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Chapter Forty-Three
RORY
After sleeping hard for several hours, I wake up in a flash as memories of last night run through my mind. My pussy hurts, and a deep-seated ache in my ass has me wiggling against my soft mattress, trying to get comfortable, but it’s no use. No matter which way I roll, I hurt.
In the best way.
It’s a good hurt, like when you pull a muscle and you stretch it and groan in pleasure, even though it causes you pain. That’s what Maddox is to me—a pleasurable pain. Everything about him is power and dominance. Yet in spite of that, in spite of his almost desperate need for control, he gave me a choice.
Words, yes or no?
Many men in his position wouldn’t have asked, and even fewer would have given it a second thought if I’d objected, but he asked for permission, and knowing the risks, I gave it. After that, it was all over. Yes, he used my body for his own desire, but he also gave me what I desperately needed—an orgasm.
And I had one, well, at least three, I think. Some of the experience was a blur, the pain so intense at times, I thought I was going to pass out. Maddox didn’t sugarcoat it, he didn’t ease me into it. Instead, he told me he was going to take my ass by force. And you know what? I fucking liked it. I liked the lack of control and the way he used me. I enjoyed the way his body felt inside mine and how his cock stretched me farther than anyone ever has. I liked how he bossed me around and promised to tie me up.
Maddox is a man I could easily become addicted to if I allowed it. Then realization dawns on me that I’m working for the enemy. Bronson is counting on me to find whatever evidence there is to condemn the Dixen brothers, and the more I get to know them, the less I’m sure they are the enemy.
That thought has me pausing… Have I chosen these men? These three familiar strangers over a more predictable future with the police?
One thing is certain, there’s a mutual interest between the four of us. Maddox has staked his claim, Rogan has told me I’m theirs, and Alistair couldn’t be any more obvious about his intentions if he tried.
But if they’ve claimed me as theirs, does that make them mine as well?
My head hurts from all the scenarios running through it, wondering if they’re using me just as I’m using them. Yet even as I think that, I know it’s a lie. Darkness calls to its likeness, and the Dixen men are just like me—our fragile, dark hearts are filled with secrets.
Groaning, I kick off the sheets and stumble to my bathroom, feeling crusted cum chafing between my thighs. But I relish the feeling and my sore pussy and throbbing ass, knowing damn well that wasn’t just fucking.
Maddox was marking me, and something tells me he’s only just begun to claim me. The mere thought of what he alluded to, of tying me up before him, has my cunt dripping with desire. Maddox…he does things to me. Hell, they all do. Even Alistair is alluring when he’s not hopped up on drugs.
As I turn on the shower and step under the hot spray, I can’t help but wonder how I got here. How a fucking no one like me can go from the lowest of the low, stuck in a jail cell, to working and fucking the three most powerful men in the city.
I smile as I gingerly wash my body, hissing when I reach my ass cheeks and find a raised welt there in the shape of a large handprint. My fingers slide across it, remembering the glorious sting of his spank and how heated it made me. Maddox is the kind of man who turns good girls bad, who changes nuns into sinners, and who makes you never want to see the light again if you can walk beside him in the dark.
But as I wash myself, I’m once again torn. Bronson said they’re criminals. Hell, I’ve witnessed their brutality with my own eyes, felt their power on my skin as I took them inside me. I’m deluded, though, if I think they’re any more guilty than I am.
After all, I killed a man. How can I damn them for the same thing?
Grabbing the shower wand, I rinse the shampoo from my hair and try not to see the face of that sleazy motel manager. A smothering sense of guilt fills me. I took his life, he no longer lives because of me.
Did he leave a wife behind?
A family?
Am I the sole reason another child is growing up in a single-parent home?
“What have I done?” I whisper.
In the heat of the moment, I knew what I did was right, fuck, I even enjoyed it in a sick way…but now? Now all I’m left with is shame and disgust. Tears fall from my eyes as the small moment of happiness I felt dissipates. No. I haven’t earned the joy I’m so desperate for, not when I’ve sunk to the lowest level of humanity and wallowed inside it.
Shutting off the water, I wrap my hair in a towel and twist it on top of my head, then I secure another under my arms before heading into my massive closet. My eyebrows furrow when I find no evidence of a note inside. Do I just choose my clothing myself today? And why am I so disappointed by that?
Maybe they don’t care about me…
After slipping on a simple black bra, I pull a modest, black dress from its hanger. The sleeves stop just below my elbows, the gauzy material clinging to my body. A U-shaped neckline keeps the girls in check, and the long skirt hides almost all of my legs. Forgoing panties today, because I don’t think my sore ass can handle them, I slip on a pair of tall boots, pull my hair up into a messy bun, and throw on some makeup. Grumbling to myself, I grab the same purse I used Friday and walk to the kitchen.
Mischief is there by his food bowl, waiting for me to feed him. “Such a good boy,” I praise, squatting down to add kibble to his bowl. I scratch along his back as he gobbles up his food, then I snatch my keys and laptop and head out the door. I pass Mackenzie in the hall, and she smiles at me shyly as she heads to my apartment to fetch Mischief for his morning walk.
I don’t even remember the ride down in the elevator or walking to my car. I don’t recollect the drive to work as I pull into my parking spot. It seems I’m preoccupied with other, larger things.
