Then, Princess clenched.
Malik licked his lips. “Most people don’t appreciate Princess’s true power until she deploys the real weapon—bondage.”
The crack of bones filled the air as Princess squeezed tight, and soon, the man’s pleas for mercy quieted, leaving nothing but the noise of his shattering ribs alongside her hisses of delight. He wheezed, desperate for air.
Malik’s chest rose, his voice breaking. “You see—every time you take a deep breath, you only help her to squeeze tighter.”
Unable to heed the warning, the man gasped for air again. The muscles under Princess’s scales pulsed in return and undulated down her body.
Malik’s breathing moved to soft gasps. “Every breath you take helps her kill you a little faster. Every breath, more shallow than the last…” He held his breath as the man gave one last, gasping heave before going limp under Princess’s powerful clutches. “Until you finally suffocate.”
As if his prisoner could still hear him, Malik continued, his voice now strained as he spoke through a heaving chest, licking his parched lips once more as Princess opened her mouth wide over the man’s head. “Contrary to popular belief, constrictors don’t swallow their prey whole by dislocating their jaw. The jaw is actually divided into several moving parts, allowing each tendon to operate independently so it can inhale prey three times the size of its head. Stretching so wide it seems nearly impossible to break. Like a giant rubber band. No chewing required, of course.”
As Princess engulfed the man’s entire skull in seconds, Malik watched with enraptured glee, his dick swelling against the zipper of his black slacks, begging for freedom.
His eyes bulged again. “See, it’s the flexibility of the jaw that allows Princess to glide over her dinner with such ease. Like a condom over a hard dick.”
As if she could understand every word he was saying, desperate to please him, Princess did just that.
Unable to speak another word past the lump that had taken up residence in his throat, Malik drank in the rest of the vision before him in silence, covering his erection with trembling fingers as his tongue darted out to lick his parched lips once more.
As he envisioned the acid inside Princess’s stomach, powerful enough to dissolve that rat’s bones in less than two weeks, he tightened his fingers around his hardness and drew in a sharp breath through his tightly clenched teeth.
3
“It’s not gonna happen.” Mia Ali gasped, bent forward at the hip. Her almond-shaped chocolate eyes—slightly upturned at the corners—were wider than normal as she stared at herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She studied in her face in the reflection, mainly her button nose, slightly upturned at the tip, realizing she’d never seen her nostrils flared so wide. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d exerted herself this much, and her weary face seemed to agree, appearing especially worn under the closet’s bright lights. Her pert lips—just a touch too small for her face but still full and kissable—puckered as she sucked in rapid wisps of air. “It’s not meant to be, Julian. I can’t do it.”
Behind her, Mia’s personal shopper and tailor, Julian, dressed in a violet suit, was also bent over at the hip. Laying every pound of his skinny body against her backside, he heaved in each breath. His red-framed glasses hung on by a prayer at the tip of his long, crooked nose as he shook his bald head.
“No way, Mia. Real winners don’t quit a Versace original. Go hard or go home.”
Unmoved, Mia’s head fell, causing her bra-strap-length dark brown hair to flutter forward, the long layers it had been cut into framing her face. Her cheeks, far too deep brown to usually show any hint of redness, had a rare crimson glow threatening to burst through.
“I can’t do it,” she breathed.
“Yes, you can. Quitters never win, and winners never quit, Ali. Let’s go.”
With another deep breath, manicured fingers digging into either side of the mirror, Mia’s head shot up. Sweat beads dotted her forehead, the droplets multiplying by the second as if she were in the middle of full-blown labor.
“Okay,” she heaved. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“We’ve got this, my love.”
“On three…”
Julian nodded, lifting one skinny leg from the floor and bracing it against the mirrored wall while gripping the back of Mia’s gold evening gown. “One…” he roared.
“Two…”
“Three!”
Mia drew in the deepest breath she could manage and held it, the crimson red that had been flirting with her cheeks coming out in full force as she sucked her stomach up into her ribcage as deeply as she could get it. The magical sound of the zipper whizzing up the back of her dress came like music to both their ears, and when Julian got it all the way up, they both cried out. Mia faced him, and they clasped their hands together with a scream, bouncing up and down in a circle at their small victory.
“Oh God!” She nearly burst into tears as she faced the mirror again, taking in the sight of the dress she’d been convinced they’d never be able to zip. It had all been worth it. The mermaid cut, sleeveless gold evening gown was simply stunning. Heavily sequined at the top and the middle, growing sheer once it passed the high slit at her thigh, moving down the dress in a gradient effect until it was stripped to the original nude fabric that brushed the shining white marble floors. At five-foot-eleven, and one-hundred-and-thirty-pounds, it was rare that a dress was long enough for Mia—let alone skimmed the floor when she was wearing high heels—without some serious alteration, but this one did.
Basking in the moment, they admired the dress silently, allowing their breathing to calm after wrestling with it on that podium for hours. The elevated podium had been built at the far end of Mia’s private closet and stretched from one end of the wall to the other. Flanked by wall-to-wall windows, it looked out into the palatial estate’s expansive gardens. Giving them a perfect view of the magnificent, multi-colored rose beds that flanked the trickling fountain on the east side.
Beyond the podium, one step down, was the rest of the closet, covered in white carpeting with round, white suede sitting chairs situated every few feet. Mia’s luxury bags lined the top shelves and encompassed the entire closet. Her clothes hung below the bags, color coded and arranged by style and season, greeting her from beyond spotless glass doors that left no room for messiness on the other side. Of course, her private house staff wouldn’t dream of allowing any disarray.
At the opposite end of the platform, past the black velvet mannequin that had been built using her exact measurements, currently donning an evening gown she was set to wear the following week, sat a winding staircase. Its white steps led up to her and Malik’s master bedroom on the third level of the house.
Julian began circling Mia with a concentrated frown on his face. Cradling his chin in one hand, he used the other to pinch the fabric of the dress in various areas, attempting to tug it away from her skin.
“Bit tight,” he said. “But you’ve got the figure to pull it off. Can you breathe?”
“Not really.”
“Oh, piss it. Beauty is pain, right?” He stopped circling, cocked a leg out, and massaged his chin as his eyes ran her dress. “I’m worried about that slit, though.”
“It don’t think it’s too bad.” She swiveled in the mirror, her long, slim leg jutting out of the slit that hit her mid-thigh, exposing a strappy gold sandal previously hidden behind the dress’s floor-grazing hem. Her red toes sparkled under the lights.
Julian met her eyes in the mirror, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Darling, you’re the first mayor’s wife in decades with a higher approval rating than her husband. The Princess Di of the London political world. This is a conservative event. I’d be gutted if I fucked up your good girl image by giving you a slit too high.”
“But my tits spilling out of this plunging neckline, no problem?” She cupped her DD breasts, making them press up against her chest and appear fuller than they already were. “T
hese just scream ‘good girl’, don’t they?”
“You taking the piss?”
“Never.”
“Better not be. You know how Malik gets when you aren’t dressed just right.” Julian tugged at the dress again, causing the slit to ride higher on Mia’s thigh and reveal the beginnings of a scar.
His smile vanished.
Mia’s did too, holding her breath at the sight of the lesion, nearly two shades deeper than her skin. Dark enough to make its emergence alarming, even to someone who’d seen it a million times. Even to the woman whose body it had been branded on for years. It was thick, nearly one inch across, and bubbled up from her skin like a second-degree burn that was still blistering. Still healing. But this was one defacement that had healed long ago.
Julian stilled, eyes wide, entranced by the scar in the mirror.
She grabbed hold of the slit and tugged it down, throat bobbing. Her head remained lowered long after she’d hidden the scar away, using one hand to keep the dress over it while hugging the other around her waist, her arm slung across her rumbling stomach.
She spoke through the layered hair fanning around her lowered head. “Maybe a few inches shorter.”
She snuck a quick look into the mirror, where Julian’s eyes had softened, just in time to see him give a sharp nod before bending down next to her. Seizing a sewing needle from out of nowhere—he kept them strategically hidden on several areas of his body—he trapped it between his teeth and got to work on the slit. In seconds, his skilled fingers had it shortened by two inches, leaving the possibility of another scar-slip out of the question.
He cleared his throat. “Those prim and proper bitches would’ve been ill equipped to handle your mile-long legs, anyway.”
Mia tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, shoulders high and tight, and gave a tight smile.
Julian smiled back, but it vanished in a flash at the sound of a door opening—the door that connected to the master bedroom, one story up. He shot to a stand as shoes clicked down the white spiral staircase.
Seconds later, Malik Ali appeared, his big brown eyes landing on them as he cleared the last step. He lingered at the bottom, with the railing trapped under one hand and the other sank deep in the pocket of his black suit.
Mia’s shoulders rose even more as she locked eyes with Malik in the mirror’s reflection, both her hands covering her stomach. There was no denying how handsome he was—deemed the ‘Prince Ali’ of London due to his uncanny resemblance to Aladdin. When he gave her a soft smile across the room, she smiled back. His eyes ran her body. They bulged as he took her in, an involuntary reflex he couldn’t control, making them twice as big.
Half English and half Pakistani, his skin wasn’t as deep brown as hers or most of the Indian constituents who’d voted for him in record numbers four years earlier, so the soft blush that rose to his cheeks at the sight of her was apparent. Though his skin was light—features slim and Eurocentric, traces of his Indian heritage still crept through in subdued dashes all over his face, leaving no question to the fact that he wasn’t fully white.
His thick black eyebrows jumped as his eyes ran her body, and he massaged his cheeks, so slim that the bones of his chiseled jaw protruded, appearing sharp enough to rip through his skin.
Mia and Julian both played their fingers together, watching him.
Malik looked at Julian, and his voice came—deep but always soft—as if he were constantly whispering. “Valentino?”
“Versace, Mr. Mayor.” Julian straightened, voice hitching. “What do you think? How does she look?”
A slow smile crept across Malik’s lips. “Smashing.”
“We were worried about the slit. A tad too high perhaps?”
“It’s perfect.” Malik approached, stepping onto the podium, coming up behind Mia and taking her tiny waist in his hands.
His eyes met hers in the mirror and swelled again, making him look bug-eyed.
Mia drew in a deep breath and smiled at him.
Malik’s bulging orbs fell down her body, watching his hands in the mirror as he stroked her waist up and down, his voice softening. “Just because she’s the mayor’s wife doesn’t mean she should be relegated to burlap sacks for what little remains of her twenties. She’s always been a fashion risk taker, after all, no reason to get bashful tonight.” His roaming hands lingered on the gold mesh cutouts at the ribcage of her dress, just sheer enough to hint at the soft brown skin underneath. The mesh was splashed with traces of the same gold sequins that saturated the rest of the dress, keeping it from entering wanton territory. His fingers brushed the underside of Mia’s ample breasts and his eyes darkened, voice so low now it was barely discernible. “Leave us, please.”
Julian heeded Malik’s demand without another word, giving Mia a clenched smile in the mirror before stepping off the raised podium.
Malik didn’t wait until Julian had made it to the top of the spiral staircase before he cupped Mia’s breasts and buried his lips in the crook of her neck. His moan warmed the space.
Mia took a deep breath, throat bobbing.
The sound of her zipper filled the room for the second time that night, this time going down. Talk of the lengths she and Julian had just gone to wrestle her into that dress didn’t dream of rolling off her tongue. Silence reigned. The whizz of the falling zipper slicing through the air like a razor.
Malik peeled her dress off her body. It puddled at her feet. He met her gaze in the mirror once more.
She smiled.
He smiled back, his fingers, slim as a skeleton’s, tickling down her shoulders. Over her bare breasts. Her dark brown areolas. Along the deep line in the middle of her flat stomach. His fingers were cold against her skin as they lingered above her gold panties, then he passed those too, gripping the thigh where her scar lived.
She held her breath.
He fell to his knees and took in the scar that stretched from her upper thigh to her bikini line. His tongue darted out, and he gave it a long, languid lick, leaving a sheen of his saliva over the raised lesion.
“Priceless,” he whispered.
Mia took in the sight of the growing erection in his slacks—the hard-on that had been present since the moment he’d entered the room. Her smile widened as he came back up to his feet, swirled her around, and kissed her lips, pressing the bulge into her stomach as he pulled her body to his.
His fingers snaked past the waistband of her panties, the tips penetrating her clenched pussy as he suckled her earlobe between his teeth. “How’s it possible you’re even tighter now than the night you gave me your virginity?”
Mia could only smile when he pulled away and met her eyes. She ran the backs of her fingers down his cheek with a soft shake of her head.
His eyes caressed her soft facial features. Features made even more tender by the kiss of her beautiful smile. In what felt like a flash, he was half undressed, shirt, tie, and belt on the floor with the button and zipper of his slacks undone. His bony chest heaved as he licked and bit her lips. Her breasts. Her scar.
The world moved into a blurry haze for Mia, as if time had stood still, leaving the smile on her face the only constant that remained.
Even as Malik moved her across the podium and to the window, revealing her naked form to anyone in the garden below who happened to give the second story a passing glance, Mia still smiled.
Only when he turned her and pressed her up against the window—causing her ample breasts to smash against the glass—and entered her from behind, did the smile finally vanish from Mia’s face. His ecstasy-fueled moans were muffled in the crook of her neck as his dick fragmented the tight cavern of her bone-dry pussy, and her eyes darkened more every second—blank, vacant—foggier than the black, starless night sky looming overhead.
4
Linc’s body went rigid in the folding chair before the window, green orbs widening behind the lenses of his binoculars. Something willed him to lower the instrument from his eyes, but a stronger part of
him couldn’t surrender the vision before him for long. The sight of Mia Ali’s svelte, naked form—even more beautiful than the tight evening gowns she was famous for had always promised—was too captivating to relinquish. The binoculars were back on his eyes in a flash as Malik pulled her gold dress down to her feet. Her panties came down next.
Linc breathing grew faint, making his chest heave. Completing a full breath past his hammering heart proved a battle hard won as blood gushed through his veins so ferociously they nearly made mountains under his skin. He tried to swallow back the lump in his throat as Malik suckled each of Mia’s dark nipples until they were erect, licking every inch of her body as he feverishly removed his own clothes.
Linc cringed at the loving smile on Mia’s face. How the hell could any woman with a lick of self-respect or compassion smile at that monster? Just more proof that a gorgeous face didn’t guarantee that the same beautiful vision lingered deep inside. Clearly, Mia Ali was just as savage a creature as her husband, which was why Linc didn’t bat an eye when Malik yanked her body toward the window of the closet. He didn’t flinch when Malik exposed her naked form to every security guard lingering in the grass below, all of whom were surely getting an eyeful. He didn’t care about the shame she must feel, having her husband expose her so indecently.
Perhaps she even liked it.
The shining smile remained on her lips as Malik moved her closer to the window, persevering through each of his tongue-fueled kisses. It wasn’t until Malik turned Mia and slammed her against the floor-to-ceiling window that the smile vanished from her lips, leaving her face and eyes completely vacant. Like an empty canvas.
Linc jolted, mouth falling as she transformed in the blink of an eye. Her face alight with a beaming smile one second and darkened with black clouds the next. Clouds almost as eerie and clandestine as the ominous masses looming overhead in the starless night sky. A cold chill raced down his spine when the desolate look not only remained on her face but slowly evolved, her lips curling down at the corners, eyes utterly devoid of feeling. The only sign of life was her manicured nails digging into the glass, so hard the acrylic tips seemed moments from breaking away.
Captive Page 2
