As Lucien Delano strode along the corridor, accompanied by his Woman and the men who had formed a protective circle around them, they saw the door to eh private arbor open. It housed the rose garden which the Don had specifically created for his Woman, a replica of the one they had in their mansion, where he used to arrange for her to meet him at midnight, to be f*cked in the open, under the stars.
Proserpina raise her hand to lightly brush her fingers against her breast, where the beard burn of her Master’s stubble was evident. He had made fierce love right there, earlier in the evening and she blushed as she recalled how he had snarled,
“Not a f*cking sound, my little bi*ch, your Master is going to hammer your little wet pus*y now.” She had nodded blindly, her hands bound, her legs splayed as he thrust into her. And she had moaned, sinking her teeth into his strong wrist as he held her down, loving the way he took her, this strong, powerfully built man. That he could still excite her with a look, a word, a touch, was a mystery to everyone who knew them, for Lucien was past sixty. But as virile as he had been in his prime, she thought, as she felt the wetness between her thighs. Just thinking of him made her wet, thought Proserpina drily.
her husband sent her a quick, sharp look .
Then he growled, in annoyance,
“Who allowed that Irishman and his wh*re to use my garden? It’s where I f*ck my wife.”
Proserpina felt her cheeks redden as the manager, to whom the question had been addressed, stammered in fear.
“Your son, Sir, Mr. Louis .” he managed to blubber. The Don’s mouth tightened. Gripping his wife’s arm, he proceeded to the large black SUV which had drawn up and bundled her in before he got in himself.
“Wet already, eh, wh*re?” he snarled, his eyes taking in her heightened color. She sighed as he shifted. For walking by the garden had reminded him of her alluring body, her helplessness as she lay beneath him while he had taken her just a few hours ago…
“Take off that dress, get on your knees and s*ck me, Woman,” the Don bit off as he took his, thick shaft out. It was already erect, beaded with precum and his Woman swallowed, her face turning pink. He could see her nipples hardening beneath the silk dress she wore and his c*ck reared. She pouted but obeyed, her breath hitching as she watched the gleam of desire in his pale grey-blue eyes.
The Don slipped thick fingers into the folds of her glistening pus*y, and she gasped as he pinched her plump cl*t. Then she slid down to the carpeted floor of the large sedan t o pleasure him as only she knew how.
Laim O’Grady and St Just helped their Pet into her gown, for she was barely able to stand, as she swayed and stood obediently, leaning against O’Grady as St Just helped to zip her up.
The brothers wore identical remote expressions as they led her out, not even noticing the Don and his entourage as they stalked away down the corridor. Bianca’s artless claim had thrown them. Once in the car, she snuggled up, her feet tucked beneath her, tipsy and sleepy. O’Grady draped an arm round her, watching her long lashes as they fluttered on her cheeks, the curve of her mouth…
St Just sat, staring outside, his hand clasped in hers, for she was holding it tightly.
Both men were in a dilemma
They had shared countless women before this. but this was a first; not a single woman had declared her love for them. All the Pets they had kept knew the score. They knew they were being paid for their obedience and submission. No feelings were involved in the deal. The women also knew that they would be heftily compensated when their tenure was over. And not one of them had claimed to love the brothers. It had only been a purely sexual transaction which they had been indulging in, all these years…
O’Grady sighed. He was weary, his body had taken quite a beating but his elation at winning had grown when Claude Delano had come to say that old man Lucien Delano ha agreed to finance O’Grady to set up a fight club.
But walking in on Bianca being f*cked by his brother had made him come alive to another emotion altogether. A desire to keep this woman in his life, in his brother’s life, forever. And when he had made violent love to her, it had been as though had reached a stage of satisfaction that he had never experienced before, with any other woman.
He glanced at his brother as he absently stroked Bianca’s arm. She sighed softly and he felt his heart clench. St Just looked down at her too, an unfamiliar tenderness appearing in his eyes.
Raising his green eyes, St Just said quietly,
“She’s such an innocent, O’Grady.” And then, moving to hold her hand tightly, he went on in a hoarse tone, thick with some emotion that the Irishman could empathize with,
“I don’t want to break her, bro. She is too good for us.”
Liam O’Grady would never have associated his brother with humility. But the words took him by surprise.
Suddenly, he wanted to deny his feelings were the same, he wanted to submerge the thoughts of gentleness that overcame him when he looked at Bianca.
” She’s just a Pet, a wh*re,” he lashed out, trying to fight the feel of softness, of tenderness that washed over him when he looked at Bianca who was now dozing.
“We can get another one in three months, when her time is up.”
The flash of anger in St Just’s eyes was quickly hidden and O’Grady knew he sounded callous, cruel even. But he would not give in to any weakness. He, O’Grady, was about to start a Fight Club, to step up in the ladder of life. Having a wh*re who was shared with his brother, would not be good for his image.
He laughed, but a humorless sound emitted as he pulled out his hip flask and drank.
“These women will come and go, Saint. She knew what she was signing up for when she put her stamp on that document.”
He moved and his brother quickly eased Bianca’s sleeping body into his arms.
O’Grady continued in a flat voice,
“Our little martyr here knew what she was signing up for when she joined us. The fact that she’s loving every minute of being f*cked, shows she’s a little wh*re, that’s all. She’ll go on spreading her legs, showing off her pretty pink pus*y and getting paid for it. Like they all do.”
Rubbing a hand over the stitches on his cheek, he shrugged and did not see the fury on St Just’s face. But he could sense that his brother, the Saint, was not in agreement with him.
Gazing out at the darkness outside the window, he went on in a low voice,
“Women like her…we don’t bring them into our lives permanently, Saint. We use their bodies, then we pay them and send them on their way.”
He turned to look at his brother and caught St Just in an unguarded moment. The look on his face was one of revulsion, of disgust, but it vanished quickly as Bianca stirred. He held her to his chest and she snuggled into him.
They did not speak any more for the apartment where Bianca was housed was just around the corner.
After O’Grady had carried her to the bedroom, under St Just’s watchful gaze, the men left, after giving Barry and his men strict instructions to stay at her place and keep her safe. But when their car had driven away, Bianca rolled to the side.
Her lids fluttered, the tears seeping out slowly.
She had heard his words, the cruel, almost dismissive way O’Grady had spoken about her. She had held her heart out , and he had rejected her cruelly.
Burying her face in the pillow, Bianca sobbed herself to sleep.
Towards morning, her head splitting, she sat up and padded out to ask Barry for a painkiller.
The biker was speaking to his old lady, who had come to stay the night.
“She’s sweet, but the Boss…he’ll send her away in two months, luv,” Barry was saying as Sylvie sighed sadly and unable to hear her reply, the young girl crept back to her room.
Bianca froze. She went back to her room and sat in bed for a long while, thinking of her future, a future without Liam O’Grady and Finn St Just. For she had fallen hopelessly in love with them, with St Just, the gentleman who was caring and kind, and with O’Grady, brash and confident…
What would she do?
Hugging her knees, she sat, dry-eyed and grim-faced.