CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ares
Ifinish patching upmy brother and take the bottle of vodka from his hand. He passed out on the kitchen table about twenty minutes ago. Pussy.
I swig from the bottle and study his inert frame. I could have killed my twin tonight.I would have killed him. If he’d held that glass to her throat a second longer, I’d have riddled him with bullets and not thought twice about it.
My entire life I’ve been afraid of only two things: my father, and Yegor Vladik. But my fear of both of those men never came close to the terror I felt seeing my brother press a shard of glass to Pet’s jugular as blood trickled from her flesh. I could have fired off a whole round of bullets into my brother and still never been fast enough to save her.
My feelings for Pet are out of control.
I am out of control.
I want to protect her, save her. I want to punish her for making me this way, for forcing my hand and setting her free when it meant losing the only chance I had to save Athena.
I set the bottle on the counter, and switch off the light before heading up the stairs. In the morning, Rosa and her staff will have one hell of a mess to clean up.
When I open the door, I find Pet kneeling on the rug in the middle of my room. She’s naked, presenting, and she’s fucking glorious.
I inhale slowly through my nose and head to the her side. Each step is slow and measured, deliberately drawn out just to torture her. “Who told you to strip naked and present yourself to me?”
“You did, Sir.”
“Did I?” I frown in consternation. “I don’t remember this conversation, little one.”
“You said that I should go upstairs and wait for you.”
“I meant wait for me in bed.”
Her doe eyes glance up at me, wide and innocent. This little bitch is playing me for everything I’ve got, but I don’t care. I’ll bite, take the bait, and I’ll fall for it hook, line, and sinker because this girl caught me long before I ever stole her.
“Are you displeased with me, Sir?” she asks.
“No, Pet. As nice as it is to see you so eager to please, I need to tend to your wound first.” I take hold of her chin and tilt her head back, inspecting the cut. It’s only a scratch, but one worth looking at closer. “On your feet, in the bathroom, and don’t argue with me.”
“I would never dream of it, Sir.”
I give a dark chuckle. “Liar.”
She rises and heads to the bathroom. It’s a huge space. Almost as big as the bedroom. I knocked out a closet when I bought the house to make it so. There’s a double shower with a bench seat, and a Tantra couch with solid metal rings for rigging embedded in the wall and the ceiling, because you can never have too many places to suspend a naked body from. There’s a huge claw-foot tub in the corner under a window that looks out on all of San Miguel.
I sit her down on the couch, and she lies back, stretching out on the rich, dark leather.
“Why do you have a lounger in your bathroom?”
I smile down at her, and pull her to the edge of the seat, then I spread her legs. I move between them and slip my hand around her throat. She’s at exactly the right height to suck me off, and as she stares up at me with those knowing doe eyes, I grow hard again.
Pet leans forward and presses a light kiss to my dick. I release her throat and push her back on the chair, so she’s lying down. I can see the pulse jumping rapidly in her neck as I spread her thighs wider and stare down at her cunt. Her arousal glistens in the soft glow of the bathroom light, and I get down on my knees.Not a vantage point she’s used to having over me.
She props herself up on her elbows, and stares with a curious expression. I grab hold of her thighs and drag her down the seat until her back is bowed with the natural arch of the couch, her tits thrust up, and her chest rising and falling rapidly with each wanton breath. I lower my head to her pussy and lick. She gasps. I bury my face, thrust my tongue in her needy little hole, and seal my mouth over her.
My Pet writhes. I slip one hand around her ankle and buckle the restraints. Then I move and grab her hands, fastening them both to the leather cuffs by the side of the chair. She looks up at me with that needy come-fuck-me gaze, and I laugh, rise, and walk to the sink, licking her juices off my lips. I wipe my chin with the back of my hand and taste that too, because she’s too perfect to waste a single drop.
“What are you doing?”
“Forcing your ass to sit still while I tend to that scratch”—I infuse as much sarcasm as I can into the word—“on your neck.”
She huffs impatiently.