Page 41 of Psycho Saviors
I glared at him, not faltering as his hand in my hair tugged it back to expose my neck to him. "When pigs fly," I retorted, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.
His dark eyes narrowed at my response, but there was a hint of amusement there. "You've claimed Cristian’s heart," he said, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather and not mid-sex in the backroom of a dress shop.
"He's crazy," I shot back, although guilt hit me as soon as the words slipped free. He'd shared with me why he was the way he was, and I couldn't hate on him for it. Tyrone had told me his story, of what had made Cristian struggle more.
"He may be crazy, but he wasn’t lying, Scarlet," Tyrone said, his gaze never leaving mine. There was something in his voice, a certainty that chilled me to the bone.
I glanced towards the doorway to the front of the store, a feeble attempt to remind him we weren't alone. "The ladies?—"
"Won't come back here," he interrupted, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Not after I sent them away."
I gasped as his hand on my thigh moved to my clit, glossing over it and making me quiver. He continued the movements, swirling over my clit with soft, deliberate thrusts deep inside me. His touch ignited a fire that I couldn't control, no matter how much I wanted to.
"Now come for me, Scarlet. Show me who this pussy belongs to."
He teased me mercilessly, his fingers swirling over my clit with a maddening precision that had me writhing against him. His other hand pinned me by the throat, not enough to cut off my air, but enough to remind me of his control, his dominance.
"You’re mine, Scarlet," he growled, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within me.
I fought against the growing pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me, but it was a losing battle. A curse tore from my lips as I climaxed, my body convulsing around his cock as he drove into me one last time, spilling himself inside me with a guttural groan.
For a moment, we were both still, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing. Then, with surprising gentleness, Tyrone released my throat and began to fix my hair and dress, smoothing out the wrinkles with a tender touch that went against his earlier roughness. He tucked himself back into his pants, straightening his own attire as I swallowed, needing to rest a hand on the mirror to steady myself.
"Good girl," he murmured as he stroked my cheek, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest at the praise, despite the twisted nature of this entire moment.
He stepped back, surveying his work with a satisfied nod. "Now, how about we take these dresses?" he asked, as if we were discussing a simple transaction and not the aftermath of our explosive encounter.
I nodded, lost for words, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that raged within me. One thing stuck out to me, something that made me wonder.
He’d said I was his. What did he mean by that? Was it just because I was their plaything for the month? It felt like more than that.
Tyrone arched a brow, his face now expressionless, the moment having vanished, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I was in far deeper than I had ever intended. No, I was overthinking it. It was merely a possession thing. Everything was a mess with these brothers, and I had no idea what to do any more.
My feelings were playing tricks on me, and his casual indifference now as he led me out of the back room had me frazzled.
My cheeks burned as the ladies rang up the dresses, while Rachel darted out back and returned to fix up my lipstick, giving me the slightest, knowing smile as I apologized.
"Enjoy your evening," she said once done, bobbing her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“We’re not done yet. Help her pick out some heels,” Tyrone stated as he glanced to the wall lined with assorted shoes, since I had slipped on my old shoes.
“Right.” Rachel focused on me. “What’s your size?”
I told her, and she hurried off to the wall, selecting a few styles that would suit my dress.
“Get a few, you need more than one pair for these dresses,” Tyrone stated as he moved off to the side to respond to some text messages, apparently unbothered by our transgression moments earlier.
At least we hadn't gotten blood on my dress, but I definitely wanted to tidy up before going out again.
19
TYRONE
Ihad taken Scarlet to one of the most exclusive dress shops in the city, a place where the elite of our city came to adorn themselves in the finest attire. One we owned, obviously. It was a world she didn't feel she belonged to, but by the way she carried herself once done up, you'd think she was born into it. The transformation was remarkable; the way the mahogany red dress clung to her curves, the subtle defiance in her eyes as she modeled each gown for me—it was a sight to behold.
Seeing her done up so elegantly had flicked a switch. Scarlet sure did clean up amazingly well, and she looked like she belonged right at home in our world, a woman of power and class in that stunning dress. I wanted her now, craved her. I could see her pretty little mouth around my cock, and I hadn't been able to hold myself back from ordering her to please me. She'd looked displeased at first, but had obeyed, and then she'd moaned, actually seeming to enjoy it. I couldn’t get enough of her. There was just something about this fiery woman that had me entranced, and I wanted to fuck her right there without a care in the world. I owned the place, the ladies wouldn’t say a word.
When I’d walked out, they’d looked at me knowingly, but that flicker of fear in their eyes had kept them quiet. One of them had noticed her smeared lipstick and fixed it for her. The saleswoman had averted her gaze, putting blinders on in regards to our sinful deed in the backroom.