I hadn’t heard of either band, so I chose the first one. The truck cab filled with the strange music I recognized as something the guys often played in the cottage. The mix of the two voices was creepy as fuck, and often helped to put me in the right head space for writing my story.
“Oh, is that what this is?”
“Yeah, you might have heard it once or twice now.”
“It’s perfect for writing.”
“For writing what we write, yeah. It’s funny how the lyrics didn’t mean the same things to me before you came along. After everything we’ve done to you, it feels a little more personal, you know?”
I’d never really listened to the lyrics, so I closed my eyes and tried to focus on what they were saying past the heavy bass line and the rumbling role of the drums.
The name of the band probably should have given away what they sang about, but even so I found myself simultaneously shocked by what they were saying and lured in by the sensual dark violence and the obsession.
“Apparently the four of them are in this complicated power exchange relationship. Some of the rumours I’ve heard make me think of the three of us. I think maybe they’re not quite as violent with their female lead singer as we are with you. Maybe I’m wrong. I guess no two kink relationships’ dynamics are the same.”
Relationship?
Fuck. I was letting myself read into things again, wasn’t I? So hard not to. I guess any interpersonal relationship was technically a relationship. It didn’t have to mean the people honestly loved each other or even necessarily wanted to stay together long term. If he or Zero had stronger feelings for me, they probably would have told me by now, especially with the last of Vandal’s edits handed in and his release party looming. It wasn’t like they were going to stop me from walking out the door at the last minute, suddenly professing their undying love and devotion.
I snorted and rolled my eyes at myself.
“What?”
Inwardly I scrambled, trying to remember the last thing he’d said.
“Oh, I just doubt they fuck with her head the way you guys do with mine.” They fucked with my head even when they didn’t mean to.
“Probably not.” He chuckled, looking so self-satisfied I wanted to smack him.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, his hand was on the inside of my thigh, his fingers toying with the sensitive skin only an inch or two away from my pussy. It was hard not to squirm, but it was easier to focus on how much I wanted him to touch me instead of dwelling on how much I wanted him to love me.
“Are you ever going to tell me what we’re here for?” I scanned the stores, having no idea which one we were headed into. After torturing me and shoving the butt plug in my ass, he had dressed me and groomed me the way he wanted, and then thrown me in the truck. At least it had been the front seat instead of the cargo area this time.
“You need a dress and some shoes.”
“I’m wearing a dress,” I pointed out.
“Not a sundress that screams ‘do horrible things to me at your leisure’—which this one does, by the way. Stop looking so shocked. I swear that’s the entire reason the sundress industry exists.” He made a sound of annoyance.
“Your sundress fetish is a problem, Mr. Stokes. Do try to control yourself.”
Having parked the truck, he unfastened his seatbelt and leaned over me, switching the hand between my legs and pushing aside my panties to play with my clit. I gasped and pushed against his hand, still so hot for him after what he’d done to me at the cottage that I was back to being on the verge of coming in moments.
His laugh wasn’t nice at all, and I moaned loud enough that if there was anyone within a ten-car radius they could probably hear me. His mouth came down on mine, muffling my sobs, drinking them in like the fucking sadist he was.
Of course, he stopped before I got off, ruining my orgasm. He sat back in his seat and cleaned off his finger by popping it into his mouth and sucking. I unbuckled my seatbelt and tried to crawl into his lap, but he pushed me back to my own seat.
“You need to control yourself, Sadie,” he lectured severely, his eyes gleaming. “This is a public place, and we don’t want to get charged with public indecency.”
I moaned. “Please, Vandal. Just take me somewhere and fuck me. I swear I’ll be quiet.”
“No.” He adjusted the hard length of his cock in his pants but smiled at me without a hint of remorse.
“Please! I’ll be a good girl. I’ll let you do anything you want.”
“You always let me do anything I want, and you’re absolutely adorable when you’re desperate.” He opened the truck door like the monster he was and closed it behind him. He stood there for a moment, waiting, and when he realized I wasn’t budging from my seat he walked around to my side and opened the door. “Get out.”
I sniveled something that was probably completely unintelligible as I slid out. My legs felt wobbly.
“You’re a mess. Pull yourself together. Have some self-respect.” He straightened the bodice of my dress and brushed the skirt part down, then tucked a lock of hair behind my ear while I sniffled at him.
“Stop being such a baby,” he said, his grin crooked. He patted my ass, making sure to jostle the butt plug.
“I need a minute.” My voice was high and sulky, and I was trying to slow my breathing and the pounding of my heart.
He pulled me out of the way and closed my door, then locked the truck with his fob. Mercilessly, he took my hand, dragging me through the parking lot. A hot tear spilled from one of my eyes, and I dashed it away as subtly as I could, not wanting anyone to stare and definitely not wanting Vandal to notice.
“What do I need a dress for, anyway?”
“For my release party,” he replied as if I should have known that.
“What are you talking about? You’re not bringing me to your release party. I thought that was in New York.”
“Why would you think I’d let you stay home?”
“I’m going to be in the way. I don’t know enough to make me interesting to your fancy friends, and I’m not pretty enough to be your arm candy.”
He sighed. “How do you know I’m going to let you speak to anyone? Maybe you’ll be wearing a ball gag and kneeling at my feet the whole time.”
Unsuccessfully, I tried to yank my hand out of his grip, then I noticed a woman staring at us. I smiled at her reassuringly as though Vandal and I were joking around. She turned away, still looking uncertain, and I had to hope she wasn’t calling the police.
As we approached the shop, we looked more like a couple and less like a man with an unwilling captive. I missed the name of the place on the sign because I was staring daggers up at Vandal, but it turned out to be a pretty little dress boutique with some of the most interesting designs I had ever seen outside of an article on runway fashion.
The woman working smiled brightly at us but kept adjusting her display rather than rushing over to us, which I appreciated. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing worse than overzealous salespeople. I tried to get a glimpse of what brand names the place carried to see if I recognized any of them, but Vandal wasn’t letting go of my hand, and he was moving too fast for me to look for tags. Prices didn’t seem to be marked anywhere, and there were definitely no “blowout sale” signs anywhere in the store. There weren’t a lot of dresses all crammed together either—each piece was displayed like a work of art.