I come hard, body locking, back arching, a muffled cry around Sting’s cock. Armen doesn’t slow. He keeps pounding into me, chasing his own release.
Sting pulls out of my mouth, strokes himself once, twice, comes across my chest in hot pulses.
Armen thrusts deep one final time, spilling inside me with a low, broken sound.
Rogue grabs my hips, flipping me onto my stomach. “Kneel,” he orders.
I push up onto my hands and knees, trembling. He lines himself up and slides in from behind, deeper, harder. I cry out, fists clenching in the blanket.
He fucks me rough, hands clamped on my hips, pullingme back onto him with every thrust. Sting moves in front of me, already hard again, guiding my mouth back to his cock.
I’m filled completely. Stretched. Used.
I come again. And again. Until I’m boneless, shaking, barely able to hold myself up.
When they’re finally done, Rogue pulls out. I collapse onto the blanket, cum dripping from me, marks covering my skin.
Armen stands, wipes himself off with the edge of the blanket. Sting tosses me a clean corner. “Clean up,” he says.
I do. My hands shake.
Rogue is already pulling his pants back on. “Work hub,” he says. “Now. You’ve been gone too long.”
I stare at him. “You’re serious.”
“Always.” He doesn’t smile. “You wanted to feel something other than helpless. You did. Now get back to work before someone notices.”
I dress slowly, legs unsteady. When I reach the door, I glance back. All three of them are watching me. Not soft. Not tender.
I leave before I can figure out what that look means.
54
VI
The work hubfeels different today.
Not the space itself, same cracked tile, same flickering lights, same smell of cardboard and old metal. But the air has changed. Thicker. Heavier. Like everyone’s holding their breath waiting for something to break.
I’ve been here an hour, sorting medical supplies at my usual table, and I can feel eyes on me. Not constant. Not obvious. Just... there. A glance that lingers half a second too long. A conversation that stops when I pass. Whispers that start up again once I’m far enough away.
They know.
I’m walking through the hub like I’m wearing a sign: BOUND TO ARMEN, STING, ROGUE.
Protected. Owned. Untouchable.
And a target.
I keep my head down, hands moving on autopilot.Pick up gauze packet, check seal, set in bin, chalk mark on crate. Repeat. My knee aches from standing too long, but I lock it straight. I’m not sitting. I’m not showing weakness.
Not here. Not now.
I’m reaching for another packet when I feel it, that shift in the air that means someone’s too close.
I look up.
She’s standing across the table from me. The girl from the Hunt who I punched in the stomach. The one who followed me and Sting through the corridors, who spat at me, who smiled when Sting pulled me away.
