Page 210 of Making Choices

My sarcasm is either missed or ignored. “Now it’s time to welcome your new bride into the fold.”

Shaking off the men holding me, I stalk over to the bed. The two pricks pinning my wife captive are met with a punch to the gut each, then I push them away from her. I climb onto the bed, naked as the day I was born, but devoid of any shame as I try to ascertain if my duchess is okay.

“Baby,” I murmur as I run my knuckles along her damp cheek. “Look at me.”

She turns her head in my direction, but it’s clear that she isn’t seeing me. Her gaze is sightless. Lost to the ghosts of her trauma. Caught in whatever memory her mind is using to torture her. I move to scoop her from the mattress, only to find my actions halted by the imitable pressure of a blade being pressed to my kidney.

The MC of this evening of hell declares, “The ritual isn’t over until two bodies become one.”

As sympathy fills the face of the man who offered me Viagra, I finally understand what he meant by his cryptic comments. If this shitshow is the norm, then it’s hard to believe any man would be able to perform under these circumstances, even with a blue pill assisting him.

“A little heads up woulda been nice.”

He shrugs. “I figured you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“Enough chatter,” scythe man interjects. “The audience grows restless.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will, although I imagine it will take sufficient motivation.” The tip of the blade lightly pierces my back, then he pulls it away. He steps around me to bring himself level with Cherub’s head. I try to shield her from his violence, but she’s ripped out of my arms by his goons. They return her to the position they had her in previously and the scythe is brought to her neck. “Is this adequate incentive or should I make her bleed some more?”

“Leave her out of this.” I crawl over to Cherub and settle in between her legs. She’s catatonic at this point, and I’m worried that she’ll never be the same. If a nightmare had been specifically crafted for her, this would’ve been it. It’s hell on earth for me—pure obliteration for my wife. “You can move away. You’ll get your free sex show without a fight.”

He pulls the blade from my wife’s throat, but he doesn’t move from his perch. “I find myself quite comfortable here.”

“You’re dead, motherfucker.”

The inelegant snort he makes is an indicator that he isn’t threatened by me. Can’t blame him. I’m naked and bleeding, and he has a hundred men at his beck and call. The odds aren’t in my favour, but they will be eventually. I can hold a grudge for decades if need be.

“Baby.” As I cover my wife’s body with mine, I press my lips to her ear. “This will be over soon. All you’ve gotta do is concentrate on me—only me. I’ll make it fast, but sweet. They won’t hurt you. No one can see you.”

My promise washes over Cherub unnoticed.

She’s lost to me.

After trying for a few minutes to get hard and failing, I end up pumping two fingers into my wife’s heat. I rub her clit with my thumb, wishing that I could kill every man who hears her gasps as I bring her body back to life. The result of my intrusion is two-fold. My dick finally gets the memo, and my duchess grows wet. Conscious of the blade mere inches from her head, I keep my arms on either side of her and drape as much of my body over hers as I can manage. As a shield, it’s close to useless, however, it’s the best I can do.

I push inside her body.

She’s tight, too tight, as I feed my cock into her, broaching her channel a little further each time. Pump after pump of my hips, I press home until I’m fully seated in her. A tiny whimper tells me that Cherub’s cognisant of what I’m doing to her and she hates me for it. My heart lodges in my throat at the knowledge that I’m no better than Alex right now. He took what he wanted for selfish reasons, and while the circumstances are different, I cannot deny that I’m doing the same.

I pepper her face with kisses, then I murmur, “I’m sorry, baby. So fuckin’ sorry.”

Cherub doesn’t answer me, not that I expected her to.

I’m a failure.

A thief.

My arrogance heading into this has been our undoing. I should’ve forced answers out of Gabriel. Done my homework. Crunched the numbers. Calculated the odds that this ritual would be a bad idea. I’ve fucked up so hard that I fear there’s no coming back from it.

“I’m gonna make you feel good, baby.” Wedging my hand between our lower bodies, I use my fingers to stimulate her clit in a complementary rhythm to my shallow thrusts. When my duchess moves her head from side to side in protest, I bring my forehead to hers. “They won’t hear a thing. I’ll swallow every sound you make. You’re safe to let go.”

As soon as her pussy starts to clamp down on my cock, I kiss her. “That’s it, baby. Take your pleasure.”

“Carter,” she rasps.

“Yes, baby?”

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