Page 15 of Poisoning Ivy
“You’ve never tasted your wife’s pussy?” Theo asks. And now that I know it’s him, I can hear the surprise in his voice.
“Whathaveyou done with your wife?” Monty demands, stepping in front of me so that he can demand an answer from Cody.
Killian’s voice sounds excited when he laughs. “Have you ever fucked your wife at all?”
“Of course I have!” Cody spits, his face turning a worrisome shade of scarlet. “I’ve fucked her plenty of times.”
“Is that true, Bambi?” Killian taunts, squeezing my thigh. “Has your husband fucked you plenty of times?”
I don’t know why I lie, but I do. “Yes.”
The truth is, we’ve never been intimate very often, even before he started to get physically abusive. I think I’ve repulsed him from the beginning, and he always treated sticking his dick in me like some sort of torture.
“And does he make you come?”
“Yes,” I lie again, but the fractional second before I answer speaks louder than my whisper.
More laughter resonates in the room, and I don’t look up to try and decide exactly who it’s coming from. “Well, no wonder she had to ride a pillow to get herself off. You’re not doing it for her, Doc? What kind of husband are you?”
“A shitty one.” Monty answers for him. “Four years without anyone to give her orgasms? Of course she took matters into her own hands.”
He growls, shaking his head. “Women are made to give pleasure. She doesn’t fucking need—”
The clap cuts his words off as Theo strikes him across the face.
When he moves out of the way, wiping his hand on the back of his jeans as if the contact disgusts him, I see a bright red handprint blazing across Cody’s stunned face.
The silence is thick with shock for a minute before Theo clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, raising his hands like he’s showing they’re empty. “I just wanted to see what it must feel like for you when you do that to her. It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Cody growls. “And why thefuckdo you care about what happens with my wife?”
The three men share a glance, though I doubt they can really see each other beneath the mesh wire of those masks. I don’t dare breathe; I don’t dare draw any attention to myself as I wait for their answer. Because I don’t know why they’re here or why they’re doing this. Were they bored? Do they hate me so much that they want to ruin me? Is this just about soothing their need for violence?
“Think of us as your therapists.” Killian answers finally. “If you’re good, we just may save your marriage. But in order to do that, I need you both to be honest with me. You can do that, can’t you, Bambi?”
I shake my head, trying to deny the heat his fingers are chasing through me as they dip between my legs and run along my slit.
“Come on,” he whispers. “You can do it. Play the game. You always loved games.”
I stifle the sound that tries to crawl out of me and swallow it back down as he increases the pressure.
“What game?” I gasp, my shoulders shaking as he penetrates me with a single finger, dipping deeper inside this time than before.
It’s the most I’ve had in over a year since my father-in-law has been abroad, and I can’t stop myself from clenching around him, my body meeting his. The gasp makes it obvious if nothing else did, and I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the pleasureflooding in that space. When he retreats, I try to catch him, to hold him inside me so I don’t feel so empty. But I’m no match for him.
A hand on my shoulder is enough to cost me my balance, making it easier for him to push me onto my knees. He walks behind me, and I hear movement that makes my heart beat faster as I imagine him burying himself inside me. Instead, something falls to the floor next to me—one of the fugly denim throw pillows with some unbearably cheesy sentiment cross-stitched on it. A glance over at it shows me the Bible quote.
“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
“Ride it.” Killian commands, leaning back against the couch with his arms spread and his head tipped back, prepared for the show he’s expecting.
“What?” I crane my neck further to see if maybe I misheard him. But he only stares back at me—I assume he’s staring back anyway, given that his mask is pointed in my direction.
“Ride. It.” He repeats, slower this time, enunciating both syllables. “I want to see what’s so fucking disgusting, so show me.”
“No.” I shake my head, swinging my leg out to stand. It’s Theo who catches me this time, pushing me back to my knees. And then he grabs the pillow, folding it in half, and taps my thigh, indicating for me to spread them apart. I shift just enough to give him access, and he wedges it between them.
“Ride.”
