I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (34 page)

Appeased, Sarah turned back to me.

“Some people get quick, painless deaths. Some get long, torturous deaths. Some just die and don’t even know they’re dead. But you, Miss Kingston,” she said, looking me right in the eyes, “I’ll make you
want
to die. Not because what I plan to do to you will be so painful you’d rather die than endure the pain. No. It’s because what I’ll do will be so pleasurable, you’ll think you’re tasting death, because life couldn’t possibly taste
so damn good
.”

Oh dear God.

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to cry and beg for my life, or just accept I was going to die. But because she’d made it strictly clear no one was to speak but her, I chose to remain quiet and await my fated death.

“First, let’s get your juices flowing. I need to see that cute little clit of yours glistening with arousal.”

The butches began whispering and hissing.

Sarah slightly squatted, then slid two fingers inside herself and removed a small, silver vibrator covered in her wetness. That was inside her all this time? Shit, this woman …

She came up to me, and I closed my eyes at the realization of what she was about to do. As her two fingers pushed the vibrator up inside me, I couldn’t even wince, due to my tightly stretched arms and legs. I tried to fight the sensation, but it was futile. My traitorous body responded to every nerve the buzzing vibrator awakened.

The sound of Sarah’s heels clicked away from me, but I didn’t bother opening my eyes, because I was too grossed out at the fact she’d pulled a vibrator out of her vagina and slid it straight into mine.

Was I frightened at the fact I was about to die? That was a question I was unable to veraciously answer. I didn’t know if I was afraid or not.

If I was terrified of dying, it was because I didn’t know what comes next. After I stopped breathing, what next? I think I’m more afraid of the unknown than death’s sting. Not being afraid to die just meant I’d always known life was overrated.

My eyes flickered open when I heard Sarah’s heels clicking back towards me. In her hand, she held two slim clamps that had tiny bells dangling at the ends. Nipple clamps.

Back in front of me again, she snapped a clamp onto each of my nipples, and I bit down hard on my lip and groaned, not from pain, but from pleasure. My nipples stung, but it was a sweet sting.

How
was I able to feel pleasure in such a drastic situation?

Sarah grabbed my face with one hand, and before I knew it, her lips were on mine, and her tongue was in my mouth. Raping it. She kissed with such command and firmness, it left no doubt who was in control.

Roughly ending her mouth rape, she bit and pulled on my bottom lip, and scraped her teeth along my jaw. Next, she began meandering kisses down my neck and collarbone, and soon her tongue was flickering around one clamped nipple. I moaned in sheer ecstasy. This wasn’t supposed to feel good, but it did.

Sarah was completely focused and controlled, never uttering a word. The only sounds were my own stifled moans, and the faint whisperings of the butches who were having their fill of the show.

Sarah James, I discovered that night, was a freak.

And a frigging psycho.

While she tongued my nipples, one hand traveled down between my spread thighs to slide two fingers inside me. She removed the vibrator, held it up, and gave me a crooked smile. “You’re so turned on, Krissan Kingston.”

The vibrator went right inside her mouth, and she sucked it off and moved in to kiss me. Flowingly, softly, smoothly.

Breaking the kiss, she licked her lips and continued, “Just bear in mind when I start sucking on that sweet, pink clit of yours: the quicker you come, the sooner you die. I’d hold out if I were you.”

Just like that, she dropped down to her knees and began sucking me. I moaned out loud at the sudden attack of pleasure, and even if I wanted to writhe, I couldn’t with my stance. I just had to take it as she gave it.

And, boy, she was giving it.

Through hooded eyes, I watched as she used one hand to rub herself, groaning erotic sounds against me. If I said that didn’t send my pleasure-ridden body out of control, I’d be lying. I was going to come. A
woman
was going to make me come.
Sarah James
was going to make me come.

And then, I was going to die.

The shrill of a ringing cellphone broke through the thick waves of pleasure. Whoever’s phone it was, they let it ring out. But as soon as it stopped ringing, it started again. That made Sarah pause her tongue punishing, and I was glad for the reprieve. Slowly, she turned her head to glare at the group of dazed, horny-looking butches.

Just glared, no words.

Braided Butch snapped out of her haze and reached down to feel her pocket. “Oh shit, it’s mine.” She took out her phone and looked at the screen. “Fuck wifey’s timing.”

Eyes still licentiously raking over me and Sarah, Braided Butch reluctantly got up from her chair and wandered off into distant darkness to answer the call.

Sarah turned back to me and resumed her punishment.

Closing my eyes, I began weeping inwardly, unwilling to embrace the intense pleasure I was feeling, because I knew it was wrong. But it wasn’t anything I could control.

Before I had the chance to be good, I’d chosen to be bad. Because of a boy who had impossible golden eyes and the most perfect hair I’d ever seen. Because of a boy who made my stomach feel weird, and made me dream dreams that would never come true. Because of a boy who made me want and need. He made me choose bad instead of good. That same boy who I stopped loving the minute I started loving him …

My eyes were wide as I watched the almost naked women dance to bad music on Jahleel’s computer screen. They had big boobies and big bottoms, and they were moving around in ways I knew my new Mom and Dad would disapprove of.

We were sitting in Jahleel’s bed and were covered under his big, fluffy sheet with his shiny laptop between us. We did that a lot when our Mom and Dad were not at home. Ever since I moved here at six years old, we hid and watched bad stuff on Jahleel’s computer. I was eight now, and we still did it. He never left me alone. He always wanted me to be where he was. But I always wanted to be where he was, too, so it never bothered me that he always took my hand and led me away from Trey.

I pulled my eyes away from the computer screen and peeked across at the boy I liked with the perfect hair. The boy who I wished wasn’t my brother. That way, I could tell my new friends at my new school I have a boyfriend who has perfect hair and eyes that shine.

His eyes were like the color of the golden Easter eggs our Sunday school teacher sent us out in the field to search for at Easter time.

Now they looked dreamy as he watched the women on the screen. So, I asked him, “Do you like them?”

“Huh?” he said. His eyes were still glued to the screen.

“The women on the computer. Do you like them?”

He smiled the smile I liked to see, the one where only one side of his lips tips up, and you only see a little bit of his teeth. But he was still looking at the women on the computer screen and not at me. “Yeah. That’s why I watch them.”

I played with the edges of his fluffy, red sheet, and asked another question, even though I knew he didn’t like answering lots of questions. “What do you feel when you look at them?”

His cheeks got red, and he turned his head to look at me.
Finally!
I just loved it when those eyes looked at me and only me. “I feel a lot of strange feelings. Feelings that make me want to touch them to see how they feel.” His cheeks reddened more and he looked away. “Or touch … myself.”

“Touch yourself? How?”

That question made him smile my favorite smile again. He reached over and touched my lips, and I got that weird tummy feeling I always got whenever he touched my lips. “You won’t understand, bad girl. But I will explain one day.”

He just looked at me. And then he touched me. “What do you feel when you look at me? Do you want to touch yourself, too?”

His smile disappeared, and his upset look appeared, the one where something flicked in his jaw, then he looked back to the computer screen. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand.”

At that very moment, I made myself stop loving him and his stupid hair and his stupid touch. I couldn’t make him feel like the women in the video made him feel. Because I was a little girl with no boobies and no big bottom, and I drank milk and ate cookies.

I was his sister.

I wished his stupid parents wouldn’t have adopted me and brought me to this stupid house. Because then I wouldn’t feel this pain in my chest.

Gripping the edges of his sheet, I made up my mind I wouldn’t let anyone’s touch make me get weird feelings in my tummy again. I would grow boobies and have a big bottom one day, and I would be the one to make boys with perfect hair feel pain in their chests. I was going to be a bad girl. And I would only let myself fall in love with the boy who wants to touch himself when he looks at me.

With my little mind made up on how my life would be, I asked Jahleel another question without looking at him — because now since I didn’t love him anymore, I didn’t need to look at him when I talked, just like he didn’t look at me, but at the women on the computer screen when he spoke.

“What happens to bad people?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his head to look at me, but I didn’t look at him, because he had taught me how to be bad. How to not look at people like they mean anything to me, and how to not feel. “They die.”

Bad people die.

I lay back on a pillow and looked up at his pretty painted ceiling. An angel with a golden harp was smiling down at me. Her eyes almost looked as if they were begging me not to make the decision to be bad. Not to make the decision to die.

But, my mind was already made up, so, I stuck my tongue out at her.

The vibration of a feral cry forcing its way up my lungs dragged me from my memories. I stiffened, quieted, and then I spiraled down into orgasm’s abyss with an earsplitting scream.

Sarah made long, feline swipes with her tongue, petting me, until the shudders of my orgasm dissipated.

Holy mother o’ orgasms!

Afterwards, she straightened to her feet, took off the nipple clamps, and looked at me. “You taste real good, Miss Kingston. I can see why my fiancé was intrigued.” Her tongue passed over her lips. “Too bad he isn’t anymore.”

Sarah strode away from me with purpose. A new aim. The fun part was over.

Too soon, she was back in front of me, holding a small, black gun. My gaze shifted to the butches, and only one of them was watching the scene now. The rest of them were either staring down in their glasses of amber liquid or looking anywhere but at me, waiting for the blow, but not wanting to see it.

I also noticed Braided Butch’s chair was still empty. That phone call must have been an important one for her to have missed the climax of the scene.

Raising the hand holding the gun, Sarah laughed wryly and said, “Remember when you were at the club earlier tonight, Krissan Kingston, and you made gun fingers and pretended to blow your head off?”

I was being followed all night?

Knowing her question was rhetorical, I didn’t answer.

“Be careful, everything you do at every second, every minute, every hour, every day of your life is important, no matter how small or trivial it may seem to you. If you don’t want something,
don’t
wish for it. Because most times, wishes come true.”

The gun was now aimed right at the center of my forehead. I slammed my eyes shut, squeezing them tight as I waited, because I didn’t know if getting a bullet to the head would be painful or not. So I cut off my sight and waited for the unknown.

Death.

Because bad girls die.

In a sultry voice, I heard her bid, “Say hello to Johnson for me.”

A loud explosion promptly ensued, and my left ear instantly went deaf as hot heat zinged past it. My right ear began ringing so loud, I wanted to move my hand and cover it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move because I was dead.

“Fuck!” I heard Sarah hiss through my ringing ear.

Another explosion went off, and then another and another and another. I heard groans, thuds, and more explosions.

Okay, I was confused. Was I dead or not? If I tried opening my eyes, would I succeed? I tried, and, yes, they opened.

What I saw made me gasp.

Sarah was lying on the ground with her right hand clutching her left shoulder, and her gun was resting at distance from her. One of her legs was bent, while the other was straight and bleeding. She was shot in the shoulder and thigh.

I looked up, and the butches who’d were lined off in front of me earlier, where now scattered in different directions of the room, their guns lying at a distance from them as they all nursed gunshot wounds. The one who wore the red ball cap was gurgling up blood and making choking sounds, her weapon just a slip away from her fingers. Until she stopped gurgling, made a gasping sound, and took her last breath. Dead.

Shit.

The only one not nursing a gunshot wound was Braided Butch, who had gotten up to answer her cellphone earlier. But she was held at gunpoint by a steroid-ridden, bald-headed man, her eyes bulging from their sockets as she stared in horror at her dead friend. A pretty blond girl, standing to the left of Braided Butch, was sobbing quietly behind the duct tape plastered across her lips, her hands bound behind her back. I guess she was the wife who phoned earlier?

Slowly, I shifted my eyes to
him
.

But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at a crumpled Sarah on the floor as he made his way around prone bodies to get to her. Stopping over her, he aimed his gun at her head just as Natalio shouted, “She’s not worth it, Trev!
Don’t
.”

Stilling clutching her bleeding shoulder, Sarah looked up at him and smiled. “Do it, Trev.” She coughed. “I always knew you’d be the death of me.”