Page 30 of The Castle (Endgame 3)
“No,” he says gently. “Use your mouth however you want. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you say.”
With that he kneels between my legs, his eyes glinting with dark intent. Oh God. His palm shoves my leg aside. By the time I realize what he has planned, it’s too late to protect myself. My legs are spread wide, the marble cool against the bottoms of my thighs.
He stares at the shadow between my legs, and I ache to know what he sees. I’ve seen this board a hundred times, the pieces in a thousand configurations. But I have no idea what I would look like, laid bare to him. It’s a little like being pillaged, the way I suggested he did to get the set. That’s not so far from how he got me.
A deep sigh escapes him, male satisfaction mixed with lust. “Pink,” he says simply.
My sex. And I’m wet, too. I’m sure I am. My cheeks flush hot. “Are you only going to look?”
He runs a blunt fingertip down my slit. “Much more than that.”
“Are you only going to touch?”
“You want me to wreck you, do you? You’re begging for it.”
“No.”
“Little liar,” he says fondly.
Then he nudges his head between my legs. I jolt up at the electric touch of his mouth to my core. His hands are prepared, holding me down on the board. My muscles ripple against the marble, unable to move. There’s no give here—not from the stone and not from his hands. Not from his mouth, either. He licks from the base of my body to my clit, slow, as if he’s savoring my taste.
He’s tasted me before, but never on top of a chess set. Never with my cunt touching marble, the temperature shocking—and still not as shocking as his tongue, his teeth.
Definitely never with my juices leaking down to the board.
Firmly he pushes my legs wider. I have to lean back to keep my balance, both hands on the round metal edge of the table behind me. He cants my legs onto his shoulders. Nothing anchors me but him.
He licks and tastes and bites me, a man starved. There seems to be no end to his persistence, his patience, as he builds the spiral ever higher. I’m helpless on the journey, drawn by his mouth and his will. Taken to the peak again and again, glimpsing the light around the mountain only to be dragged away. Tears leak from my eyes, frustration and anguish rising to match my arousal. It’s a storm inside me, a blizzard. I can’t see anything. Even sound is muffled here. There’s only the hard, wet bite of him, lashing me, breaking me down.
“Gabriel,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for until he murmurs, soothing, “I know, little liar.”
For lying, that’s why. And as if to show mercy, he finally stands up. My muscles spasm, desperate to come. He lifts me like I weigh nothing—as much as a single chess piece instead of sixteen. He turns me over so my hands clasp the cold edges of the marble chessboard, so my face presses to the center, where it’s wet with my own arousal, salty and sweet. I’m too far gone to mind, my cheek pressed into the mess he made of me.
He takes only a moment to test me from behind—two fingers, three.
Then he slams inside, a rough claiming thrust that makes my mouth open on a silent scream. That’s how he fucks me, bent over the table, eyes wide, a primal cry welling up in me, until I can do nothing but come, nothing but spasm around his cock. Nothing but melt around him, sending long drips of arousal down my legs and onto the balcony floor.Chapter SixteenThe next morning I wake up to a bloodcurdling scream. The sound rips through my body like a tangible cut, jolting me from the bed in a sleepy stumble. A crash pulls me into the hallway, where a broken shell of china rolls drunkenly across the walnut floors.
Inside Penny’s room I find her huddled under the covers, only her eyes peering over.
Mrs. B stands at the foot of the bed, her round face a mixture of worry and frustration. A silver tray hangs loosely by her side, dripping with something that now darkens the rug.
“What’s going on?” I ask mildly even though I know perfectly well what’s going on. It happened early on. Ever since then I made sure to bring Penny her breakfast.
After last night I must have slept in. My body needed the rest.
“She needs to eat,” Mrs. B says, gesturing to the shivering girl. “She’s skin and bones.”
I can’t argue with that. Even with me force-feeding her every day, she’s painfully thin. The alternative is a feeding tube, probably with rubber walls to match. I can’t do that to her, not knowing how terrified she’d be. I feel like that’s the final straw that would break her.
