He almost laughed at his brother’s bravado, but he knew laughing would push him too far… so he held it back. Not exactly a challenge since his laughter was supposedly never right, even when he was sincerely entertained by Marcus’ ridiculous bluster.
There were other ways to leverage the particular proclivities that his only sibling possessed. Perhaps the girl would respond to him, but Anthony had watched her maintain her stubbornness through agony and he held no concerns that a series of forced orgasms would cripple her defenses.
“You think you can break her? Get her to call you Master?” He dangled the temptation before his brother’s ego, and smiled as Marcus took the bait.
“Of course! That’s what I’ve been telling you—”
“Then we will see when you arrive. Let’s make a wager of it.”
“Fuck off,” Marcus growled. “I don’t want—”
“If you don’t think you can make her submit, then you may as well stay up there and monitor your house.” Anthony glanced at the time on the microwave, calculating how long the chicken had been resting, and then he moved to the pantry to pluck another can of soup from the shelf.
Tomato. How fitting. He was having tomatoes this evening as well.
“What kind of wager?” Marcus asked, and he reveled in the moment where the hook caught and his brother became just another one of his toys. Almost thirty years together and the man still hadn’t learned.
“Oh, nothing much…” He poured the tomato soup into a pot, heating it atop the stove, occasionally stirring it as he outlined the details of the bet. Before he was even done, he knew Marcus would accept.
He always did.
His failure would be almost as entertaining as the girl’s desolation if she managed to orgasm. Another crack in her willpower, something new for him to leverage as he spoke with her — it would almost make things easier if Marcus managed to give her pleasure. A new level of torment, a new low for her.
But she would never use the title with him.
It would take so much more pain for the girl to say Master and mean it.
“You’re serious?” Marcus asked, his interest clear.
“Of course. Do you accept the terms?” Anthony poured the soup out of the pot, directly into a wide bowl. On a whim, he went to the pantry and returned with oyster crackers, adding a small handful of them to the tray where her meal cooled. A gift.
“Fine. Yes. I accept, and I’m about to leave. I’ll be there tonight.”
“Alright.” Smiling, Anthony lifted the foil on his chicken and sighed. He’d need to take her down from the ropes, and watch her eat, which would take time. Tucking the tray of stuffed tomatoes and the pan of chicken into the still warm oven, he turned the heat on low. “Where would you like her?”
“The bedroom.”
“Of course,” he acknowledged, expecting nothing less from him.
“Don’t do anything else to her before I get there.” Was that nervousness in Marcus’ tone? Anger? Either one was equally entertaining. He was already second-guessing his decision.
Too late.
“I will take her down from the ropes, feed her, and put her to bed. Then we will see what you can do with her.”
“Good. I’m on my way,” Marcus snapped. The sounds of him moving things on the other end of the line were loud, irritating.
“Then I shall see you soon.” Ending the call, Anthony glanced at the tray of food and decided that a sugar spike would make things all the more entertaining. Pouring juice into a glass, he arranged it and glanced at her twitching form in the ropes again.
The time she’d spent suspended in bondage would leave her sore, but not too damaged. She would be confused by his actions in taking her down without further punishment, even more thrown off by the food and drink. Settling her into the soft bed without fucking her was going to set the girl on edge.
She would be waiting for something violent, something terrible. A fresh torture.
And then Marcus would arrive to use her.
It was perfect.
9