Why, though? It doesn’t make sense.
Someone like Marcus DeAngelis doesn’t make mistakes, especially ones like leaving a fucking knife for his kidnappee. I mean, it’s not like I’ll be able to use it properly or inflict any real harm. I have no training, and even if I did, I’ve seen the brothers in action. Their reflexes are way too fast. I’d be a joke to them, but I’m not going to lie, its presence in this fucked-up little torture chamber goes a long way in giving me just a sliver of hope. More than that, the remaining blood that lingers on the blade from Marcus’ palm, only fuels my need to make him bleed. No matter what I have to do, this knife will spill more of his blood.
I drop down onto the bed and my pussy throbs, reminding me that I’m going to be feeling Marcus for days to come, but that’s to be expected after being so thoroughly fucked. Marcus is the most unhinged out of the three and if that’s how he fucks, I can only imagine what Roman or Levi would be like.
Roman would be put together. His plan for how he takes me would be carefully thought out. He’ll know exactly what position he wants me in and exactly how to work my body to get me off as proficiently as possible. Though, he’s probably screwed so bad in the head that he’d be all about just getting himself off and leaving me feeling used and abused with the worst case of blue bean known to womankind. Levi though, he’d be the ‘go with the flow’ type. He’d fuck me every which way until we were both spent on the fucking floor and forgetting that I’m supposed to be kidnapped. It’d be hard and angry, there’s no denying it.
All three of them would be magical in their own unique way, but there’s no doubt about it that all of them would come with a fierce, relentless passion, not stopping until the job is thoroughly done, which thanks to Marcus, I’m only now realizing how damn good that can be. God, their depraved little dark souls could take me on the ride of a lifetime.
Fuck. Don’t go there. That’s murky waters, and a bitch like me will likely drown. Assuming one of the brothers’ hands aren’t already wrapped around my throat and holding me under.
My knees come right up into my chest as I lean back against the stone wall of my torture chamber, though I suppose I have to stop calling it that now. What I just experienced was anything but torture. Well, kinda. I don’t really know what that was. It’s not like he was sweet and compassionate about the whole thing. He was going to fuck me whether I was screaming or moaning and he wasn’t going to relent until I shattered around his thick cock.
The knife rests between my fingers and I carefully spin it, studying its sleek curve and the impressive matte blade. I’ve never seen anything like it. I haven’t really seen many regular ones either, but this one … there’s just something so sleek about it. It’s almost like it was a gift from Marcus, but that couldn’t be right. Thinking like that is only going to get me in trouble.
Minutes turn into hours and my back is just starting to ache against the hard stone wall when the heavy metal door is barged open. A loud gasp tears from deep within my throat as I throw my hand down beside me, quickly burying the knife within my sheets.
Roman DeAngelis stands before me and I find myself shrinking back against the wall. Every time I see him, it’s like a slap in the face. He’s larger than life in the worst possible way. Everything about him screams for me to run, and that scar that cuts straight through his brow and down over his cheekbone warns me that he’s no quitter.
I hold my breath and watch as his gaze shifts over me with a calculated curiosity, the door hanging wide between us. His stare falls to my hand beside my thigh and without a damn word passing between us, I can tell that he knows.
He holds a silver tray and my stomach growls with hunger, hoping to whoever exists above that whatever is on that tray is some sort of food. It’s been two days. My stomach is as empty as it comes and after racing through this fucked-up castle and having Marcus put me through an intense workout, food has been all I’ve been able to think about for hours.
Roman doesn’t move away from the door and the more he seems to stare, the smaller I feel. His gaze shifts to the shredded silk on the floor, my torn panties, and the black shirt discarded in the corner of the room. Anger pulses in his dark eyes as they come back to meet mine. “Which one?” he demands.