Except strangely enough, I’m not scared. I’m not running. I’m allowing my stepbrother to drag me by the hand into the boathouse loft, stepping onto the killing floor of my own volition.
My body is aching for them, all of them, and the alcohol haze is doing just enough to let me set aside my hatred for these boys and give into my physical desires.
The interior of the loft is colder than I remember, and a thousand times more intimate. Last time I was up here with the Kings, I was terrified, cursing them with every breath. They held me down, made me do things I didn’t want, but now? I’m choosing it. I want it.
The realization hits me like a backhand.I want this. Not the humiliation, not the pain. Not the way they’ll probably rip me apart and laugh about it in the morning. But at least physically, I want them,allof them– and right now, the aching need deep in my core is a hell of a lot more potent than the shame of admitting that.
I drag in a shaky breath, and Raf glances back at me, dark eyes flicking up and down my body with that unreadable expression he always wears. Ford and Wes close in behind us, shutting the door to the balcony and sealing off the sounds of the party below.
No turning back now.
We stride further inside, and when we reach the pool table, I half-expect Raf to just grab me, bend me over, and slam into me like the monster he is. But he only lingers for a moment, almost as if he’s recalling the same ugly memory I am. Then keeps right on walking, his grip on my hand firm.
We move past the bar, past the circle of leather couches, all the way to the heavy wooden door at the back. I’ve never seen what’s beyond it, but when Raf turns the knob and pushes it open, it’s not some hidden torture chamber. It’s… a bedroom.
Of course.
It’s bigger than I expect. Cleaner too. A massive king-sized bed draped in black silk sheets dominates the space, like the devils altar ready for a sacrifice. No dressers, no windows, no other furnishings. Raf lets go of my hand and steps back, watching my reaction. Waiting.
I take a tentative step deeper inside, then another. My throat is dry, and the drinks have worn off enough that I can feel the full weight of what’s about to happen, every nerve ending in my body alive and trembling. I turn in a slow circle, taking in the bed, the space around it, the emptiness. My skin prickles with anticipation as I pivot to face the Kings.
Raf drifts into the room, while Ford and Wes hover in the doorway, blocking the only exit. There’s a weird, expectant silence as Wes’ eyes sweep around.
“You want privacy for this, or…?” he lets the question hang, glancing from me to Raf and back again.
I don’t even have to think about it. I’ve already considered how this may play out– how if I’m alone with Raf, things might get twisted up in my mind and emotions could creep in. When they’re all together, it’s impossible to fully lose track of who these boys really are and the hell they’ve put me through.
Together is the safest bet to keep things purely physical.
“I want all of you,” I say, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my veins, voice steady despite the hammering in my chest.
Raf frowns, like he might’ve had a different answer, but he doesn’t object. God forbid anything come between him and his besties.
Ford whoops, pumping his fist in the air like he just won the fucking lottery. “Fuck yes,” he breathes, lunging into the room and launching himself onto the bed. The mattress bounces, the frame creaking under his weight. I turn to watch, stifling a giggle as he kicks his shoes off, then flops backwards, arms spread wide.
Wes comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me flush against his chest. “You sure, Doll?” he whispers, breath warm on my ear. “Last chance to back out.”
I shiver, but it’s not from the cold. “I’m sure,” I whisper back.
“Atta girl,” Ford says with a grin, propping himself up on his elbows.
Raf pulls the door closed, plunging the room into momentary darkness. Then he flips on the lights, adjusting the switch to dim them low.
As far as ambiance goes, it’s kind of perfect for what’s about to go down.
Wes slips his hands under my shirt, sliding up over my ribs, slow and deliberate. My breath catches as he pushes the fabric higher, exposing my bra. He pauses for a moment, tracing gentle circles around my navel, then in one smooth motion yanks the shirt off over my head.
Good riddance.
I hated that thing when Ford gave it to me, demanding that I wear it tonight. I only agreed because I knew arguing would be pointless.
Wes goes for my bra next, and I don’t resist. I just stand there, arms loose at my sides, watching my pile of clothes grow on the floor as he strips me down while the others watch.
Raf has moved into my field of vision now, and Ford is somehow already shirtless, revealing the swirling tattoos that snake up his arms and across his chest. He winks at me, then points at my skirt. “C’mon, Ava baby. Let’s see that pretty ass of yours.”
Raf’s gaze sharpens, and I realize he’s studying my face, measuring me, waiting to see if I’ll flinch or fight back. I don’t. Instead, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my skirt and start to shimmy it down my hips. Wes’ hands join mine, dragging it lower, letting it fall to the floor. Then he strips off my panties– white cotton with a tiny little bow at the front. I kick them aside, feeling a pulse of shame, but also a raw thrill as I stand in front of them completely exposed.
Ford sits up, whistling. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmurs, raking his eyes over me like he’s trying to memorize every inch. It should make me want to hide, but it has the opposite effect. It makes me want to show off.
