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The notification lights up to reveal a new message from Ky.
It’s a video attachment.
And the thumbnail on the screen is unmistakably a side-angle of my bare tits covered in his cum.
20
Plunging beneath the water, I allow myself to get lost in that glorious weightless feeling. A sanctuary where my skin is caressed by a fine layer of minuscule bubbles; silence entombs me as I glide beneath the surface. Nothing quite compares to the sensation of being wrapped up in the quiet, buoyant embrace of the pool.
It’s why I spend most of my days out here.
Not to mention that the place is a stunning tropical greenhouse, even though we’re on a windswept peninsula and the world outside seems permanently shrouded in gray at this time of year. The summers in Port Macabre get stiflingly hot, but for now, it’s autumn, and the forest is preparing to be claimed by winter’s icy talons.
Much like I’m mentally preparing for the Pledging ceremony.
I don’t care about having sex with multiple men. Nor do I care about being watched while enjoying sex. In fact, both of those things are sitting very high on my list of dream scenarios, considering my current situation in life and the three infuriatingly handsome men I’m forced to cohabit with.
But what sends my stomach curdling and a sick feeling running down my spine is the Anguis. Their archaic rituals and methods of controlling women and the twisted fascination they have with owning another human being like cattle.
Their customs and my father’s empire are grotesque.
Pledging ceremonies and inspections fall amidst the archaic, ritualistic nonsense of a group like the Anguis. Perpetuating legacies of ownership and control of women in the elite Households. The kinds of practices passed down from days of kings, queens, and oligarchs. Women in positions of power who were forced to have witnesses to confirm their first fuck, and to give birth on a platform in front of a council to ensure the baby—and a bloodline—was not swapped at birth.
Stupidly, I believed these sorts of things were no longer used, even within the folds of this secretive world.
I don’t want that to be my life, and yet these men are intent on forcing me to live through everything my father stood for.
How can I reconcile hating them for what they’re putting me through while at the same time being intensely attracted to them?
When we’re here at the compound, I am almost tempted to forget who they are and what they are entangled in as part of their secretive society. However, there’s no forgetting. And I would be a fool to think for one second they care about anything more than revenge on my father or getting their dick wet. Or, as Thorne has made abundantly clear, he doesn’t even consider me worthy of the latter.
Ky, on the other hand, is now a very present force in my daily life. Ever since our moment two nights ago, he’s inserted himself in every way that he can until I can’t turn around without him being there. If he isn’t dragging me to the gym, he’s texting me and flirting relentlessly, or he’s like a shadow watching me from his spot on one of the stools in the kitchen. Not that I am complaining. A shirtless Nordic surfer god is anything but a hardship to endure being around.
But other than doing his best to make me blush, he doesn’t make a move.
Heated looks and wicked grins are thrown my way, but only ever from a distance.
Unless he’s showing me things related to learning self-defense, Ky doesn’t touch me. I still can’t figure out what he meant the other night when he said that he’s not supposed to.
He obviously did the night he snuck into my room, but I guess shooting cum all over my tits maybe doesn’t count. He didn’t actually touch me, technically speaking, in amongst our dirty little moment together.
Jesus, every time I think about what he did—what we both did—I’m a horny, flustered mess. I’ve watched the video he took at least a hundred times. While at first, I was spitting mad that he’d recorded me without my permission, I can’t deny that it’s filthy and degrading and turns me all the way the fuck on.
I bite my lip as I reach the far end of the pool. Has he replayed it, too?
An even dirtier thought crosses my mind. Did he send it to the others to watch?
Just allowing that door to crack open a fraction in my devious brain—imagining Thorne or Raven watching that video and wondering whether they might like what they see—sends a throb straight to my clit.
Throwing my head back with a frustrated growl, I let my body fall beneath the surface. Taking my sex-crazed mind and dunking her underwater.
That bitch needs to cool the hell down.
This meeting is dull as fuck.
Tell me what book you’re reading.
And what color panties you’re wearing.
