Page 52 of House of Cards

But my pussy does, because it’s dripping wet. And when the hand holding it squeezes, the world cracks, then shatters.

I recognize that touch.

I knowexactlywho’s gripping my pussy right now.

“Please.” The word rips out of me before I can stop it, followed by a low, guttural moan that might as well be my final act of surrender. Because now I’m not begging him to stop anymore.

I’m begging him to go on.

And somehow Smith knows the difference, because he leans in to reward me with a satisfied, “That’s my good girl.”

Smith

Myles is waiting for us in the hallway when I exit the playroom with a shell-shocked Zoey at my side. The red robe she arrived in hangs from her shoulders, but she’s doing a shitty job of holding it closed in the front.

Probably because her hands are still shaking.

“Twelve lashes?Oof!That’s gotta hurt,” Myles says through a wince.

“Eddie’s got painkillers.” I try to move past him, but he grabs my arm, halting me. And in effect halting Zoey, since I’m guiding her with a hand to the back of her neck.

“She nearly cost us a client,” he says, glancing toward Zoey’s bowed head.

“Nearly,” I reply calmly. A miracle, since I’m combusting inside. “If that’s all? I’ve got work to do.”

If he notices my tone is a little icier than usual, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Oh, I bet.” He glances down at my crotch. “Don’t worktoohard.”

Because of course he noticed the rock hard cock straining against my pants. I wouldn’t be doing this if it didn’t get me hard. That would just be fucking weird.

I leave at a fast walk, pushing Zoey ahead with a merciless shove.

She lets out a pained, if weak, protest—like a wounded animal.

I have to wrench my mind out of a visceral replay of Zoey’s body jerking in pain. Her ragged breathing.

How fucking wet she was.

Should never have chased her when I caught her at the blackjack table. Should never have decided, on a whim, that she’d be fun to break. Should fuckingneverhave brought her in here, strapped her to that X, and let Howler have his fun.

I saw it in Myles’s eyes. She’s locked in, now. The only way she’s getting out of The Den is in a body bag, unless she can convince Balmont to let her go.

If we used body bags.

Smaller parts are easier to dispose of, so it’ll be in an assortment of trash bags. Various sizes, and brands, to make it look like a cartel hit, because that’s how it works around here.

I head down the staff corridor with a mute Zoey. If she notices we’re not headed back the same way we came in, she doesn’t seem to care.

She’s so deep in subspace, it could be a horned, winged demon leading her down this passage and she wouldn’t bat an eye.

When I approach the door to the Angels’s living quarters, the guard stationed outside steps forward to take Zoey from me.

We’re both surprised when I yank her back, out of reach.

The guard’s brow furrows. “Boss?”

“Eddie.”

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