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And then he does. Dylan cries out and flinches as Silvan props his booted feet up on Dylan’s back like he’s a piece of furniture.
“Come here, baby,” Silvan says, patting the cushion beside him. “You’ve had a long day. Sit down with your man and relax. Put your feet up,” he adds, nodding at his human ottoman.
I’m too horrified to move.
Silvan pats the couch more assertively, his eyes hardening.
Something like fear jumps in my stomach. I have no frame of reference for what to do, and I think I’m kind of in shock, so I just do as Silvan says. I sit down on the edge of the couch and put my purse on my lap. I look at Dylan’s body, pale but with bruises and scrapes all over.
It’s clear Silvan wasn’t gentle with him when he… ripped his clothes off, bound him, gagged him, and then propped him up in the living room of this murder cabin like a footstool?
“Silvan. Baby. Can I just ask… what the fuck is happening? Because I’m super confused.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to answer me, but then his gaze drifts to Dylan and his eyes go cold. He sits forward and drops his feet, giving Dylan a hard kick to the ribs that sends him halfway across the room.
I jump, startled.
“You don’t look at her,” he tells Dylan. “We talked about this before she got here. Did I fucking stutter, piggy? Lay your slimy fucking eyeballs on my girl one more time and I’ll cut them out to make sure you never do it again.”
Dylan whines pitifully in a sideways heap on the floor. It’s hard to watch, honestly.
“Fucking pathetic,” Silvan spits, shaking his head. He stands and walks over to grab Dylan by the hair, pulling him back up on his hands and knees. “Get the fuck up, you worthless piece of shit.” Leaning down, he gets in Dylan’s face and tells him, “You are an object, not a person. You’re a fucking ottoman, you understand? Objects sit where the fuck they’re put and take whatever is doled out to them until and unless they break, then they’re tossed aside and easily replaced because they don’t matter. That’s what you are now. That’s what you are unless I decide otherwise, and let me assure you that glaring at my fucking woman, looking at her at all? Not how you get there. Nod that you understand me.”
Sniveling and snotty, Dylan nods his head.
Yuck.
I’m grimacing when Silvan straightens and looks back at me. A smirk plays across his lips as he slowly walks over to me. He’s shirtless and wearing just a pair of black sweats. He looks yummy and reminds me more than ever of the night we met when he was a sexy Viking and I was his captive slave girl.
He stops in front of me, looking down at me still sitting on the edge of the couch. His gaze is dark and hooded. I want to touch him, so I do. Tentatively, I reach out and touch his hips. I look up and watch his face to see his reaction, then I palm his cock through the soft fabric.
It hardens beneath my hand. He slides his fingers through my hair, rough and tender at the same time. On pure animal instinct, I slide to the floor, dumping my purse upside down, and get on my knees for Silvan.
He backs up just enough to make room for me, his lips tugging up with quiet approval as I tug his sweats down, then his black boxer briefs. His cock is hard and springs free right in my face. I grab it with one hand and lean in to kiss it, then I open up and take him into my mouth.
He grabs the other side of my head with his other hand, cradling it, stabilizing me as I take his cock deeper. I’m hungry for it. I want to please him. I stroke his shaft, my lips working their way up and down his impressive length. I look up at him as I work to make sure he still looks pleased with me, and the warmth on his handsome face warmsmeright up.
“Did I forget to tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks idly, sliding one hand around to the back of my head. “Because you’re fucking stunning.” He pushes my head forward. “Even prettier with that perfect mouth full of my cock.”
He takes control, and I let him. I’m happy to have my mouth used for his pleasure.
“Maybe I’ll spend the night fucking your face, baby. Just like this.”
I whimper around his cock at the thought of it. I want that. But I want more, too. I can feel the wetness gathering betweenmy legs just from sucking him, and as he gets rougher taking what he wants from me, I get wetter.
He fucks my throat, controlling how deep he goes, how hard. It’s a struggle for me to breathe, but his firm hand on the back of my head keeps me from pulling back unless he wants me to.
When he pulls out of me, I sit back on my heels and watch him stroke his cock.
“You want this, baby?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes, please.”
He smiles. “Take your panties off. Leave the skirt on, though. I like the skirt.”
So does Dylan.
I feel a sick thrill at the thought of him having to listen from over there as Silvan gets on the floor behind me, peels up that skirt Dylan has gawked at me in so many times, and shoves his cock into me. He peels my coat off and tosses it on the couch, then he grabs my hips and holds on so he can push himself deeper.
