Lili Germain - Six Brothers

“What are you doing?” I ask as I fight against his stronghold, the worry in my voice tangible.

He ignores me, pulling the silk tight and threading it through the metal bedhead. With a sharp tug, I am effectively pinned in place.

The first thing I do is struggle, pulling on the binds that are now around my wrists, only making them tighter, cutting off my circulation.

I am so fucking stupid. I’ve trained for this! I know every self-defense maneuver Elliot taught me off by heart. And I just let him tie me up without even putting up a fight?

I am such an idiot..

I see a flash of metal, and the next thing I know, Dornan has a switchblade in his hand. Fuck.

I keep my mouth shut and my face passive, because if there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that words and expressions will sign my death warrant faster than my silence.

I watch him, panting slightly, as he approaches.

“You’re right,” he says, smartass. “I won’t tell Jase to keep an eye on you. I’ll just leave you here until I get back in a few days.”

I don’t respond. Anger burns inside me. How dare he tie me up like an animal. I decide, here and now, that this is exactly how I’ll restrain him when it’s his turn to die.

“You’ll learn, Sammi, that the best way to be is in agreeance with anything I say. You hear me?”

I nod, my arms pulled impossibly tightly above me.

“You’re mine now,” he says, slithering onto the bed. He grabs each of my ankles and rips them apart, six years of nightmares slamming into me like a freight train.

Play the part, I tell myself. Submit to him. Make him believe the lie.

“I’m yours now,” I echo, motionless, as he brings the switchblade up to the light.

What the fuck is he going to do with that?

The question must be written all over my face, because he smiles, dragging the cold metal up my inner thigh.

“You know,” he says, scraping the blade against my clit, making me shudder, “If you don’t want to do what you’re told, maybe I’ll just put this inside you instead.”

My eyes are watering. I’m terrified. The only thing I can think of is that he likes to fuck me so much, surely he won’t be fucking me with the sharp end of the knife.

He seems to read my mind. “There are other girls with tight pussies like yours,” he says, the tip of the knife barely grazing my sensitive nub, but enough to make me quiver in deathly anticipation.

“What do you want?” I ask breathlessly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Do you want me to beg? I’ll beg. Please untie me. Please put the knife away .”

He smiles at me. “I don’t want you to beg. Begging means I might listen to you. And you’re mine. I decide what happens to you.”

He trails the knife away, back towards my inner thigh, and I relax minutely.

I watch as his head disappears between my legs, but I can’t see anything, and suddenly I am terrified. I feel his hot breath on my clit, and I moan, fighting against the silk that binds me, looking for a futile escape. He’s threatening me with the knife, but I don’t really believe he’s going to hurt me for something as minor as challenging him in a conversation.

I arch my back as his tongue makes contact with my clit, shallow circles at first that become faster and more concentrated. He doesn’t take his tongue anywhere else, just focuses on my clit, making me writhe beneath his mouth. A sob dies in my throat as he stops and raises himself enough to make eye contact with me.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes still full of pain and hate.

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper. Don’t cry. Do not cry.

He chuckles, resuming his licking and sucking between my legs. My hips begin to grind against his face involuntarily as I climb towards that shattering peak his tongue is promising me.

It feels so unbelievably good, and at the same time, as Dornan’s open palm rests against my thigh, the flat side of his blade pressed into my flesh, I know he hasn’t finished taunting me with promises of pain. I swallow down my shame, repulsed at myself that I could be aroused at all with this man, let alone when he’s got me tied up with a knife to my skin. It’s all kinds of wrong, and depraved, and I can’t help but wonder what living here with him is doing to my already messed-up head.

How can someone so cruel, so horrifyingly devoid of goodness, make me feel, physically anyway, so goddamn good ? My brain might know that what I’m feeling is fear, but my body mistakes it for excitement.

I guess it’s all the same feeling of trembling and frantic heartbeats in the end.

My legs start to shake, even though I’m trying beyond hope to stop what is about to happen.

Don’t come, don’t come…

“Come for me, baby,” Dornan says, lapping at my sensitive clit as my core clenches and I cry out.

I am coming, and it feels divine. And then—pain. Red, crushing pain.

I scream as loud as I’ve ever screamed, my leg on fire, as Dornan stabs his switchblade hard into my thigh, sinking it to the hilt. He looks at me, clearly aroused, with that darkness still dancing in his eyes.

“Stop screaming,” he instructs. I can’t. The pain is overwhelming, breaking me into bloodied pieces.

I feel a weight shift as he leaves my line of vision, then returns with my balled-up panties.

I am still screaming when I try to clamp my mouth shut, but he is faster than me. Suddenly I am screaming but no noise is coming out, a wad of black lace stuffed into my mouth, effectively gagging me.

There is nothing worse than being in pain and not being able to scream or yell. The sound of a scream, its very vibration in your chest, is a small distraction. The silence only makes the agony worse.

“If I wasn’t running late already, I’d stay here and fuck you till you were raw,” he says, and I believe him.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he says coldly as he glances down at the knife in my leg. “If you manage to get free, clean all this fucking blood up.”

The pain is shattering, and I can feel each pulse of my heart as my leg bleeds onto the bed. I lie there for a few minutes; every thought consumed by the red pain that’s tearing my leg apart.

There’s a major artery in my leg—did he get it? Am I going to bleed out here, on these stiff sheets, alone and tied up?

I test the binds around my wrists, trying to see if I could possibly tug my hands free, but it is useless. He has me tied up tight. I squeeze my numb hands into fists, trying to keep some blood circulating in them.

How long will I be here? What if someone finds me, naked and bleeding. Oh, fuck. What if Jase finds me? It’s almost too horrible to comprehend. Because then there is the alternative— what if he doesn’t find me ? What if one of the other brothers do? They’ve done it to me once, and that’s when I could put up a fight. Now, lying here, nude, silenced, and completely vulnerable—I just can’t let my mind go there.

I look around me, trying to ignore the horrific pain in my leg, when I realize that’s the answer I’m looking for.

The knife.

I take a deep breath through my nose and set my teeth in anticipation, using my abdominal muscles to curl my legs down to my face. Thank fuck he didn’t tie me at the ankles as well, or I’d be truly out of options.

The pain in my leg intensifies since I’m moving it, and I gasp silently around my makeshift gag as I see my blood pouring from the stab wound, the knife still sunk in to the hilt. Now that my leg is raised, blood starts to slip down my thigh and pools on my bare belly, making me shiver.

Come on. You’ve got a single bind on your hands and a knife in your thigh. This is easy.