Mistress of Redemption Read Online Free PDF Page B

imagined her
    thighs quiver as he tongued her, the
    wiggle of her ass against his face, the
    clutch of her fingers on his thighs.
    “Thank you, Fiona. Take him.”
    Fiona nodded. Jerking her head at
    Nathan, she underscored Dona’s
    desire with another sharp tug. He had
    a momentary thought to raise his foot
    and boot her back on her ass. Except
    the bitch likely would hang on to the
    harness and tear his dick off.
    Fiona’s lips curved as if she sensed
    his dour thoughts. “On your feet,
    slave. We’re taking you down to the
    water.”
    20
    Mistress of Redemption
    Chapter Three
    As he struggled to his feet, Dona
    pivoted and walked away without
    another glance at him. When her arms
    rose to loosen her hair, it tumbled
    down her back in a way that made
    him lose track of time. The ends
    whispered along the sleek black
    pants that defined the curves of her
    ass.
    Before he could linger on the image,
    his upper arms were taken on either
    side by the redhead and the blonde,
    their nails biting into his biceps as
    they got him to his feet.
    Fiona led the way down to the water.
    With trepidation, he saw the three
    who had played with the cobra
    headed their way. The snake was
    wound around the arm and looped
    low on the bare hips of a woman
    with smooth chocolate skin and dark
    eyes like Dona’s, only hers had
    crimson lashes and the brown irises
    reflected red in the sunlight.
    Her large breasts were a convenient
    platform for another of the cobra’s
    coils, his head resting on her
    shoulder almost like a baby’s, his
    flickering tongue occasionally
    brushing her earlobe.
    “The snake isn’t coming into the
    water with us, is it?” He balked,
    despite himself.
    Before Fiona could yank on him
    again, the redhead’s cool fingers
    slipped between his buttocks, teasing
    his anus, making him lunge into
    forward motion again.
    “He’s jumpy and tight, Fiona. You’ll
    like that.”
    Fiona sent a wicked look over her
    shoulder and Nathan curled his lip at
    her in a snarl. In your dreams, bitch.
    Though even as he had the thought, he
    knew it might be desperate bravado,
    for he wasn’t able to prevent them
    from doing much in his current
    situation.
    He could bide his time. In prison,
    he’d sacrificed the necessary pound
    of flesh to the men who wanted him.
    While he’d toughened up his muscles
    as Dona had noted, he quickly
    learned that becoming stronger and
    faster would not save him from being
    outnumbered. He was too good-
    looking. Too obviously polished and
    condescending.
    They thought they were giving him a
    comeuppance. He was grimly amused
    they couldn’t see through the façade
    any more than the outside world had.
    So he taught them the same lesson
    he’d taught countless others who
    thought they had the upper hand on
    him.
    Every person could be blindsided
    with his or her weaknesses. With
    guile, stealth and the tenacity of a
    bulldog, he proved he was willing to
    go to great lengths to stage revenge
    on those who tortured him. No matter
    how often he was beaten or raped, he
    made sure the perpetrator suffered
    more, whether he did it by planting
    the right lies to ensure his tormentor
    was knifed by another inmate, or was
    sent to Solitary for an infraction he
    didn’t commit. Or maybe the prisoner
    in question was given the wrong 21
    Joey W. Hill
    information about his visiting
    privileges so he missed his
    opportunity to see a girlfriend or
    visiting offspring for another long
    week.
    On top of all that, when Jonathan’s
    muscles got tough enough, taking him
    down had become much, much
    harder. He’d grin through the blood
    on his face when the guards caught
    him and took him for his stint in
    Solitary, never showing the clutch in
    the pit of his gut at the thought of them
    closing the door with its one small
    window, leaving him with four close
    walls and the sound of their feet
    walking away.
    Things like that didn’t matter. What
    did matter was that he earned the gift
    of hatred instead of