He pushes as deep as he can, shuddering as he empties himself inside me, filling me to the brim. The pressure of both their releases spilling into me makes me whimper, overstimulated, undone.
Zane yanks free of my mouth, stroking himself furiously over my face. “Open wide, sweetheart.”
I can barely hold myself up, but I obey, lips parting, tongue out. He groans, hot and thick as he paints my tongue, my lips, my cheeks. I moan at the taste, at the filth of it, at the way Ryder and Finn’s come is already leaking down my thighs.
All three of them, on me, in me, claiming me. Ryder pulls me back against his chest, panting, kissing my shoulder like he can’t stop. Finn strokes my hair, presses his lips to my temple. Zane tilts my chin up, smirking as he smears his come across my cheek with his thumb.
“Look at you,” Zane murmurs, low and wicked. “Covered in us.”
Finn joins in. “Ours.”
And Ryder growls against my skin, possessive, spent but still hungry. “All fucking ours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ryder
The notice goesup on Tuesday morning, printed on heavy cream paper and taped crookedly to the bulletin board outside Town Hall as if it’s announcing a bake sale instead of a public execution.
Emergency Council Session.
Review of Licensing Standards Following Ownership Change. The Hollow.
Ownership change.
I bought the place outright. Paid cash. Filed everything clean. Passed inspection.
But “ownership change” sounds unstable. Transitional. Temporary.
That’s not accidental.
By Thursday night, the high school gym is fuller than I’ve ever seen it for something that doesn’t involve basketball or pie.
The lights are too bright. The folding chairs are set in neat rows that scrape and echo every time someone shifts. The old Wildcats banner still hangs behind the podium, blue and gold letters curling at the edges. I guess civic conflict and school spirit share the same oxygen.
I walk in with Finn and Zane at my back.
We don’t talk.
Aurora is already there, seated three rows from the front, her spine straight, hands folded loosely in her lap, waiting for information, not spectacle. When her eyes meet mine, they’re collected.
That steadiness anchors me in a way that has no business being anchored in a room like this.
Benjamin Wren stands near the front, speaking quietly with Judge McDowell before the meeting is even called to order. He’s wearing a dark suit tonight, crisp and powerful looking. The gold ring on his right hand catches the fluorescent light every time he gestures.
He sees me and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Mayor Hartwell clears her throat into the microphone, which shrieks in protest before settling into a low hum.
“This emergency session has been called to address community concerns regarding the recent ownership transition of The Hollow.”
There’s a murmur behind me. The words ‘motorcycle club’ drift in a whisper that isn’t as quiet as the speaker thinks it is.
Benjamin steps forward before he’s invited, smoothing the front of his jacket as if this is a presentation he’s practiced in a mirror.
“I want to begin by saying this is not about personal grievances,” he says smoothly. “It’s about community standards and proactive governance.”
I roll my eyes. Why are we here,again? It feels wrong in every way.
