"Better. For now." I stare at the ceiling. Can't look at any of them. "What did we just—"
"Don't." Bane's hand finds mine. Squeezes. "Don't think about it right now. Just rest."
Part of me wants to argue. Demand answers, explanations, promises about what this means and where we go from here.
Instead, I close my eyes as relief floods through my veins. Like a strong balm, a warm hug. Everything goes fuzzy.
Exhaustion drags me under before I can form another thought.
I wake up alone.
The room is dark. Quiet. I'm in my bed, under the covers, wearing a clean pair of boxers I don't remember putting on.
For a moment, I think I dreamed it all.
Then I shift, and feel the lingering soreness. The tenderness between my thighs. The phantom sensation of fingers deep inside me.
Real.
It was real.
I sit up slowly. My body aches in ways I've never felt before—a deep, satisfying soreness that radiates from my core. My thighs are tender. My hole feels... used. Empty in a way that makes me want to clench around nothing.
For a long moment, I just sit there in the dark, trying to piece together what happened. The heat spike at dinner. Screaming at Margot. Running inside. The brothers breaking down my door.
And then—
I swallow hard. My throat is raw. From screaming?
From—
Bane's fingers in my mouth. Atlas's tongue. Zero's hands spreading my thighs.
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. I press my palm flat against my stomach, feeling the ghost of Atlas's hand holding me down. My skin still tingles where they touched me. All of them. Everywhere.
I should feel violated. Used. Wrong.
Instead, there's a warm curl of satisfaction in my chest. A sense of... rightness. Like my body finally got something it's been starving for.
They took care of you, a voice whispers.They saw what you needed and they gave it to you.
I let myself sit with that for a moment. Let myself remember the way Atlas looked at me—focused, intent, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. The way Bane held my wrists, firm but never bruising. The way even Zero, for all his sharp edges, touched me like I was something precious.
Maybe this doesn't have to be a disaster. Maybe—
And then the rest of the memory crashes back.
Please, I need all of you—I need you to fuck me—please, please, I'll be good, I'll be so good—
My stomach drops.
Not tonight.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory keeps playing, relentless, humiliating. My own voice, high and desperate. The words spilling out of me like vomit. Promising things. Begging for things.
I begged them.Beggedlike some desperate, pathetic thing. Promised I'd be good. Promised I'd do anything.
And Atlas said no.
