Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
I push my body down on top of hers and slam my cock into her. “Your tight cunt is soaking wet for me now.” She sucks in a deep breath through her nose, rambling unintelligible shit from her mouth that my hand covers. I reposition my hand so that my pointer finger and thumb pinch her nose closed, taking away her air. The action makes her pussy contract. “It’s like old times.” I go on, pulling out and slamming forward. Fuck, she’s so tight, and the thought of all the men she’s fucked over the past few years makes me want to beat her fucking ass with my belt to the point she can’t sit for a week. “You tied to my bed while I make you my dirty little whore.”
Tears run down her face as she tries to look at me out of the corner of her eye. I lean in, unable to stop myself, and kiss the side of her face, tasting the salt from them. I moan, “Have you missed me?”
She nods her head the best she can, blinking. I give a rough laugh, knowing we’re both lying to one another just about different things.
I push into her, and her head shakes, trying to dislodge my hand from her face. It’s not happening. I continue my hard thrusts, the headboard hitting the wall each time followed by her muffled screams and cries. Her hands fist as she pulls on the chains that are connected to the leather cuffs, needing to escape.
Her eyes are getting heavy though due to the pain pills she took and the lack of oxygen from my hand. “You’re about to pass out, sweetheart.” She blinks, and this time it takes her wet lashes longer to flutter open. “You were out when I started fucking you, and you’ll be out when I’m done with you.”
I slam forward, burying my dick into her soaked cunt, and hold it there. One hand on her face, the other on the opposite side of her head, and I watch her fight to breathe. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous, sweetheart,” I say in awe. My hand is slick from tears, snot, and drool.
Her body softens under me. “That’s it,” I coo, watching her hands unclench. “Such a good girl.”
She’s always been the girl of my dreams-the one I wanted and needed. “Get some rest, sweetheart,” I say as her eyes fall closed. This time, they don’t open, and her body goes slack beneath me.
I wait another second and release my hand from her mouth and nose. I gently lay the side of her face down onto the bed, sit up, grab her hips, and finish what I came in here to do.
FORTY-ONE
ASHTYN
I wake up, a groan escaping my lips as I roll over and bury my face into the soft cool pillow. I’m so tired. It’s the pills. They linger in my system, making my head foggy and body sluggish.
What the fuck had Jessie given me? I hallucinated last night. Or dreamed it. Either way, it felt so real. Saint was there, hovering over my restrained body. His hand over my mouth and nose while he fucked me in the most delicious way.
My hands instinctively go to my lips, and I wipe the drool off. Looking up from the pillow, I catch sight of two leather cuffs on the bed, and my pulse begins to race. Sitting up, I pull my knees up and under me as I face the headboard. I shove the multiple pillows to the floor. I pick up the chains that connect to the leather restraints and yank on them, but there’s no give. I lean over, feeling down between the bed and headboard, and find the chains connected to the bedframe.
It was real. Of course, it was. I should have known. The pills I swallowed wouldn’t have made me sore between my legs. Only Saint has that effect on my body.
He left them here. Saint wanted me to see them. A reminder that it wasn’t a dream. That I’m in his hell and that he has control of me. I used to love that, and he knows it. We tried it one weekend when my mom was out of town, and I was obsessed. I loved the feeling of waking up and knowing he had used me. I submitted to him in any way that I could. It was even better when I woke up with my ass red from his hand and my body sore from how rough he’d gotten.
I fall onto the bed, my head now by the footboard, and I realize something is between my legs. Propping myself up on my elbows, I look, and it’s a white-crusted substance-cum-all over my pelvic bone and inner thighs.
“Fuck him…” My hands go to my face and push the wild hair back. I blink rapidly, my eyes sensitive to the harsh light that filters in through the double doors that lead out to the balcony. I never closed them last night after I had dinner.
“Fuck.” What time is it? I have no cell phone. Shocker. Only a clock in my room hangs on the wall. It’s large and loud as it slowly ticks by the seconds. Time doesn’t matter when you’re a prisoner. At least I get conjugal visits. Silver lining.
* * *
I took my time getting ready, mainly because I didn’t have the strength to move any faster. The bathroom was fully stocked with all of my things. I highly doubt they packed up my stuff and had everything moved. I’m sure they’ve been watching me for weeks, months even, and they’ve been in my house. They just bought all new and had everything prepared for my arrival. None of it had been used before. That sounds better than the voice in the back of my head that was shouting Saint knows you. What you like and choose to use.
I won’t lie; I am pretty predictable. The only thing that changed in my life was him no longer being in it and the hole in my chest that was left behind from losing everything.
Once finished in the bathroom, I walk back into the bedroom to find a robe on the end of my now made bed. Someone was in here while I was in the shower. I’m not surprised. You’re never alone here at Carnage. Someone is always watching. I know that from experience. I bet there are cameras all over this room and the bathroom. Hell, they probably have them in the closet.
They’re probably watching me right now.
I can’t help but notice the leather cuffs are gone. They were connected to the bed, so I’m sure they just shoved them back down between the headboard and the wall.
I walk over to the robe, and my tongue feels heavy. This is what they want me to wear? Again, no surprise. Saint wasn’t wrong. Carnage is hell, a place where people come to die. They don’t allow privacy in a place like that, and I hate how excited I am at the thought of him wanting to chain me up and make me his.
I’ve been dead for years. So no one will be looking for me here. Or anywhere. Other than the dancers at Glass. But let’s face it, the two years I’ve worked there, girls have come and gone quicker than the weather can change.
No one will ever think of me again. I have no cell, no dignity. Just my body and the three numbers branded on my skin to remind me that I’m a slave to the Spade brothers until the day I die. Saint will own me.
Wrapping the thick black robe around me, I tighten the sash high on my waist as if it can save me from them. I open the bedroom door to find a man standing outside it. They’ve given me a guard. Afraid I’ll try to escape again. I could never get as lucky as I was last time. I had help then, and my freedom was short-lived. I won’t try again, mainly because I won’t kill them. I may hate them now, but they were once all I had. I was a coward, and I’m no longer that person.
The man grabs my robe, yanking on it to pull me forward. Once I pass him, he hits my back, shoving me once again, and I stumble but manage to stay standing. “Quit touching me,” I turn and yell at him.
He slaps me across the face. I’ve been hit harder before, but it knocks me into the wall, and I fall to my knees in the hallway. The lingering drugs make me sluggish and weaker than I’d normally be. I catch sight of a Lords ring on his right finger, and I reach up to touch my cheek to make sure it didn’t cut me.
“Fuck you, bitch.” He laughs. “No one here gives a shit about you. You’re here to be nothing more than a fuck-toy for the brothers. And believe me when I say anyone is allowed to have their piece.”
A part of me doesn’t want to believe him. Saint sharing me with Kashton and Haidyn? Now that I believe, but just anyone…? I refuse to think that’s a possibility. But I also know that I no longer mean to him what I once did. I can’t blame him. He loved me, and I shot him, then left him for dead.
I swallow the knot in my throat and get to my knees, my vision a little blurry from his hand to my cheek. I get to my wobbly legs, and he grips my hair, yanking me forward, and I cry out at the sting of my head and the jerk of my neck.
A door to my left opens, and I’m yanked back off my feet and shoved to the floor once again. “Fuck…” I groan, sitting up.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a voice snaps.
“I was told to deliver her to your office,” the man assigned to be my babysitter answers in a rush.
I look up, rubbing the back of my neck just in time to see Haidyn grab the guy’s hand in one of his and squeezes it. The man falls to his knees, and I hear bones snap like twigs. “Deliver her, not beat her,” he growls.
My breathing accelerates as a set of blue eyes meets mine. Haidyn Jamison Reeves is by far the biggest of the three Spade brothers. He stands six-foot-seven and is built like a fucking house. He’s always had anger issues and chose to take them out on other men. He used to spend all of his time in the gym.
But I’ve seen him be the softest teddy bear out of the bunch. He’s a complicated man. Of course, that was the old him. I have a feeling the Spade brothers have all changed just as much as I have over the past few years.
The fact he’s covered in ink like the other two and has a nose ring proves my point. He’s got a pair of black sweatpants on, and that’s it. They rest low on his narrow hips, and he’s just as chiseled as I remember with his defined V and abs.
The guy on his knees continues to scream into the hall, and I cover my ears, pushing my back into the wall.
Haidyn’s eyes drop to my robe, and I realize it’s open. I quickly grab it and pull it closed. He looks away to glare at my babysitter. “Take her to the office and don’t fucking touch her, or I’ll break both of your fucking hands. It’ll be hard to jack yourself off without them.” With that, he releases his hand and steps into the room, slamming the door shut so hard it makes me flinch.
The man gets to his feet, cradling his now broken hand. A bone sticks out of his pinky, and his finger is already turning colors. “Get the fuck up,” he growls through gritted teeth.
I get to my feet, and this time, the guy walks in front of me. We enter the elevator at the end of the hall, and he turns to face me when the doors slide shut. I push my back into the mirrored wall as he glares down at me, but I don’t miss the sheen in his eyes. He’s trying everything he can not to cry.
I wrap my arms around myself, and he gives a rough laugh. “Once my hand heals, I’m going to fucking break your neck with it.”
I step into him, my chest hitting his. “Good luck with that.” I give him a sweet, fuck-you smile. After what Haidyn just did, I know that no one at Carnage will touch me. Because if Haidyn protects me, all of the brothers will protect me, and they run this bitch.
“You won’t be smiling when you’re trying to breathe while I’m raping you, you piece of shit trash. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you until after I come all over your fake tits.”
My stomach drops at his words, and he sees it because the smile he gives me raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
The elevator dings as it comes to a stop, and he spins around to walk off. I follow him slowly, my feet heavy. His words getting to me more than they should. Carnage is a big place, a city of its own, and I have to remind myself that the Carnage I left behind might not be the Carnage that it is today. It was evil then, and I’m sure it’s even more so now.
He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, glaring at me. I walk into the room, and my pulse begins to race as I see Saint sitting behind a large black wooden desk. He doesn’t even bother looking up. He’s bent over, a pen in one hand, his cell to his ear.
The man who delivered me clears his throat, and I turn around to see him walk out, shutting the door. I don’t miss the fact that he’s got his broken hand behind his back. He obviously doesn’t want Saint or Kashton asking any questions. Then he’d have to explain what he did to me.
I hope he runs to his room and cries like a baby.
When I turn back to face the office, my breath catches when I see Saint standing in front of me. He holds out his right fist, and I stare at it. His left hand reaches out, grabs mine, and holds open my hand as he opens his to drop a ponytail into it.