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The room falls silent as I glare at Seven and Three, willing either of them to object so I can take some of my anger out on them. How dare she pity me. How dare he try to protect her.
“You want me to…”
“I said, bend her over the motherfucking table and fuck her in the arse!”
My fist pounds against the wood, rattling the plates and causing my wine glass to tip over and smash, spilling its contents and sending shards of glass scattering across the table.
Nine, Ten and Eleven’s reaction is to giggle like the damaged women that they are. One sits back in her seat and takes a sip of her wine, a slow smile spreading across her face, and Six and Five keep their faces blank, free of emotion. Two claps with delight. Twelve remains distant and Four and Eight grin mercilessly.
“Since when did you feel that you are in a position to speak to me so frankly?” I ask Three, whose eyes are wide with shock.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t say another word!” I roar. “Get up and bend over the fucking table!”
Three gets to her feet. She’s trembling so hard that it takes her a few attempts to draw up her dress and bunch it around her waist revealing a thatch of neatly trimmed pubic hair and hips that would entice any warm-blooded man or woman. My anger brews as Seven strokes his hand up her arm and squeezes her shoulder gently before pressing his lips against her ear and whispering something. She swallows hard, blinking back tears that are pooling in her eyes, before nodding.
“Did I say you can speak to her?”
Seven locks eyes with me briefly, and in that moment I see a man who is willing to die for the woman he loves. Sensing his indecision, Three reaches around herself and grabs his cock, fisting him through the thin material of his trousers with one hand whilst she shoves aside the plates in front of her with the other. Seven lets out a moan that’s filled with both pleasure and heartbreak as she makes him ready for her.
Further along the table Six attempts to hide her emotions, but fails as tears well in her pretty eyes. Next to her is Five, who locks gazes with me. I see her disapproval. It’s the first time I’ve ever experienced such a reaction from her and it unsettles me to say the least, but I won’t stop what’s happening. To do so would be weak.
And right now I need them all to know how fucking strong I am.
That I’m not ruled by emotion. That I don’t give a fuck about an old man dying or a woman who steals my thoughts every second of every fucking day.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask, relaxing back in my chair and folding my arm across my chest.
Seven presses his eyes shut then brings up his palm to his mouth, spitting into it.
“No!” I grind out. “Fuck her raw.”
“What?” he has the gall to ask.
“I said fuck her raw. Every time she sits on her arse, I want her to remember her place, and every time you see her wince from the pain, I want you to remember that you're just as responsible for it as I am.”
“And if I refuse?”
I pick up my steak knife, flip it in my hand then stab it into the table. “Then I kill you both. Right here, right now. Is that understood?”
He clamps his jaw tightly and nods, then removes Three’s hand from his erection and places it flat on the table before leaning over and pressing a tender kiss against her tearstained cheek.
“I love you,” he says, then impales himself balls deep into her arse.
Her scream echoes around the hall like a church bell notifying its parishioners of a death, and in that moment I don’t know what I feel. There’s no satisfaction in her tears. No relish in her pain. No gratification in his sorrow.
I don’t feel better like I thought I would.
I feel fucking sick when I should be revelling in their torment.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
With every thrust my fucking stomach churns. With every tear shed my throat closes over. With every scream of pain I despise myself a little more.
I almost tell him to stop. Almost.
Then I remember who the fuck I am. Whose son I am and whose blood runs in my veins, and I remember that love iscruel.
