Shackled (25 page)

“Get her naked and do her, then.”

“Trey, no! Please, you promised!”

“Changed my mind. I like seeing you butt-fucked by my buddies. Kind of a nice change from Ms. High-and-Mighty society bitch. Connie the cunt. That’s what we call you, you know.” Then he looked at Bethany. “You just wait, sister-in-law. That X is going to kick in real soon. Then you’ll see what a whore the woman is.”

Another of the men joined the one holding Constance and they began to pull the clothes off her. Bethany looked away. Trey grabbed her face again, and she dug deep for her best sneer. “So I guess it’s going to be a big surprise to you when you discover I already have a legal guardian, isn’t it?”

“Nice try. Jonesy, Paulie, come on over here. Let’s help pretty sister-in-law here get more comfortable. Give her something to drink.” He looked down at her. “Constance says you’ve been a widow for a few months. Figure you must be in need of a good lay by about now.”

“Just too bad there’s not a one in sight,” Bethany said.

Bethany’s head bounced off the mattress again, and she wondered if maybe, if she baited this bastard just right, he’d hit her hard enough to render her unconscious.

She blinked as sounds seemed to echo in the room. Feeling lightheaded, Bethany closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and prayed for unconsciousness. When she felt hands on her, opening her blouse, she screamed. Twisting, kicking, she took another hard slap, and then she screamed again.

Chapter 21

Jonathan counted it an act of God that Peter’s friend, Detective Tom Brady, was the man his best friend was meeting with when Jonathan called.

By the time he pulled up to Constance Wellington’s home, Peter’s Lexus, a dark Buick, and three squad cars were there.

Jonathan didn’t even turn off the car. He just jammed it into park, opened the door, and ran.

“Back!” That hissed command came from a beefy-looking man dressed in a gray suit, tie slightly askew. His dark brown, close-cropped hair carried just a twinge of gray at the temples, and the lean lines of his face looked to be in a permanent scowl. He had his gun drawn, which did give Jonathan pause.

“We just got here. The Beemer’s hot, so they haven’t been here long,” Peter said, his voice quiet.

The suit, who Jonathan figured was Detective Brady, nodded to his officers. Then he knocked on the door.

Jonathan felt time crawl to a standstill while they waited for someone to answer the damn door. Brady knocked again. Then he tried the doorknob. It opened easily and swung wide.

“Police! This is the police! We’re coming in!” He turned and nodded to the uniformed officer closer to him.

A woman screamed.

Officers, guns drawn, raced into the house. The scream came again, and they followed the sound to the left and down the stairs.

Jonathan and Peter were right behind them.

“Police! Everybody, hands in the air!”

Jonathan rounded the corner then froze, the sight before him stealing his breath and spiking his fury.

Bethany was on a mattress that had been tossed on the floor, a monster of a man straddling her, his hands in the air.

She had her clothes on, though her blouse was partly open and she was crying.

Peter saw her at the same time, and they both raced to her, reaching her just as one of the uniformed cops pulled the man away from her.

A sound caught Jonathan’s attention, and he saw Constance on the floor, naked, with a man between her legs, obviously oblivious to the cops as he raped her. Two officers quickly dragged him off. The woman curled into a ball, moaning.

He met Peter’s gaze. “Take care of our woman,” Peter said. “I’ll help Ms. Wellington.”

Peter grabbed an afghan off one of the chairs and went over to help Constance. Jonathan got down on his knees and scooped Bethany into his arms.

“Thank God, oh, thank God you got here.” Then, crying, she burrowed into him.

One of the officers came forward. “Bastard had this in his pocket,” he said and used the key to open the handcuffs that bound her.

Jonathan eased her arms from behind her, wincing when she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He massaged her shoulders then just held her and rocked her.

More uniformed cops poured into the room, and he heard Detective Brady call for an ambulance.

The cop came over and squatted in front of them.

“Ms. Craig, are you all right? Did they give you anything? Any drugs of any kind?”

Bethany shook her head. “No. They were going to give me something that man,” she nodded to the one on the floor closest to them who was on his belly being handcuffed, “I think his name is Trey, he said he was going to give me something called X. But no, they barely touched me. You got here just in time.”

“I strongly suggest you let the EMTs have a look at you and take you to the hospital. You’ve been assaulted. And you have a bruise on your face.”

Bethany smiled. “That’s because I insulted the bastard and he hit me. Twice.”

“Jesus, Beth.” Jonathan just held her tighter.

“It was the only way I could fight, buy time,” she said into his chest.

“You’re one hell of an amazing woman.” He spoke nothing but the truth.

EMTs came into the room as the uniformed cops began to take the suspects out, one by one, each man in handcuffs.

Other officers searched the premises, and although he didn’t pay too close attention, he realized they found contraband substances.

Peter came over and sat on the other side of Bethany. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Now that the two of you are here, I’m a lot better.” She’d stopped crying, true, but she still shook.

“Want to ride with Constance to the hospital?” Peter asked, his voice gentle

“No. She was part of it. Though I think she’s been punished enough already.”

“Not in my book,” Jonathan said.

“Or mine,” Peter agreed.

Bethany waved her hand. “I don’t need the hospital. They didn’t drug me, or rape me.”

“They just smacked you around some and scared the shit out of you,” Jonathan said.

“Which, translated, means, ‘okay, we’ll take you to the hospital ourselves’,” Peter said.

Jonathan met Peter’s gaze. “I don’t know why either of us worried we wouldn’t be able to do this,” he said, “since we’re so often on the exact same page.”

* * * *

“I can walk,” Bethany said.

“Humor me.” Jonathan disregarded her statement and scooped her up and carried her toward the house. Peter had run ahead and had the door open.

It was so good to be home again. She’d been at the hospital for three hours, being examined by a trauma doctor and a psychologist. Thankfully, neither Jonathan nor Peter had left her alone.

Bethany sighed and closed her eyes. She supposed she should humor them both. After all, they’d not only stayed with her, they’d rescued her just in the nick of time in the first place.

“What can we get you, sweetheart?” Peter asked.

“A fresh cup of tea. But first, I want to shower. I don’t feel clean.”

She could feel them looking at each other.

“Hey.” Jonathan’s gentle tone made her open her eyes to look at him. “None of what happened was your fault.”

“He’s right, honey. We’re kicking our own asses, but even we know there was no way any of us could have anticipated that something like this would happen.”

“No,
none
of us could have guessed that.” She gave them each a good stare because, as new as their relationship was, she understood her men well enough to know they each blamed themselves.

Her men. Isn’t that a kick
?

“None of us is to blame, and that is the God’s truth. But I still don’t feel clean. That man touched me. Please.”

“We’ll shower together,” Jonathan said.

Bethany thought about it for about two seconds. “Yes, please, that sounds perfect.”

She relished the care her men took of her, the way they so gently undressed her. They literally chucked their clothes and were naked in no time at all. Jonathan picked her up and carried her into the shower that Peter had already turned on, so the water was warm for her.

“We need a larger shower, too,” Jonathan said as he set her down and then turned her so the spray missed her face.

“Mm, nice and hot, the way I like it.” With one man in front of her and the other behind her, Bethany didn’t have to do anything but let them take care of her. The terror of the afternoon melted under the potent combination of hot water and hot men. She leaned back against Jonathan and sighed.

They took turns using their hands and soap to wash her, interspersing their ministrations with deep, drugging kisses and tender, sweet hugs.

By the time the water was turned off, she felt clean again. And more, she felt cherished as she never had in her life. Cherished and desired. She wanted nothing more than to make love to both of these men, to forever erase the specter of what might have been, with what was.

They dried her, these two big, manly men, using fluffy towels, blotting the water from her as if she was made of the most delicate porcelain.

“Do you want that tea now…or later?” Peter lifted her in his arms and began to move toward the bed.

“Later, please. Much, much later.”

They laid her in the middle between them, on her back. As if they were two halves of a whole, they petted and caressed her, their touches both long and luxurious, and short and sweet. She used two hands, one for each lover, to stroke, to assure, to simply revel in their presence and the fact that she was free to love and be loved.

Kisses turned hotter, more carnal, and Bethany wallowed in them, in the pampering and the heat and the thrill. She longed to taste them, to give to them, but she understood their need after so close a call. So she surrendered to their needs and had hers met to overflowing.

“Come here, baby.” Jonathan urged her closer, and she turned, gained her knees, and began to sip and lick his flesh. He tasted better than good. These two men in so short a time had become more than important to her, they’d become vital.

She reached into the drawer of the bedside table, removed two condoms and the tube of gel. She prepared one and then the other of her men, enjoying the ritual, indulging her need to pleasure them, and holding their groans of delight and moans of need close to her heart.

She straddled Jonathan, took him into her body, and sighed with the pleasure of having his cock so deep inside her. Then she looked over her shoulder at Peter.

“Please,” she said.

“Oh, yes.” He moved close to her, tenting her, and spread kisses down her back at the same time he used the gel to make her ready.

Bethany thought of this particular delight as a symbol of them, as a unit. This was three becoming one in a way that defied convention but was no less real and integral to what they were becoming to each other because of it.

“Easy.” Peter moved closer and gently ran his cock over her anus, gradually increasing the pressure until she felt her tiny rosebud opening.

“So good.” She could barely speak. The thrill of having one lover’s cock buried deep in her cunt and the other lover’s cock penetrating her ass caused shivers of pure bliss to cascade throughout her body. She’d learned how to move, and so as her lovers fought to control themselves, to be careful of her, she thrust her hips down and in, then back and out, a gentle, rocking, swaying kind of motion that stroked one cock, and then the other, until they were all three of them moving to music only they could hear.

She felt Peter’s cock slide all the way into her. His lips kissed her shoulder, and the heat from his body, covering her, warmed her through and through.

“I love you, Bethany.”

He’d never said the words, not once. She held them tight, held them close.

“I love you, too.” Though it seemed impossible that it could be so, should be so, she knew she did. And she accepted his love as a most precious gift.