I run a hand through my hair, arching my back just enough to push my boobs out as I glance between them. “You guys have way too many clothes on,” I point out, voice breathy.
Wes yanks his shirt off and tosses it behind him, then slides his hands up my thighs, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. He buries his face in my neck, nipping at my skin.
“You taste like cherries,” he murmurs, licking a hot stripe up to my ear. “And you’re shaking. You nervous?”
“A little,” I admit.
He turns me around, cupping my cheeks in his hands, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are soft, stormy gray flecked with blue. “You can tell us to stop at any time,” he says.
I nod, my throat tightening as I look toward Raf. His eyes are dark, the hunger in them barely leashed. “Don’t just stand there,” I say, sinking my teeth into my lower lip as my eyes flicker down his fully clothed body.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt, peeling it off slowly, never breaking eye contact. The sight of him– scarred, muscled, every inch of him taut with tension– makes my knees weak. I want to touch him so much it hurts. To run my fingers over the scars, to know what they feel like.
I step toward him, closing the distance in two strides and pressing my hands to his chest. His skin is so warm, so alive. I slide my palms over his pecs, up to his thick shoulders, down to his abs. He’s never let me touch him before, not like this. I savor every second, memorizing how firm and strong he feels beneath my fingers.
When I was a kid, I looked at Raf like he hung the moon. He was my friend– my only friend, other than my mom. He brought me licorice ropes, told me about his favorite movies. Now, he’s all grown up, hardened by the world, but part of me still aches for that connection we had when we were young. I’m not sure I’llever stop longing for it, searching for a glimmer of who he used to be.
I know it’s wrong to want him like I do, after everything he’s done. But something in it feelsright, too. Like this is how it was always supposed to be.
As if he can read my thoughts, Raf suddenly catches my chin in a hand, tilting my head up and kissing me. It’s not soft. Not sweet. He kisses me like he’s starving and I’m the only food left in the world, like he’s bent on devouring me until there’s nothing left.
I melt into him, my whole body going boneless. Wes moves in behind me, kissing the back of my neck, hands roaming over my hips and up to cup my breasts. Ford makes his way off the bed and joins in from the side, nipping at my earlobe and grinding his obvious erection against my thigh.
It’s too much. Too many hands, too much sensation. My brain starts to short-circuit, the room blurring at the edges.
Ford’s the first to pull back. “Hey, before we get carried away,” he drawls, pausing like he’s ramping up for something big. “I was thinking we should probably make a little movie to send to Voss. Proof that our girl’s no longer a blushing virgin.”
My stomach lurches, every muscle in my body snapping taut. The last time they filmed me in this loft, they used it as leverage. Used it to manipulate me into…fuck, into winding up right here.
I try to jerk away, but Wes’ hands on my waist hold me firm, his chin hooking over my shoulder. “He’s right,” he murmurs in my ear. “I can do it, make sure the angle doesn’t show too much, just enough to get the point across.” He nips my earlobe. “I’ll keep it classy, promise.”
I hesitate, not believing him for a damn second, but things are different now. The Dollhouse is real, and I’ll do just about anything to keep from winding up back in that place.
My mind races as Wes’ hands slide around to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re stiff and aching. “Okay,” I gasp, arching into his touch, glancing back at him over my shoulder. “Only if it’s you. And only if you keep it short.”
He nods, and then they’re all on me again– hands, mouths, sensation. It’s overwhelming, to say the least. The three most dangerous boys on campus taking turns touching, tasting, and stroking me; winding me up for the main event.
Ford’s the first of them to get fully naked. He shoves his jeans and boxers down, the piercing at the base of his cockhead glinting in the low light. He reaches for my hand, wrapping my fingers around his girth, guiding my fist up and down his thick shaft.
“Don’t be shy, Ava baby,” he murmurs, jerking his hips into my hand. “Show me how bad you want it.”
I tentatively firm up my grip, stroking him as another hand presses between my thighs. Two fingers slide through my slickness, teasing at my entrance before circling my clit. I gasp and nearly lose my grip on Ford, but he steadies my wrist, not letting me stop.
“God, you’re soaked,” Wes growls, lips brushing my ear as he works my pussy. “Knew you’d be dripping for us.”
My breath catches, and Raf reaches up to catch my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Get her on the bed,” he orders, voice gravelly.
Wes and Ford obey in unison, my heart lurching as they lift me off my feet like I weigh nothing and deposit me in the center of the mattress. The sheets are cold, but that doesn’t last. Ford climbs up behind me, pulling my back to his chest and spreading my legs with his knees. He reaches around, rolling my nipples between his fingers so hard I whimper.
Wes strips off the rest of his clothes with frantic, efficient movements, then crawls up the bed between my spread thighs, licking and nipping his way up my legs.
“Get her ready,” Raf directs, watching with hooded eyes as he lowers his own zipper.
Ford brings my hand behind me, guiding me to stroke him as he whispers filth in my ear. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this all week. Dreaming about it. Gonna have you drooling down my dick while Wes eats that sweet cunt.”
My belly flips in nervous anticipation.
Raf moves in, stalking toward me with that same slow, predatory grace that used to scare me and now just… excites me, for reasons I can’t even begin to explain. He drops his pants and boxers, kicking them off his legs, and I stifle a gasp. He’s big and thick, the flushed head already leaking. For a second, I’m terrified. Then I’m reaching for it with my free hand, desperate to touch him, to make him feel something as wrecking as what’s happening to me.
