brought back to a safer place. A good place.

“I had all these plans…”

“Plans.”

“Yep. I had a playlist. Couldn’t let my Lady lose her virginity to shitty music, could I?”

I’m not losing my virginity in any traditional sense. This isn’t my first time with a man. But it is my first time with Dimitri, and despite Daniel’s comment about not being able to bill me as a virgin, it appears he tried, anyway. From the few taunts I’ve heard, it’s clearly what these rough men have paid for. Come and watch the sweet little North Side virgin get defiled by the dregs of a South Side thug.

He stares into my eyes as his hands slip away, and even in the face of everything happening around us, I manage a smile for him that’s small and vaguely agonized.

Thank you.

Taking a deep breath, I reach up to tug on the hem of his shirt—a question. He comes easily, curling forward to take my mouth in a testing kiss. I don’t know how it is for him, but for me, it’s a lot like being back in his bedroom once I close my eyes. The music is Dimitri to the core—sad and angry and frantic. I have this thought that, later, I want to ask him why he chose these songs.

Then I remember there won’t be a later.

After this, I’m leaving South Side.

I’m leaving Forsyth.

I’m leaving the Lords.

It gets easier then to slip into the lack of awareness of the surrounding crowd. Dimitri is solid and warm against me, spine bowed as he kisses me, his lip rings smooth against my tongue when it tangles with his.

I still flinch when his hand drags up the back of my thigh.

Dimitri pauses for the barest breath, but keeps going when I show no protest. It’s just that as he slides that palm up, grabbing my ass, I can feel the skirt going with it. I can feel that the other men are seeing.

He uses his grip there to turn me to the bed, guiding me to sit on the edge. When he pulls back, I chase his mouth, desperate to remain in the safety of the moment he’s helping me fabricate. When I open my eyes, he’s getting to his knees, both hands sweeping up my thighs. His dark eyes hold mine, tongue flicking out to fidget with the ring in his lip, and the look he’s giving me is saying volumes.

He’s asking me to be good.

He’s telling me it’s time.

He’s wondering if I’m ready.

Drawing in a breath, lean back on my palms and ease my thighs apart.

The corner of his mouth tugs upward.

I still close my eyes as he pushes up my skirt, because there’s no hiding here—not physically. His hands splay my thighs apart, and I know the entire room is getting a full, unobstructed view of the crotch of my panties.

My thighs twitch when I feel warmth, and then pressure, and then dampness against my center. I don’t need to open my eyes to know his mouth is there, tongue pressing right into my clit.

It’s the strangest thing.

I wouldn’t think I’d be able to feel any arousal here, among these loud, brash, disgusting men. But as soon as he touches me, I can feel the electricity building slowly at the base of my spine. He calls it up with the way his hands massage my thighs. A pointed tongue prodding me through spit-dampened cotton. Fingertips teasing at the elastic of my panties. A thumb tucking itself between me and the cotton, rubbing slowly over my folds.

I open my eyes to watch him then, to catch sight of his black demon gaze through the fringe of his lashes as he sucks me through my panties. The sight of him watching me back shoots a bolt right through my belly. The way I buck into his mouth is pure, animalistic instinct. His eyes fall closed on a groan that I can’t hear, but can acutely feel. It rumbles around my clit, pulling a sound from my chest.

He rears back to replace his mouth with a broad palm, giving my entire pussy a long, sweeping rub. I can’t entirely ignore the flashes of movement in my periphery, the leering men in the distance over Dimitri’s head. But god, I try.

When his hands come up to tug at the waist of my skirt, I struggle to be good. To let him drag the fabric down my thighs and over my knees. To lay there in my panties and feel whole and untouched by the gazes upon us.

It gets a lot easier when he returns to my mouth, tasting like fabric and my body’s response to him. His kisses are deep, bruising, as his hand works itself between my legs, wedged between our bodies. It seems nothing but natural when he shoves it inside my panties and runs his fingers along the places I’ve become slick for him.

When he sinks a finger into me, he pauses, his lips lingering against mine. It could be a tease—Dimitri likes to kiss that way, where it’s hard to tell if he’s coming or going—but I see it for the question he means it to be.

I answer by tucking my hands beneath his shirt, sweeping my palms along his smooth, toned back. He lets me drag it over his head before recapturing my lips.

I can’t hear what the men are saying, but I think I can feel his reactions to it when the kiss grows strained. When his finger twitches inside of me. When the muscles in his back go taut.

He pulls away, standing between my thighs at the end of the bed, and I can’t place the look in his eyes. It’s shuttered and empty and impossible to decipher. With no warning, he grabs the sides of my shirt and rips it open.

Instinctively, my arms fly over my chest, the panic spiking so fast that I don’t have time to bat it down, to push it away, to process the fact this was inevitable. These men are going to see me naked, whether I like it or not.

Dimitri pins me with his dark gaze, and then gently wraps his hands around my wrists and pries them away. It feels unutterably cruel, and for a second, I wonder who this is. Dimitri? Or Rath?

I don’t give him any resistance, but I do slam my eyes closed, desperate to get lost in the music again.

I feel his tongue before I feel his lips, it’s pointed, wet tip making a slithering loop around my peaked nipple. His hand slides up my ribs, cupping my breast in a palm as he sucks me. It’s not long before I’m arching my back into it, mouth parted with my increasingly shallow breaths. He eases my shirt away as his mouth assaults my breasts, switching from one to the other, pulling the fabric from my arms and discarding it elsewhere.

His hands grab my breasts and push them together, and it isn’t until he mouths at the skin between them that I open my eyes to watch.

To watch as his eyes flick up to mine.

To watch as he brushes a soft kiss over the ‘R’ he carved there.

To watch him say this isn’t Rath I’m dealing with.

“Because Dimitri never would have done that to you.”

It’s hardest when he shimmies my panties over my hips, sliding them down my thighs. I want to curl into myself, but he’s there to force me open, putting me on display. I understand why he’s doing it, but I still feel the sting of it.

The kindest thing he’s ever done is move down my body to bury his face between my thighs. I curl my hands into fists in the bedsheets. Dimitri—Rath—he’s always been exceptional at this, tongue exploring my folds and crevices, mouth closing around my clit as he flicks it.

I know the people want a show, but all I can do is gasp and twist the sheets as he works me, hands pushing my thighs wider and wider, until there’s a burn in my tendons, and I know the second he lifts his head, there’ll be no part of me hidden to the creatures beyond our bubble.

When he does, I just lay there, splayed out like a science experiment.

Let them see.

Let them see the way my toes curl when he reaches for the button on his jeans, flicking them open, tugging the zipper. Let them see the way my teeth sink into my bottom lip when he shoves them down and pulls out his hard, flushed cock. Let them see the way I rise to the sight of it, curling forward to take him into my mouth. Let them see it all. His fingers tangled in my hair as he grabs the base of his dick and pulls it from my mouth, only to feed it back to me. The way he holds me at a distance, making me strain for it, only to thrust it deep, leaving the taste of him on the back of my tongue.

Let them see the way he looks when he’s ready to fuck me.

He pushes me back, the knot in the back of his jaw taut and ticking as he crawls over me, dick in hand. It’s as he’s rubbing the head of it through my folds that I find my gaze unconsciously wandering. I lock eyes with a guy in the front row. He’s probably in his thirties, wearing a backward baseball cap, a hand down his pants as he watches me back, mouth curving into a sickening smirk. I try to look away—to look anywhere else—but instead I end up meeting another man’s gaze.

Daniel.

One of his arms is crossed, the hand of the other touching his chin as he watches me and Dimitri through sharp, penetrating eyes.

Dimitri must feel me seize up, because suddenly he’s wrenching my chin to the side, making me look at him. His lips move, but his jaw is too tight to read them. It doesn’t actually matter. I can tell by the flash of possessive fury in his eyes exactly what he’s saying.

Eyes on me, Cherry.

That’s exactly what I’m doing when he pushes inside, but it’d be impossible to look anywhere else as he slowly fills me, face hardening with every inch he sinks into me. My mouth falls agape, heels digging into the mattress as I rise to meet him. His back is tense under my fingertips, and for the first time, I wonder what he’s hearing. Are they going wild? Are they asking him to fuck me harder? To make it hurt?

If they are, he doesn’t listen.

He bottoms out and stalls there for a moment, uniting us into one heap of charged flesh, and then he pulls back and drives back inside.

It has no right to feel this good—not in this room with these sweaty perverts’ eyes boring down on us—but it does. I tip my hips up to him, an instinctual offering, and Dimitri takes it, planting his fists into the mattress to fuck into me with short, punching strokes.

But he doesn’t look satisfied.

Not until I wrap my legs around him.

It’s like science then. Like chemistry. He hovers his mouth on mine as his hips push into the cradle of my thighs. And it might not be the comforting safety of that bedroom that may or may not have ever existed, but there’s still comfort here. There’s still safety.

It’s not long before his mouth descends to my neck, sucking his mark into the skin as his muscles pull and shift, driving him into me at an increasingly punishing pace. It feels like it goes on forever, our skin growing slick with sweat, but the passage of time means nothing here.

Dimitri begins getting a little rougher, fingers digging into my flesh, teeth nipping at my skin, bones grinding against bones. I can’t tell if he’s lost in it or just reacting to the energy of the room, but I pant into his shoulder and watch his body move with intent—with purpose.

He’s trying to make it quick, I realize.

I card my fingers through his hair to soothe him, but it just drives him harder into me. When he lifts his head to take my mouth in a hard kiss, it knocks one earbud loose.

The sounds of the room come to me like a shock. There’s yelling and laughter and groans and breathing so heavy that I’m repulsed by the knowledge I’m sharing the air.

But there’s also Dimitri, voice shredded and deep as he pushes it into my mouth. He’s grunting, “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

It’s not that he’s fucking me, and I don’t think I can even credit the grinding rhythm of his pelvis into my clit. It’s the naked desperation in his voice—the knowledge that he wants my pleasure more than his own—that begins my climb. Something sharp and sweet and full of promise swells in my center, and I chase it, moving with him, heels digging into the curves of his firm ass.

I tear at his back, feeling just as desperate as him, and it has to hurt. It has to fucking burn, the way I’m dragging my nails down his shoulders. But the only response I get is a long, ragged groan as I frantically try to get him closer, to fold him inside of me and take.

The orgasm clutches at my belly and explodes outward, igniting in a million sparkling points of light. I throw my head back and keen as I shudder, falling apart beneath the mouth pressed to my throat.

“Dimitri…”

He answers with a strained, “Fuck,” and slams into me, rearing up to fix me with a fiery gaze. “Where?” he asks, teeth clenched tight. “Where do you want it, baby?”

Anywhere.

Everywhere.

I can’t bring myself to answer. I tip my face up to him instead, running my tongue along my bottom lip, and he instantly takes the cue.

He grabs the base of his dick and lurches up, pumping it in a tight fist. Before I can push up to take it, he’s kneeling over my chest, stripping his hardness with a fierce expression. When his hand tangles in my hair to lift my head—to position me for his come—I let my jaw fall open and extend my tongue in welcome, barely flinching when the first rope of spunk bursts from the tip.

He makes a frayed, guttural sound as another surge of come lands on my lips, and then he uses the head to push it inside, rubbing it on my tongue.

I know it’s over when the tight, corded muscles in his forearm ease. I still suck him clean, and the truth is, it’s not about the roar of voices or Daniel’s menacing gaze on us. I do it to drag it out a little longer, because something just transpired between us. And only us.

I’m not on this bed alone, and the sweaty man next to me sacrificed himself to keep me safe—whole. He couldn’t save me, but he rescued me when no one else could.

I don’t belong to Daniel, or the men in the audience, or the perverts at home.

I belong to the Lords.