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For the first time, I wonder if maybe I'm wrong in my arrogant belief that nothing could be worse than living with the Viper.
“Watch those teeth,” Ciaran snaps, his voice harsh and guttural, before he holds my head still and pushes his dick all the way to the back of my throat, gagging me, and effectively preventing me from biting. Not that I’d planned to, but I suppose it might be a justified reflex action.
I freeze, not daring to move despite the fear coursing through me and the light-headedness from having my breathing obstructed. My survival instincts kick in and I relax my gag reflex so I can breathe through my nose, allowing him to do what he will, another trick I’ve learned at the hands of the Viper. I hear him suck in a breath as his cock head bumps the back of my throat. My fingers flex on his muscled thighs, but my focus is on the knife as I feel it slide down my spine. It’s only when my dress loosens and falls away that I realize it’s the fabric being cut and not me.
There’s a murmur of voices, which builds like a wave behind me, and I know what they’re seeing, but there’s no time to think about it as Ciaran fists both hands into my hair and starts fucking my face in earnest.
Chapter Seven
CIARAN
She’s bold, this one, and I don’t mind silently admitting that Maricela shocks me with the stunt she pulled.
It took balls, that’s for sure. Enough to fire the lust in my veins before she ever put her hands and mouth on me.
I’m not in the habit of treating my captives like whores, but Maricela started this, and although I don’t get off on public fucking, I know my men well enough that if I’d pushed her away, one or more of them would have sought to take advantage. While I don’t condone that kind of behavior towards women in general, there’s no way this snip of a girl, an interloper from an organization we’re on the brink of war with, is going to undermine me in front of those who are loyal to me. Respect is hard won in this life, and something I aim to keep.
The irony here is it’s better for her if I take advantage of what she’s offering and allow the men to think she’s a substitute for what’s been stolen from us.
Especially with Orla having kin amongst them.
I’m not gentle with Maricela, that’s for sure. I don’t think on it too hard, but I’m aware there’s a part of me that’s punishing her. The same part that passed Callum the knife and bid him to cut off her wedding gown. Maricela is too bold for her own good.
But old Paddy’s right in that respect. My Ma would turn in her grave at the prospect of this bride-to-be, on her knees in all her marriage finery, with my dick in her mouth. God rest her soul. And as much of an asshole as I am, there are still lines I prefer not to cross. That’s not to say I won’t, more that I’ll skirt them if at all possible.
As much as I expect her to pull back or tap out at my rough treatment, Maricela appears equally determined to prove me wrong. I’m not sure what’s going on in her pretty little head, but then again, I’ve sure as hell never understood any woman, so I’m not sure it matters.
Her lips suction around my shaft despite the drool dripping down her chin and onto her heaving chest, which is prettily encased in virginal white lace, making a mockery of what’s taking place here. It’s also at odds with the fear I recognized in her eyes moments before. But there was determination there too. Whatever else might happen, she wants to own this. I admire the trait more than I want to admit.
In the privacy of my own bedroom, I would have prolonged things, but given the circumstances, I get myself off as quickly as I can. I feel my balls tighten, but I don’t warn her when I’m about to come. Instead, I close my eyes and shoot my load down the back of her throat, feeling it convulse around me as she chokes around my straining girth.
When I’m done, I pull out and tuck myself away, leaving Maricela on her knees. She grabs a handful of her shredded gown to wipe away the cum and drool dribbling from her swollen mouth.
Before I can say any more or think about what to do with her, there’s a commotion at the back of the room, and the only woman who will ever get away with speaking up in a situation like this comes barreling towards us.
“Janey Mack! What in the name of the good Lord have I walked into?” My sister Róisín’s voice rings out above the babble of chatter in the room. Following close behind is her friend, Emylyah.
Both look truly horrified as they survey the scene before them, and I know it must look a hell of a lot worse than it is.
“Did you do this, Ciaran?” Róisín’s tone is shocked and ripe with disbelief as she waves a shaking hand towards Maricela. “You beat and debased this woman in restitution for Orla?”
She’s careful enough with her words. She knows better than to compromise my leadership in front of my men, no matter how blunt she might be in private. The truth is, although there was no love lost between her and Orla, what happened to the other girl made Róisín sick to her stomach and as out for blood as the rest of us. Still, unlike the others, I know my sister well enough to decipher the subtle disapproval in her tone as she references Maricela, even if I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.
Callum whispers in my ear, and my eyes narrow on Maricela before I pull her sharply to her feet and spin her around. The motion is so swift and unexpected, she almost stumbles. Her dainty feet in their sparkly heels are still entangled in the frothy layers of the dress puddled around her ankles, but my iron grip on her arm keeps her from falling.
I know the expression on my face is unreadable, no matter how I feel underneath, as I observe the welts and bruises, both new and old, marring Maricela’s beautiful skin. On her side, there’s a dressing where blood has seeped through in a perfectly round shape, which has enough anger bubbling in my gut that the fisted knuckles on my free hand turn white. I’ve seen enough cigar burns in my time to know exactly what they look like.
Róisín is close enough to observe the subtle movement and her eyes widen, though I thought she knew me better than to think I’d do something like this. But I can tell she’s floundering right now, her own bitter memories no doubt bubbling to the surface.
Pulling off her jacket, Róisín throws it around Maricela’s shoulders, and I can see her grit her teeth as she turns back to the men. “Okay, the show’s over, you randy bunch of reprobates. You’ve had your fun and Orla’s memory has been avenged. Now it looks like I have a bloody prisoner to babysit, so move along and let me get to it."
She might have tried to sound dismissive, injecting some indignation into her tone, but there’s genuine sympathy for Maricela underlying the surface condescension in her voice, and I feel my throat tighten. Róisín is the single, only woman who has ever had the ability to wrap me around her little finger, and my protection of her knows no bounds… no matter how irritating she can be in an irreverent, baby sister kind of way. But I’m glad she’s here because truth be known I've no idea what to do with Maricela from here on out.
The room clears slowly as the men take their time to disperse, talking amongst themselves. The mood is somber, and their faces reflect what’s occurred on this day.
Róisín leads Maricela from the room like that was the plan all along, Emylyah tagging along beside them, and I signal to Liam, as my protective instincts kick in. “Go after them, and make sure Róisín is safe,” I tell him, nodding in my sister’s direction. “I want you to keep a close eye on Maricela. I don’t want her trying anything stupid.”
Liam nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep her in line.”
