I place the pistol down beside her and then start barking orders, telling the men to get our shit packed up. Clearly, the site is compromised, it’s only a matter of time before Paitlyn’s bitch of a mother, or worse, my brother, turns up with more men.
While the rest of them race around, shoving what we need into holdalls, I grab a first aid kit and start fixing my woman up.She’s sitting calmly enough but underneath the surface I can tell there’s a tempest brewing and right now, I need to contain it.
The clothes she’s in dwarf her petite figure, they’re also covered in dirt and blood. I don’t know if she’s aware of that fact but when we get to our new safehouse, I’ll find her something more suitable, something more ladylike.
The graze on her arm isn’t too bad. I give it a good clean with an antiseptic wipe, ignoring the hiss from her.
“Better to be safe than sorry.” I state.
“Like you can talk.” She snaps back.
I grab her chin, forcing her to face me. “What does that mean?” I ask.
She winces, like all that bravado has suddenly left her, like it’s blown itself out, though I don’t believe it for a second. I’m realising this meek girl act is just that, an act. Nobody endures the kinds of things she does, nobody survives the horror of it without becoming twisted up, fucked up.
“Come on now, malkta. Tell me what’s in your head. Speak those devil thoughts out loud.”
She screws her face up more at the tone I use, but I can see she likes it, despite her attempts to pretend otherwise. Her chest is rising and falling enough to make me think she’s turned on, to make me think she’s desperate to be fucked all ways between here and Sunday.
“I’m not, I’m…” She huffs again looking more thunderous. “What does that even mean, that stupid name you keep calling me?”
Is she trying to cover it with anger? Is she trying to cover her need and hide from me? My lips curl as I tilt my head and study her.
She’s mine. This woman here, she’s all mine now.It feels good to finally admit it to myself.
“It means ‘queen’ in Aramaic.” I state.
Yeah, that makes her freeze, makes her gulp too. “You, you speak Aramaic?” She whispers.
“Some.” I reply. I don’t need to explain the whole story of why, but I’ll admit I’m enjoying the concern that knowledge has. That she thinks I have deeper connections within the Brethren. That my network may go that far.
“I’m not a queen, not your queen, not…”
My hand over her mouth silences that bullshit.
My other hand in her trousers, in her cunt makes her squeal. I don’t care that everyone here can see this, I don’t care that they’re watching this play out.
She mumbles something incomprehensible and I’d hazard a guess that she’s trying to tell me to let her go. Only, I won’t. She wants this. She craves this. She’s just too stubborn to admit it.
I pin her down, pin her flat onto the table with one hand, while I tear the clothes from her.
“Little whore,” I murmur, undoing my belt, getting my cock out. “I can feel how much you need me right now.”
She shakes her head quickly, but I don’t care what she has to say, what bullshit she pretends.
I’m hard, so fucking hard. And in truth, I need this as much as she does. I slam into her, feeling how her muscles do their usual attempt at trying to stop me.
“Fuck, malkta” I groan. “You feel even better than an hour ago. Is it the thought of all those men dying, all those people fighting over you that’s got you so turned on?”
“No.” She gasps.
I let out a laugh, hearing the lie because she did like. She fucking loved it. My little whore loved every second.
I pick her up, manoeuvring her body around so that she’s now in front of me, straddling me.
“Ride me.” I order. “Roll your hips and ride me like the filthy slut we all know you are.”
She lets out a whimper, but she does it all the same, she lifts herself up, she gyrates her body and she works her cunt up and down, taking my cock over and over like she’s desperate for it.
