He chuckles, nuzzling my neck as he takes a deep breath, scenting me. An involuntary shiver races down my spine landing on my nipples and making them hard and aching even as sharp pain zings across my body.
“Doc made a key and gave it to Aeron. I stole the key when Aeron fell asleep,” he tells me, peppering the side of my neck with kisses that has me arching into him, then gasping as it pulls at my ribs. “I couldn’t sleep, not with all of those noises like a wounded animal you were making. Nightingale, I get nightmares too. Where I’m trapped and you're screaming, and I just can’t reach you.”
“Jude…” I say as a small moan slips free when his hand ghosts across my peaked nipple, pinching it just enough to senda jolt through me. Fuck, this boy knows how to play me like an instrument, making me forget the past few days, unable to focus on anything but his warmth, his talented fingers, and his lips as he sucks my neck.
“I want to make the nightmares go away, just for a little bit, Nightingale. Will you let me do that?” he asks, his voice low and growly as his hand travels down my stomach, avoiding all of my bruises and sore patches like he’s memorized them.
“I— My—” I swallow hard, freezing in his hold, my pulse picking up at all the reasons that this is a horrible idea, not least of all the fact that the thought of having sex with anyone, even one of my guys, leaves me feeling sick to my stomach.
“I won’t penetrate you, sweet Nightingale, just make you feel so good that all you’ll remember is my touch. Can I make you feel good, my darling? Do you trust me to make you fly?”
His hand stops at the waistband of my leggings, not moving any further, waiting for my permission. I promised to trust them more, and a part of me is desperate to find a glimmer of light in this horrific situation, especially as I don’t know what Friday will bring. I close my eyes, not that it makes a vast difference given the blackness that surrounds us, and it feels like a weight lifts from my chest as I let my body tell me what it needs.
“Yes.”
He lets out a breath, and I can feel his relief in the way his body relaxes more against mine, the way his lips smile against my neck.
“Thank you, Nightingale,” he murmurs, his hand disappearing from my stomach. My brow furrows, then I feel the press of his fingers against my lips. “Suck.” I open my mouth automatically for him, two of his thick digits sliding against my tongue and I groan as I swirl my tongue over them, coating them in my saliva. “Such a good little broken bird,” he says, the husky tone of his voice sending shivers cascading across my skinonce more. His fingers leave my lips, his hand making quick work of diving under my leggings and panties. I tense, gasping as it makes my injuries tug, when he reaches the apex of my thighs, my hand going to his wrist, making him pause. “Relax, Nightingale. It’s just me, and I would never hurt you.” Taking a deep inhale, I force my muscles to relax, my breath stuttering as he places his lips back on my neck and starts gently kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin there. “Not unless you beg me to anyway,” he whispers just as his fingers circle my clit.
A shocked moan falls from my lips as sparks of electricity shoot from the bundle of nerves, my pussy becoming slick instantly as he softly strokes and teases my nub.
“Jude…” I moan, twisting my head to give him better access to my throat as I work to keep my hips still in order to prevent my ribs from flaring.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Nightingale. So, fucking perfect,” he tells me, his voice low yet his words fill me with warmth, adding to the fire that his fingers are creating.
It doesn’t take long before I’m cresting the wave that he’s created, so close I can almost taste it.
“Jude, fuck, I’m so close, my prince,” I gasp, and a growl vibrates through me from behind. He really likes that nickname.
“Then come for me, Nightingale. Come for your prince,” he commands gruffly, strumming my clit over and over again with just the right pressure to send me toppling over the edge into oblivion.
I cry out, my fingers digging into his wrist as I shatter against him. He holds me as I fall, whispering sweet nothings in my ear as I shudder and whimper, and when I burst into tears, a mix of relief at being able to be touched by one of them and sorrow at all that’s been stolen from me, his grip only tightens, telling me with his body that he is with me. I’ll never be alone to face my nightmares again.
CHAPTER NINE
“WHEN THE PARTY’S OVER” BY BILLIE EILISH
LARK
The next few days roll past in a semblance of peace, well, except for each of the guys getting hauled off and placed in what my sperm donor calls ‘the ring.’ It’s a fucking joke, basically, a chalk circle drawn on the floor in the main room that he throws them in and lets the Soldiers beat the ever-loving shit out of my Tailor boys. The cracked knuckles my guys come back with show that they put up a fight, a fucking good one, but they are no match for the relentless numbers that now make up the Soldier ranks. Nor can they fight the fact that we’re barely fed and watered. There is just too much stacked against them, and eventually, they each have to be dragged back to the cages, exhausted and bloody.
But Rufus isn’t stupid, which in this instance is a godsend. He never brings them to the point of serious injury, and according to each of them, he films the beatings, presumablysending the footage to Adam Taylor as a warning of what could happen if he doesn’t agree to his terms.
Jude steals the key from Aeron each night, although I’m sure Aeron knows, coming into my cell and holding me tightly as he brings me to blinding pleasure repeatedly as if it’s his life mission. He was right that first night; it has helped to keep the nightmares at bay, and he never goes further than his fingers or tongue and never dips inside me, just plays with my clit until I’m clenching around thin air and begging for more.
I’m sure the others must know by now, my whispered cries aren’t exactly silent, but none of them say anything, and it’s always Jude who slips behind me as I toss and turn in the dark. I’m not complaining, but I do miss the touch of each of them and find myself less afraid than I was of becoming intimate with them again as each day passes.
Doc visits every day, checking my healing wounds and even trying to help the guys when he can. He assures us that Adam is coming, often ending the visit with his head pressed close to Aeron as he tells him the plan and they talk through logistics.
Apparently, the Tailors will send a team in to liberate us this Friday, when the HQ will be full to bursting with Soldiers, and we’re to stay locked up until then, no exceptions. Aeron won’t tell me what the plan is beyond our rescue, and I can’t deny the hurt that flashes through me at his distrust. Not that I haven’t earned it, but I thought we were past that now, trying to start afresh.
I’m pacing inside the cage, trying to keep myself as fit as I can given the circumstances, when the door to our room opens and Doc walks in flanked by two leering Soldiers.
I come to an abrupt halt, my throat tightening as butterflies flutter in my stomach, making me feel sick. I just know something unpleasant awaits.
“Good afternoon, Lark,” Doc greets, but the small smile that he gives me doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, wrinkles carve deep furrows around them and creases in his forehead.
“Good afternoon,” I reply, my voice much smaller than I’d like, especially as the excitement rolling off of the two goons fills the air. Like they can smell my unease and it gets them off.Fucking dogs.
