Rough Exile

“You’d really refuse me one last night before I become nothing more than a hired thug again?” Bron’s face was impassive, the way it often was, but his eyes filled with…what? Regret? “I could beat you first if you want to keep pretending you don’t want me.”

I turned to Ilya and toyed with the hem of his T-shirt. He looked down at me and sighed.

“Fine.” Ilya moved his hands to the buttons on my shirt. I expected him to rush through the task in irritation, but he unfastened them slowly, dragging it out. The occasional brush of his fingers against my skin sent sensual jolts through me. I studied his shaven face, feeling like he was a strangely familiar stranger and not the shy, eager, almost-virgin I’d met twelve or so weeks ago.

“Kiss,” Bron commanded.

Ilya sent him a sour look.

“Don’t be ill-tempered. It’s what you were doing before I interrupted.”

“You want us to do it for your gratification?” Ilya grumbled.

“Why not? Entertain me.”

“If we aren’t entertaining enough, are you going to give us a thumbs-down and feed us to your lions?” I asked, suppressing a grin. It was hard to hide my feelings the way they did, but I was getting better at it if I remembered to try.

Bron rose and opened a drawer. He sifted through its contents and withdrew a leather strap the length of his forearm. It had a forked tongue. Idly, he swished it back and forth in front of him. “If you’re not entertaining enough, maybe my tawse can give you some inspiration.”

“So, if we don’t perform, you’ll beat us?”

“It was a child’s punishment in some places not long ago. I’m sure you’ll survive. I won’t even need to use it on you if you cooperate.”

Frowning, I grabbed Ilya by the shirt and tugged him closer. “Kiss me before he beats us both.”

“You know he’ll do it anyway. Hurting us makes his dick hard.”

I slid my hands further up, wrapping them around the back of his neck and urging him down to me.

He brushed his lips against mine and pushed my shirt off my shoulders, letting it slide off to the floor. Briefly, he pulled away and stripped off his T-shirt. It wasn’t what Bron had asked us to do, but he didn’t object.

Ilya kissed me again, and I sucked his tongue into my mouth. His hands explored my bare skin and eventually tangled with the back of my bra as he struggled to unfasten it. Bron’s chuckle didn’t deter him, and he worked at it for a few moments until it loosened around me. He stripped it off, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. I loved seeing him so proud of himself.

“Aren’t her breasts perfect?” Ilya covered them with his hands, squeezing.

”As perfect as her ass, although both could use some bite marks.”

“No biting! I don’t want to meet your family covered in bite marks. This isn’t high school, you know.”

“I never got to go to high school, so you’ll have to forgive my fascination.”

“With biting?”

“With everything to do with you.” He bit my neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but I could feel the desire to mark me trembling in his mouth.

He lifted me into his arms and coaxed my legs around his body, devouring my mouth as he walked us slowly toward the wall and pinned me against it. His mouth was everywhere, hot and demanding, his tongue exploring my mouth, my neck, his teeth catching at my earlobes, my jaw. I slid my feet down to his calves and braced them there, grinding my pussy against his thick cock and the frustrating amount of clothing between us. Still two layers, if my panties counted.

I slid my hands over his muscular back, his shoulders, his neck, up into his hair, grabbing handfuls of the silky length. If he was looking to impress his father, we probably needed to cut it, but it was so pretty it would be a shame to chop off.

Bron made a rumbling sound. “You could bite places her clothes cover,” he suggested. “No one will see except us.”

Ilya’s evil laugh made me squeal, and I struggled to get away. He turned from the wall and took me down to the floor and pinned me there, watching me struggle like a trophy butterfly.

“I love it when you fight me. Your cheeks are red, and your eyes and hair are wild.”

“Don’t you dare bite me.”

He straddled my waist and kept my arms pinned. “My pretty wife doesn’t get to give me orders.”

I struggled, loving how immovable he was. Before these two, no one had made me feel the way poor Lane probably felt all the time. Tiny. Delicate. Helpless.

He shifted downward, biting a trail along my skin, harder where no one would see. I gasped and shuddered, meaning to fight or push him away, but so turned on I had to swallow a moan.

“Every bite of you belongs to us,” he whispered against my stomach, sinking his teeth into me there, too. His hair trailed over my skin, soft and tickling, the pads of his callused fingers scraping, the heat of his mouth intoxicating. I forgot about fighting him off and melted into a puddle on the floor. Why not let the man work?

He tugged down the waistband of my panties, then sucked the sensitive flesh next to my hipbone. The tension in my stomach twisted almost painfully, flooding me with more warmth. When he forced his way between my thighs, I realized he’d left an ugly purple mark next to my hip. He ran possessive fingers over that mark, looking pleased with himself. Slowly, he bit his way down to my pelvis, and bit me there harder, leaving teeth marks. My clit throbbed with reckless envy. He wouldn’t bite me there, too, would he?

“You’d better hold her down if you’re going to suck her clit,” Bron observed. “She’s so ready for you, she’ll probably buck. You may also want to take those panties off her first.”

Ilya ignored him and slid his arms under my thighs and looped them around. What was he planning to do?

His hands caught at the crotch of my panties, and with a hard jerk, the stitches gave away, opening a rent large enough to do whatever he wanted to me.

“You ruined my underwear!”

“We bought you a million pair of panties, woman,” Bron grumbled. “They are meant to tempt men and get ripped off.”

“No, they aren’t! There’s nothing wrong with wearing pretty panties.”

“I never said there was anything wrong with wearing them,” he assured me. “You should just be prepared for what happens if you do.”

I sputtered a protest, but Ilya used his fingers to spread my labia wide, distracting me from the argument. He inhaled deeply, like I was his favorite dessert, and I shut my eyes in mortification.

“You always smell like something I want to sink my teeth into,” he murmured to me.

“Don’t bite me there! That part of me is too delicate to be rough with.”

He tsked. “Maybe no one has bitten you the right way then.” He lowered his head, and I tried to grab his hair but it slid through my fingers in a beautiful dark cascade.

“Ilya, no!”