Page 18 of Snowed in with the Brutes
Chapter Eleven
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Cora
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By the time they carryme to the bedroom assigned to me, I’m exhausted, delirious, and soaked from all my climaxes.My pussy still spasms, and my nipples ache, but I’m grateful they removed the butt plug.
I didn’t need a stark reminder of what I allowed them to do to me or what I did to myself for them.
But they don’t stop at just bringing me to the bedroom.As sleepy as I am, I’m aware of them bathing me, massaging me, and then tucking me into bed.
When I close my eyes, it’s to the deepest sleep I’ve ever had.
But too soon, it’s over.It isn’t the sliver of morning light breaking through the storm outside that wakes me, nor the unfamiliarity of the bed I’m sleeping on.No, it’s the scent of their cologne fused into my skin that makes me jerk awake.The events of the night before come flooding back to me with stark intensity.
I cover my face with my hands and drop back down onto the pillow.Shame courses through me as I remember my untamed cries when my body betrayed me in the worst way possible.
The times I climaxed with their mouths on the most private parts of me.The plug they put into my butt.The apple.Dear God, the apple.My cheeks redden all over again.How can I face them again after this?
But isn’t this what’s supposed to happen?Am I not a pleasure debt?Yes, but if I were a pleasure debt, why haven’t they taken their pleasure from me yet?All they’ve done is give me dark, deviant, unexplainable rapture that changed the chemistry of my brain and the shape of my body—but they didn’t take any for themselves.I don’t understand.
A worrisome thought swirls in my mind.Maybe they’re not attracted to me.I expected them not to waste any time putting their cocks inside me, yet I haven’t even seen them naked, so maybe I’m right.This is it.Maybe they innately know I’m not worthy of their touch.
Or perhaps they’re just not attracted to me.I start pacing the floor, trying to compute what this actually means for me.They could have ordered me to lie with my legs open so they could come inside me.I couldn’t say no because I’m obligated to see this through.
Would they send me home?Maybe spanking and making me come until I embarrass myself is their way of clearing the debt.
I don’t know.I don’t know anything.I wish they would just conclude our business and send me home.I conveniently brush aside the dull thud in my heart at the thought of never seeing them again.
And really, I must be foolish to want to see them again, brutes that they are.
I don’t dare venture out to the cabin the next day, but I’m relieved they’re happy to ignore me too.I know Flinn does all the cooking, but it’s Sinclair who brings me trays of food.
My lunch tray comes with a note ordering me to come for dinner in the dining room and to dress appropriately.But it’s the little postscript that sets me on edge.
You still haven’t screamed out our names yet.
An anxious feeling washes over me.My body heats up as I reimagine every touch, they laid upon me, every climax, every moan, and every obscene act I committed.
Can I survive another night?I push that thought aside and concentrate on my food: shaved chicken tenders in a light broth with wild rice, vegetables, and fresh herbs.
It’s by far the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten.Who would have thought one of the kings of the world’s most powerful mafia families is also a renowned chef?
My thoughts stray to Sinclair, then to Kian.It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be here; he can barely stand the sight of me during our few interactions.
Again, I should be grateful to deal with one less of them, but Kian’s avoidance and cold nonchalance poke at my ribs and weigh down my heart.But that is not something I should be spending my time thinking about.
Instead, I ponder what my future holds.If everything goes according to plan and the heads of the consortium deem the Anderson family cleared of this debt, I will be free forever.
I used to fantasize about what my life would look like if I were free, if my dad were free too, but now my vision is a little blurry.All the real estate in my brain seems to belong to Kian Saywell, Flinn Calloway, and Sinclair Jones.
I entertain myself with a cozy mystery novel I picked from the bookshelf in the room, and before I know it, it’s time to get ready.
Tonight, I wear a green dress made of the same fabric as the one I wore the night before.This one has long sleeves and frills, and it’s completely see-through chiffon.I’m tempted to wear underwear, and then I decide to anyway.What are they going to do about it?
