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My little Wintergreen wanted to continue our one-sided conversation, if the roles were somewhat reversed. I was good with that.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” I murmured under my breath, low enough for her to hear, but no one else. Her hand closed around the bolt, and she tucked it into her side, her eyes wide with fear while she dripped down my wrist. “Because this is turning me the fuck on and I can’t spare the headspace for it.” I winked, feeling the scar on my face pull.
Her hand lifted, and she reached for me, stroking the skin. “What happened?” she whispered, her brow dipping.
“I'll tell you when you earn our way outta here,” I murmured, letting my French accent thicken.
Her eyes widened at the small extra bit of information. I’d learned so much about her but she knew–or should know–almost nothing about me.
She nodded as her father hissed, his boot connecting with the base of my spine. I grimaced as pain shot up my lower back, one knee contacting the bare cement ground hard.
“Fuck her already,” her father groused. “At least I let you keep your hand in her so she’s a proper little puppet.” He laughed, a hideous sound that echoed around the room.
My foot grazed something metal and I glanced down at the drain beneath us.
Fuck.
Shit was about to get serious.
The gun that had been at the back of my head when I awoke reappeared, digging in and forcing my face toward her cunt.
“You could lick her instead,” the man sneered. “Taste the princess before you both die. A good death, yes?” His accent reminded me of home and I shuddered under the memory.
French fucking mafia.
Le Milieu.
Suddenly it hit me who the man who remained in the shadows was.
The gun bore into my head and I leaned into the motion, looking up only to hold Celeste’s gaze of starlight and ice.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, working my fingers inside her body, letting my head be shoved down and licking her clit.
Her body stiffened at the motions, and I worked her as hard as I would had we been alone. Because this part, it seemed, was necessary to buy ourselves a few more seconds. If my guess was correct, both her father–disgustingly–and the shadowed man would edge forward and take a piece of the action.
Leon Verrmilieu had been my father’s second. I never bothered to listen to what happened with his arm of the French Mafia after I left the country, working my way across Europe and into the US. I hadn’t much cared. But suddenly that ignorance appeared to be a really shitty life choice on my behalf.
I soothed Celeste’s skin as she fought the sensations rolling through her body, working my hand fluidly inside her, curling my fingers into her flesh and teasing the spots that would draw out her orgasm longest. I kept my mouth pressed to her skin, licking around my fingers to torture her flesh from the outside.
Her stifled whimpers left my cock aching to sink into her; God alone knew what it did to the men watching the display we gave them on command like a pair of dogs in heat.
She shuddered again as I nipped her clit, her pussy pulsing as I drew her closer to bliss.
“Come for me, Celeste,” I used her name, trying to get the message I needed across to her as the man behind me moved forward, reaching to squeeze her breast. “Now,” I commanded into her skin.
I removed my fingers from her body, yanking my head back to halt her impending orgasm. She couldn’t come. Not if we were going to live.
I’ll make it up to you, Wintergreen. I promise. However the fuck you want. Listen to what I can’t say to you.
Her hand holding the bolt shot forward and lodged itself into the man’s thigh through his black slacks. Thank God for fashion conscious mafia. If he’d been wearing jeans, the ploy might never have worked. She ripped the bolt, already buried deep, to the side. There was no way the man’s artery didn’t split from the way warm blood splattered her breast, and the side of my face.
The man screamed obscenities, clutching her hand and half dragging her off the table before anyone else in the room could react. His drama queening as his life blood sang freely from his veins gave me the perfect cover.
Good girl,I mouthed at Celeste, red dripping from us both as I whirled with slippery hands and scooped up the man’s gun from his grip, firing off two rounds through his spread legs.
Both hit the man at the back of the room and as he fell forward I knew my assumption was correct. My father’s second fell face first into a pool of his own gray matter leaking from his shattered skull. He wouldn’t have killed Celeste; he would have sold her virginity–if I assumed correctly–to the next highest bidder. I wondered if her father knew that, but decided I didn’t care. He wouldn’t live long enough to do any more damage to her.
I fired the next shot straight up, through the man’s groin above me, and into his innards.
