Page 4 of Keeper

That’s me, and I do it well. I do it so well that when I slip back enough to focus on his tip, he makes a throaty little moan that has me clenching my thighs and waiting for his load. He doesn’t disappoint.

He mumbles out something that sounds an awful lot like “swallow my cum next to your dead fiancé’s body” but I refuse to look any closer at the words as the first taste of him oozes all over my tongue. A growl leaves him as I feel his cock pulse over and over with his release, and before I know it, my mouth and throat are so full I can’t breathe.

He tastes... better than I thought he would. Most men are bitter, sour almost. But his? I swear, it’s borderline sweet.

“Show me some,” he says breathlessly. “Tastes good, huh? I eat my pineapple, beautiful.”

That explains it.

I gather what’s left of my tongue and slide it out, sitting back on my knees as his gaze devours me. With his full attention, I swallow, licking my lips and once again showing him my mouth.

Fresh and clean, two things I will never be.

“Good girl,” he praises, leaning in to swipe his thumb across my lips. The soft gesture has me closing my eyes.

It’s a mistake, because I feel something sharp sting my arm a second later. Jerking back, I rub the spot as I try to scoot away from him. “What the hell did you do?”

He stuffs something into his pocket with a sympathetic expression. “Sorry, little keeper. The Provost always gets what he wants, and the next guy they send won’t look as good as me.”

I’ve been around long enough to know Sway when I’m fucking stabbed with it. It’s the product the Provost is most proud of — a paralytic that only affects the muscles from the shoulders down, completely immobilizing a target while still allowing them to speak. It also amplifies every emotion you’re feeling, making interrogations quick and almost foolproof.

As the numbness spreads to my arms, my legs, my fingers and toes, I know there won’t be anything I can do to save myself. “You said you’d help me,” I remind him. “I did good, I did what you asked.”

“No, baby. You did absolutely perfect,” he whispers, leaning down to lift my left hand and wiggle my engagement ring off my finger. It disappears into his pocket along with any hope I might’ve had. “I said I’d help you out, I didn’t specify how.”

I knew it, I did. This is on me. But what choice did I have when the end result was inevitable? We would’ve always ended up here, with his muscular, tattooed arms picking me up off the floor, my eyes falling to the body of my dead fiancé, and my life changing once again.

I’m a pawn, remember? They’re meant to be moved.

They’re meant to be sacrificed.

I just wish they’d quit fucking with me first.

Two

Every bump we passover brings me a little closer to falling out of the damned seat. He belted me in, sat me here and positioned my feet on the ground, my hands softly in my lap. He handled me like a child would handle a beloved doll — careful movements, soft words, making sure I’m fastened in.

---