Trey - Shandi Boyes Page 0,34
across the face weakens when he mutters, “I didn’t do it to hurt you, K. I thought I was helping you.” There’s a truth in his eyes I can’t ignore. He either truly thought he was saving me or he’s a narcissist. I don’t know which I prefer. They’re both confronting in their own right. “Are you mad at me, K? Do you want to hurt me?”
When he fills the minute gap of air between us with his impressively large frame, I’m torn between wanting to gouge out his eyes, blacking out, or kissing him. My latter thought is the most ludicrous of them all. Not even his wiry beard can hide the lipstick smears on his mouth. However, I’m more disappointed the stains weren’t put there by me than recalling there’s more than one set of colors.
God, this country has made me mental.
A sensation I haven’t felt in years pumps through me when I attempt to wiggle free from Trey’s clutch for the second time this evening. It’s hot and knee-knocking and has me hoping I may not be as broken as believed. Although it’s been a while, I’m reasonably sure the warmth heating my veins is desire.
It grows more rampant when Trey angles his head to better align our lips. “You’re not angry at me, are you, Duchess? You want me to kiss you? To make you mine?”
The strong scent of liquor bounding out of his mouth could excuse the wooziness of my head, but that would be the cheats way out. It isn’t the alcohol leeching from his pores making me dizzy nor the arrowing of his lips toward mine, it’s his nickname.
I’ve been called Duchess before.
It was by a dead man.
“Your every wish is my desire, Duchess. I’ll give you the crown you’re seeking. It just won’t be pronged with jewels.”
With the world crumbling in on me, I twist my head in just enough time to stop Trey’s lips landing on my mouth. I need air, badly, and not even the furious growl rolling up Trey’s throat can take from that. He’s mad I’m rejecting him, when in reality, I am doing everything I can not to pass out. My past is clutching my throat even worse than the past ten weeks of torture did. It’s asphyxiating me, killing me with the same painstaking slowness of the past six years.
Trey doesn’t realize that, though. “My kisses not good enough for you, Duchess? Do you have someone else you’d rather kiss? Perhaps a rich aristocrat who likes fiddling with his staff?” Vomit races up my food pipe when he growls in my ear, “From what I heard, you still married him. How long did it take you to forget me? A week, possibly two?”
I almost bend in two when reality smacks into me. This is just another game. A sick and twisted mindfuck that’ll maim me more than any of Vladimir’s guests.
Haven’t I been through enough?
Will this nightmare ever end?
It won’t end until I make it end.
Grunting, I push Trey away from me before attempting to slap him across the face. My hand barely skims his cheek when he grips my wrist so hard I’m certain it’s seconds from snapping.
After roaring like the torment inside of him is as dark as mine, he tugs me away from the wall, wraps an arm around my thighs, then throws me over his shoulder as if I’m the weight of a feather. “If you want to play with the big boys, Duchess, I’ll show you how we truly play.”
Through the thumps of my fists colliding with Trey’s back as he stomps us across the room, I hear someone mumble, “Trey… it’s my fault she’s out here. I invited her to sit with us. If you want to be angry at anyone, be angry at me.”
Trey either doesn’t believe Eight or he’s disinterested in what he has to say because he wants any excuse to punish me, which he does not even two seconds later when he slips into the warm water of the jacuzzi with me attached to his front.
To anyone without open wounds, the soothing water would be heavenly for their exhaustive bodies. To me, it’s like being dipped into boiling lava.
The screams ripping through me are soundless. Trey can’t say the same thing. He howls like a wolf under a moon when I claw my nails into his pecs so I can climb up his body. I want to run as far away from him as possible, but