She heard the plug hit the floor a half-second before Kenny pressed the blunt head of his cock against her ass, and she braced for him while tears formed and threatened to spill.
Not because she didn’t want it, but because she couldn’t want anything else. Her body was already carved open, trembling and sore, her ass stretched earlier and filled multiple times already, but it didn’t matter.
Kenny didn’t ask, he took.
Slow. Heavy. All the way in, inch by inch, forcing her body to accept him while Silas kept her chest alight with fire. She was trapped between them, beneath them, inside the gravity of them with no direction to run, no space to hide.
Just use, pain, and belonging.Owned.
She shook with the effort of holding her tongue, of not begging for it to stop, but then Silas leaned in and kissed her neck with soft lips while his hands bruised her breasts.
Kenny’s fingers joined Silas’s on her breasts, and it was too much, too sharp, too deep. She cried out, throat wrecked, but of course they didn’t stop.
Just when her body started to break again, Silas’s fingers slid between her thighs, into her stretched and bruised cunt, his fingers against raw skin. She shrieked and sobbed, her hips jerked, but she didn’t beg for relief. She took it.
The stretch stung like fire licking old wounds. Her muscles clenched in protest, too tight, too tender — and still, his fingers curled. Found the spot high and deep on her front wall. Pressed against it with cruel precision.
Panic twisted through her gut as heat rose again, fast and furious in the hollow between her hips. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, trying to push him out, pull him deeper.
She didn’twantto want it, didn’tmeanto moan.
He pressed deeper. Pumped harder. Fingers relentless.
And her body betrayed her again, need flaring like a match struck in soaked cloth. Impossibly, the raw, desperate place deep inside her sparked to life, trembling toward another peak.
“Come for me, little whore,” Silas growled, voice like gravel and steel.
She shattered with a scream, but Silas didn’t stop and Kenny didn’t slow. When she came down from the orgasm, they ordered her to come again, and again.
And again.
They used her until her body went limp — trembling, twitching, nothing left.
She passed out between them, wrung dry, her body nothing but ache and burn and ownership.
And they held her there all night, Kenny’s chest at her back, and Silas’s breath on her face.
They didn’t whisper promises, they just held her.
Because she was theirs to hurt, to humiliate, to fuck. Theirs to break and put back together.
Theirs to love.
Chapter 21
Silas texted two mornings later that he was taking her somewhere fancy, and to dress up. She had no idea what she was dressing for, and not a whole lot of super-fancy dresses in her armoire.
His next text told her to look in his closet, and damned if he didn’t have one of her nicer dresses stowed away. One of her favorites, and she paired the burgundy dress with burgundy and tan heels, fixed her hair and makeup, and was genuinely excited about an evening out with Silas.
She had time alone with Kenny every day during lunch, his quiet strength grounding her in the day-to-day luxury of her routine, the comfort of knowing how every day would unfold, not necessarily all thewhats, but thewhens. She’d had a dozen small moments with Boone that week — walks in the woods, time working out together. She had time with Silas in the evenings before the other two returned home, and as much as she hated his damned sadistic list in the mornings, it added to the daily routine too.
But she was looking forward to a special evening with him. Something special that involved dressing up.
He didn’t get out of the car. Just rolled down the window and said, “Well. Look at you.”
She climbed in, cheeks warm. “Thanks for making sure I had a nice dress, Sir.”
“Of course.” He reached over, slid two fingers along the inside of her thigh just above the hem of her dress. “I look forward to bending you over and fucking you in it later.”
