Property of Drex (Death Chasers MC 1)

His eyes are on me, watching with open interest as I move to my jeans. As much as I’d like to draw this out and delay the inevitable, I also don’t want to keep dreading the first time. The sooner I’m naked, the sooner the suspense ends. I’ve prepared myself for what I hope is the worst.

“You know what’s going to happen to you, right?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as I push the jeans down my legs. He takes a deep breath as I step out of them. In nothing but my pink, cotton underwear, I try to find the courage to meet his gaze, keeping my expression as impassive as possible under the grim circumstances.

“I know.”

His lips twitch with amusement, and I reach for the clasp of my bra, trembling harder as it comes undone.

“And this is consensual?” he asks, acting as though he gives a damn.

“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” I retort, my eyes growing wide with fearful regret.

Shit. Why did I say that?

His eyes darken as he studies me, and I drop the bra to the ground, baring my breasts, and hoping that’s enough to distract him. His father is about to do as he wants with my body. It’s stupid as hell to piss off his son right now.

His eyes dart down to my breasts, and his dark smile barely returns.

“If this isn’t consensual—completely consensual—you’re going back to Benny. I don’t have to force girls into my bed. And the second you give your consent, you’re mine any time, any place, and any way I want. This is your one and only chance to walk away. Understood?”

His? I’m his? I thought I was going to his father.

Deciding against voicing that—since a guy closer to my age is preferable to some perverted old bastard—I nod.

“I understand,” I murmur, ignoring the surging adrenaline in my body. If I’m going to be his, then… This is about to happen. Shit.

Hooking my thumbs in the sides of my panties, I shimmy them down my legs, ignoring my desire to cover myself as I straighten back up. He appraises me, putting me on a level beneath him as he stays clothed and keeps that scrutinizing gleam in his blue eyes.

“Turn around and put your hands on the top of the mattress,” he says, his voice commanding but restrained and husky, as though he’s holding himself back.

Nausea sweeps over me again, but I fight it back as I turn and do what he wants me to. My hands shake with crippling fear as I push them against the mattress, and his breath comes suddenly, surprising me at my ear as his shirt tickles against my bare back.

“I’ve got to search you.” His velvety, smooth, deep voice shouldn’t be seductive. He’s a criminal, a coldhearted killer, and I’m about to let him touch me without true protest.

“Open your mouth and spread your legs,” he orders.

Even though my knees try to buckle, I immediately obey, and he reaches around me, putting his middle finger into my mouth. He circles his digit around, inspecting each crevice as though he might find something. I try not to gag, because even though that finger tastes good, I have no idea where it has been.

After a lot of probing in my mouth, he withdraws his hand, and it disappears from sight. He warned me he would touch me, but he never said where. When his wet finger—lubed with my own saliva—slips into a place that’s never been touched, I try to jerk away out of instinct.

“Don’t. Move,” he growls in my ear, bringing his other large hand to wrap around my waist, spreading his fingers over my stomach and hip, firmly holding me against him as he probes me.

There’s no real pain, but the feeling is so alien and… uncomfortable, especially since I’ve known him for just minutes. He pushes in a little deeper, and I suck in a breath, feeling his finger touch places I didn’t consider would get touched. I suppose I only thought I was prepared for the worst.

I really hope his finger is all he puts up there.

“You’ve never been touched back here, have you?” he asks, his lips close enough to graze my ear. The denim of his jeans scratches against my skin as he pushes even closer, letting me feel the hard outline of proof this is turning him on.

I swallow down my panic while trying to answer, but my voice breaks and some squeaky sound comes out instead. So I shake my head no to answer.

His throaty chuckle is mocking me, but I can’t really focus on it when he pulls his finger out and swaps hands. The hand that was just violating me moves to be on my waist, restraining me, while his other comes between my legs to cup me.