Page 48 of Fatal Scheme

“Come here, we’ve got you,” one of them whispers, but I let my eyes close, allowing myself to feel their tenderness, comfort, and most of all, their worship.

They say a few good orgasms can balance out your thoughts, separating them into categories, and whatever just happened here has absolutely opened my eyes to issues that seemed prominent, but only feel like blips on a map, now.

For example, I’ve been at Emory for months, surviving a full-on attack, and I haven’t heard from my father in weeks.

He hasn’t requested updates, or given me anything from home, which should send me into a tailspin, cueing the paranoia that lives, breeds, and thrives within this world, but I’m actually content.

I’ve fallen into something so fulfilling that nothing else that happens outside of this bedroom matters to me anymore.

I’m finally convinced that this is where I’m meant to be, with the two people who truly want me in every sense of the word, even though I’ve never given them a real reason to.

I’ve lied to them, killed for them, but today, I bled for them, and that means more than anything this world has to offer.

Blood oaths sound cheesy, like little kids fucking around with a steak knife they found on the kitchen counter, but to me, there’s nothing more sacred than exchanging the one thing our bodies protect above all else.

Tyson was right, all I needed was to give up control, and now more than ever, I’m graced with the clarity I’ve been lacking.

Fuck our families, the ridiculous traditions, and the unrealistic shit that’s always expected of us.

What we have is genuine, and I’m going to do everything in my power to burn down anything that threatens to come between the three of us.

TWENTY-THREE

TYSON

Our names are carved into her hips.

We’ve marked her, just as she asked, and I’ve never seen something so fucking beautiful in my life.

I expected her to hesitantly submit, but she shocked me, giving us complete control, and allowing herself to fall apart while we took what we wanted.

It’s the ultimate form of art, the connection between a dom and his sub, but Carter blows those expectations out of the water, especially as a first-timer.

Now, she lays between us, the tears still falling while she comes to terms with the emotional strings that were pulled during the session, but she’s never looked more perfect to me.

Everything about Carter fascinates me, but the trust she drops in the palm of our hands is my favorite thing, like she temporarily forgets who we are, and what we’re capable of.

“Tyson,” she whispers from the crook of Massi’s arm, her voice hoarse and groggy, but far from sleep, as I’ve learned from our nightly slumber parties.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Will you do something for me?” She asks, sitting up until she finds my eyes, which are always searching for hers, whether she realizes it or not.

“Anything. You know that,” I answer, ready to throw myself onto a staked pit, effectively sacrificing myself for her, but realistically expecting something simple like getting her favorite snack before she falls asleep.

“Take me on a date? Jasper had me tonight, but I want to be yours, too. It doesn’t have to be perfect or fancy, but …” she rambles, attempting to defend the thoughts running through her mind, but I cut her off.

“Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven.” I kiss her forehead, watching as she opens her eyes into mine, the sweet girl that I know so well showing her most vulnerable side as her naked body rests in Massi’s arms.

“Thank you. Both of you, for um, taking such good care of me. You’re my … you’re my boys, and I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she sniffles, a telltale sign that she’s about to cry, but I refuse to let that happen, turning her until she’s facing me.

“We’re your boyfriends, Carter.”

“My boyfriends,” she repeats, her eyes slowly shutting as she soaks in my words, a look of content crossing her face as she fades in and out of consciousness.

Our activities tonight sucked the energy right out of her, and once we’re convinced she’s asleep, Massi tucks her under the blankets in the middle of the mattress, stashing her blade under the pillow exactly how she likes before we sneak out of the room.

“I know I fucked up,” he starts once we reach the kitchen, barely breathing before downing a shot and sliding the bottle across the counter.