My drink is a cocktail? I thought they were supposed to be yummy. This is far from tasty.
I grow worried I said my comment out loud when the dark-haired man laughs like he heard my private thoughts. “Eight is a shit mixer. How about I fetch you something more appetizing?”
After inching back far enough, his hand falls from my face, I shake my head then place my barely-touched drink onto the coffee table. Seemingly incapable of understanding the word no, the man snatches up my glass before he moseys to a bar in the corner of the room to mix me a new drink.
Although panicked about how my rudeness will be handled, I’ve had enough of the festivities to risk being punished. When the group breaks into rapacious laughter about Nero saying balls should be excluded in measurements, I slip off my seat and tiptoe away from them. I’m not here to make friends. I need to find Ana and then the closest exit before the unexpected attention has me forgetting I’m no more important than the women imprisoned in a room at the back of this compound.
I’m no one.
I almost make it to the corridor that leads to the dormitory the women are in when a dripping-wet body blocks my exit. Since my eyes are planted on the ground, it doesn’t take me long to realize the person confronting me is naked. Although his cock is flaccid, it’s still large enough for me to know it won’t matter how gentle he is, you’ll hurt for days after sleeping with him.
“Where are you going, K?” His possessive tone gives away who he is, much less his British accent. “Don’t you want to party with your new friends anymore? Eight seems willing to lose another finger for you, and Logan only mixes drinks for the girls he wants to fuck, so why aren’t you taking advantage of their generosity?” The bad slur of his words reveals his level of intoxication, and don’t get me started on his massively dilated eyes, or we will be here all night. He isn’t just drunk, he’s drugged as well. “You trust them enough not to check if your drink was spiked, so why are you running as if you’re scared of them?”
When awareness on what his anger centers around smacks into me, I roll my eyes before attempting to sidestep him. His annoyed sneer makes it obvious he believes he didn’t get adequate payment for the meal he provided me, and his jealousy is doubling the obviousness. He’s acting as immature as Vladimir did anytime his guests went over their allotted timeslots. Instead of taking his annoyance out on those responsible, Vladimir punished the women like they purposely deceived him. We barely knew if it was day or night, so how were we to know his guest’s time was up?
Instead of letting me leave without making a scene, Trey crowds me against the outer wall of the west wing. “I asked you a question, K, and I’m not letting you leave until you answer me.”
He steps closer and closer and closer until the visual of his rapidly thickening cock is pinched from my sight. Instead, it pokes me in the stomach, stealing the last snippet of my sanity. The silver ends of the barbells partway down his shaft feel cool against my roasting body temperature, and the tattoos accentuating his cock makes it more attractive than ugly.
I’ve never seen a penis and thought it was sexy. They usually make my stomach flip in repulsion, especially the ones I’ve seen the past ten weeks, but Trey’s isn’t close to ugly. It actually makes me feel desired, which is ridiculous considering how hard he’s snarling at me.
“You trust Eight enough to drink from a glass not prepared in front of you, but you don’t trust me to shower and take care of you. What the fuck is that about, K? What did I ever do to deserve your distrust?”
I stare at him as if he’s absurd. I don’t trust anyone, much less men I don’t know.
Incapable of standing the heat of his wrath for a second longer, I stray my eyes to the other side of the room. Our charade has gained us an audience. Not a peep projects across the room because everyone, even the women Trey was entertaining before he chased me down, are staring at us with amusement slashed across their faces.
That hurts more than the clutch Trey places on my face to coerce my eyes back to his. “Don’t worry about them. They’re nobodies. Your focus should be on me, K. It shouldalwaysbe on me.”
When I give in to his silent demand, his cock digs into me deeper, making me hot all over. It’s like he gets off on having my undivided attention. I have no clue why. The women pining over his return are far more attractive than me. They also don’t seem like the type to blank out during intimacy. I’m a sex slave with no identity whatsoever. There’s nothing in my file but a sales docket number. That’s how worthless I am.
I am a nothing.
A whore.
A woman not worthy ofanyman, let alone one who looks at me like I haven’t been chewed up and spat out more times than she can count.
With his head slanted and his pupils massive, Trey says, “Tell me why you trust them more than me, K, then maybe I’ll go easy on them when I show them what happens to insolent men who disregard my direct order.” I want to tell him his jealousy is unwarranted, but before I can, he continues talking, stopping me, “Is it because I choked you? Are you mad I thought you wanted to be freed from the madness? I was trying to save you from additional harm, K. I wouldn’t have if you had given me any indication you wanted to live.”
As my lungs struggle to fill with air, my hand darts up to caress my neck. Is he the reason for its extra thump of agony? Did he try to kill me? If so, why is he acting irrational now? If he wants me dead, he shouldn’t care whose cup I drink from. He should be grateful they took up the slack his failed attempt to murder me bogged him down with, then he’d be free to get back to his bevy of beauties without burden.
Some of the anger making me want to slap him hard across the face weakens when he mutters, “I didn’t do it to hurt you, K. I thought I was helping you.” There’s a truth in his eyes I can’t ignore. He either truly thought he was saving me or he’s a narcissist. I don’t know which I prefer. They’re both confronting in their own right. “Are you mad at me, K? Do you want to hurt me?”
When he fills the minute gap of air between us with his impressively large frame, I’m torn between wanting to gouge out his eyes, blacking out, or kissing him. My latter thought is the most ludicrous of them all. Not even his wiry beard can hide the lipstick smears on his mouth. However, I’m more disappointed the stains weren’t put there by me than recalling there’s more than one set of colors.
God, this country has made me mental.
A sensation I haven’t felt in years pumps through me when I attempt to wiggle free from Trey’s clutch for the second time this evening. It’s hot and knee-knocking and has me hoping I may not be as broken as believed. Although it’s been a while, I’m reasonably sure the warmth heating my veins is desire.
It grows more rampant when Trey angles his head to better align our lips. “You’re not angry at me, are you, Duchess? You want me to kiss you? To make you mine?”
The strong scent of liquor bounding out of his mouth could excuse the wooziness of my head, but that would be the cheats way out. It isn’t the alcohol leeching from his pores making me dizzy nor the arrowing of his lips toward mine, it’s his nickname.
I’ve been called Duchess before.
It was by a dead man.
“Your every wish is my desire, Duchess. I’ll give you the crown you’re seeking. It just won’t be pronged with jewels.”
