“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of,” I murmur behind her.
Her head whips around, her dark eyes widening as they find me sitting right behind her. I can see the panic fluttering through her gaze as she looks around for a weapon. Laughing, I leap at her. She lets out a scream that goes right to my already hard cock as I pin her hands above her, pressing my lower body to hers to keep her there, letting her feel how hard I am.
The others thought locking her away from me would keep her safe. How foolish. This little bird is going to be fun, I can tell. And she’s ours now. I can do whatever I want with her.
She thrashes beneath me, not freezing like most do when confronted with me. She fights, bucking and kicking. All it does is make my already hard cock twitch in my jeans as I imagine her doing that while I fuck her. I bet she fucks like she fights—hard, fast, and wild.
She might not survive it, but I will have her.
She spends herself, though, and stops, her eyes narrowing and flashing with anger and hatred as she pants. Her chest heaves, pushing her breasts against me. I lean down, and she turns her head away from me as I trail my tongue across her cheek. “Do you like pain?”
An image of her chained up in my den has me rocking against her, trailing my fingers across her bloody, beaten skin. My knife marks bright and pink across her body, like a lover’s touch. Would she quake then too? Fight? Scream? I can’t wait to find out. I wonder if she would beg…
“Fuck. You,” she snarls.
“No, Little Bird, but I will fuck you.” I chuckle against her cheek.
She freezes beneath me, turning rock-solid, and I lift my head. “But not tonight. When I fuck you, I want my toys there. I want to mark that pretty skin within an inch of your life.” I trace my hand across her tattoos. “When you got these done, did you get wet from the pain? Or did you cry and suffer through it?”
Her head whips back around to glare at me, but I see a glint of truth in her eyes before she masks it. Ah, my little bird is scared of just how much she liked the pain. And I thought breaking her, killing her, would be fun. But this? Smashing those barriers until she comes while I torture her? That will be all the sweeter.
I’m going to burn down everything this little bird holds dear, and reform her into my own little plaything.
“You smell like smoke and petrol,” she murmurs, and then blinks as if she didn’t mean to say that, her lips rolling inwards, dragging my eyes to the plump redness. Does she taste like the tears she was shedding in her sleep?
“Eyes up here, asshole,” she snaps, making me smirk. This girl really does like playing with fire.
Fuck, I’ve even had men pee themselves just from a glance from me. Yet, here she is, staring me down, even as I pin her to the floor. I bet she would fight this hard as she died…
I drag my eyes back up, but they catch on a stained, bloody white piece of fabric tied around one of her hands. Well, well, well, did the pretty bird hurt herself? Grabbing that hand, I slam it down on the floor next to her, making her gasp as she starts to struggle again.
Peeling back the blood-stained material, I thumb the edges of the cut, making her cry out before she bites down on her lower lip, an instinct from years of hiding her pain. One I recognise. Eyes on her, I press my thumb right into the center of the cut, testing her.
Blood forms on her lip, she’s biting it that hard, her eyes dilating with fear and desire, one she’s trying to hide. Her chest heaves, her nipples pebbling against the shirt she wears. Oh, my little bird likes it when it hurts…
“Little Bird, dirty Little Bird, look how sweetly you bleed,” I murmur, leaning down and licking the blood from her lip before digging my teeth into it as I smash my thumb into her cut. She screams, lurching beneath me. I swallow her sound of pain and fear, feeding on it.
I hear the door open, but she doesn’t. Lifting my head, I meet Garrett’s eyes. He takes in our position and sighs. “Leave her be, D.”
“But she’s fun to play with.” I pout, digging my thumb in deeper, making her whimper. The sound makes my cock jerk again as I grind it into her.
“D,” Garrett warns, crossing his arms and giving me his best don’t fuck with me face. “Go find someone else to play with, I heard Ryder was meeting with some new security people…”
I debate my options. Scaring the new guards or playing with the dirty bird? Sighing, I look back down at her. “Sorry, pretty bird, next time.” Kissing her nose, I leap to my feet and stroll towards Garrett, who watches me with a worried expression.
“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” he asks me, and I shake my head.
“Nope, I didn’t kill her, did I?” I laugh as I clap him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t even budge, the big bastard.
Sighing, he sweeps his hair back from his face. “Go on, I’ll clean up.”
Whistling, I stroll away as I hear him step farther into the room. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you!” she screams, making me laugh. Oh yes, my dirty little bird will be playing with me again. I can’t wait. Until then, I’ll have to appease myself with others.
Chapter Ten
ROXY
The big guy, Garrett, steps into the room, but doesn’t seem to want to come near me. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you,” I shout, as I sit up and press my non-injured hand to my bloody one to try and stop the bleeding. It’s not the worst I’ve had, but shit, it hurt…yeah, hurt. I cross my legs to stop myself from thinking about that other confusing…no, fuck that.
Dropping my eyes to my hands to avoid his too bright, all-seeing gaze, I prod at the cut. The crazy bastard opened it up again. It’s not too deep, it doesn’t need stitches—I got good at realising what does and doesn’t need sutures after getting hurt every day. This one will heal, probably leaving another scar to add to my collection.
I jerk back when I raise my eyes and realise the big guy is crouched before me, his dark gaze locked on me, his black hair falling across his forehead in an oddly endearing way as he reaches for my hand. “May I?” he murmurs, but I keep it clutched to my chest, and he sighs. “I won’t hurt you. I’m used to fixing cuts, bruises, and breaks.”
“I bet you are,” I snap, and his eyebrow rises.
“Not in that way, you should really avoid D though. He isn’t like…us. He’ll hurt you for fun,” he warns softly, his tattooed knuckles clenching. He’s so big, his hands must be bigger than my head. He could snap me in two and hurt me so easily. Yet he doesn’t…why?
“Oh, avoid him? That didn’t fucking occur to me, and how would you like me to avoid him when I’m in a locked room, and the crazy bastard breaks in and stares at me while I sleep?” I huff.
His lips twitch, and he nods at my cut again. “Let me at least clean it and wrap it. How’s your lip?” he questions, his big thumb coming up and prodding at my sore lip. I freeze as he strokes his thumb across it, his eyes scrutinising and clinical. Cold. Like he isn’t affected, like his touch isn’t doing strange fucking things to me.
Things I have no business feeling when I’m his prisoner.
He nods. “It’s not busted too badly, it will heal.” He releases my lips and takes my hand gently, turning it to regard the cut before standing so quickly I jolt back—a habit, a habit I thought I’d broken. He sees it, of course he does, but doesn’t comment. “Let me get a kit.”