The room laughs at him.
“Correction: she’s your ex-wife,” Talon says, giving the chain the faintest nudge so it sings. “Death did you part.”
Cassian slides my hoodie up until it reaches my face, then peels it off and lets it hang behind my head over my bound hands. My hair frizzes around the knot of fabric; I’m panting, arms high, belly tight.
“Forgetting something?” Talon growls. “Count, Mark.”
“Four,” Mark forces.
“That’s right.”
Cassian’s palm returns to my breast, circling, claiming, teasing. He plays me like a man who has the rest of the night and my next life, rolling truth out of me in quiet sounds I never gave Mark.
Nathaniel tilts my hips a fraction, then does something I don’t expect. He drops to his knees and hooks my thighs over his shoulders. The angle steals my breath.
“These will go off,” he muses, grabbing my pants.
Mark’s eyes go wide when Nathaniel drags them down over my hips. His stare can’t find a place to land.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” Cassian murmurs, pinching my nipple hard enough to draw a cry.
“Five,” Mark chokes, voice cracking on the number.
Talon laughs. “That’s it, buddy. Keep counting. Soon we will fuck her right in front of you.”
He hooks a finger through the chain at my ankle and tugs just enough to make my body arch, my back bow, my breasts straining into Cassian’s hands.
“Fuck, look at her. Look what you buried.”
Nathaniel looks up from between my thighs, eyes pale and steady, breath hot against my skin.
“Make the best of it, Skye,” he says softly. “Enjoy it.”
He slides my panties down and lets them fall. Now all I’m wearing are chains and the hoodie hanging behind my head like a mock veil.
Cassian’s hand play with my breast again as Nathaniel takes the first lick against my clit.
I cry out.
Mark jerks against the straps. His face twists through disgust, through rage, through something he’ll never name out loud, and lands in terror.
It only makes me wetter.
Nathaniel drinks it up. His precision is unbearable, gorgeous. I can’t stop the sounds he pulls from me. They are high, sharp, and breaking open.
“Six… Skye,” Mark gasps, trembling now.
He’s saying my name. Why? I don’t know. But I know I’d never call his.
No… There are only three names I can call, and his isn’t one of them.
“Nathaniel…” I moan. His lip ring is cool against my clit, his tongue hot when he slides it in, his fingers rough where they join the rhythm.
Cassian’s grip tightens on my breast, his thumb circling mercilessly.
“Call Nathaniel’s name again,” he whispers. “Let Mark hear how much you like screaming it.”
“Nathaniel,” I cry, louder this time.
