Page 23 of Trick me. Treat me

Ryker’s voice is pure command, and my submissive side is completely transfixed. “Beg, baby girl. Beg for Knoxx’s cock in your pretty little pussy.”

“Please, Knoxx. Please put your cock inside my pussy. Please let me ride you.”

Knoxx lets out a breathy laugh and lifts me like I weigh nothing. The pierced head of his cock nudges against my sore, swollen entrance for half a second⁠—

Then he uses that ruthless grip on my already bruised hips and slams me down on him in one brutal thrust, reverse cowgirl. Every single bar of his Jacob’s ladder drags hard over the most sensitive spot inside me and I scream, eyes rolling back as the stretch and the metal overwhelm everything.

“Ride me, little bunny,” he orders, voice rough and commanding. “Make yourself come on my fucking cock.”

I do. I plant my hands on his thighs and start moving, rising and dropping, taking him deep, chasing the friction my body is screaming for. His piercings drag perfectly with every stroke. One of his hands wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to restrict my oxygen, while the other slips between my legs and rubs tight circles over my clit.

“Keep those eyes on me, little slut,” Kai growls.

My gaze is hooded, vision blurry with pleasure and the lack of full breath, but I force myself to focus on the black hollows of his mask. The sounds filling the room are pure filth—wet, rhythmic, broken. Skin slapping, my own choked moans, the deep groans of the men using each other and me.

Kai’s voice cuts through again, all authority and demand. “Flip her on her back with her head dangling off the bed.”

He and Ryker pause just long enough to shift backward. Knoxx doesn’t hesitate, he pushes me forward, rolling me onto my back so my head hangs off the edge of the mattress, long dark hair spilling onto the floor. Blood rushes to my skull.

Kai comes to stand over me, cock heavy and looming above my face.

“Knoxx, you’re going to fuck her whilst I face-fuck her, and Ryker fucks my ass.”

“Yes, sir,” both men answer without missing a beat. Guess Kai really is the alpha here.

They don’t ease in. Knoxx drives back into my pussy hard and deep, piercings dragging mercilessly. At the same time, Kai forces his cock past my lips and straight down my throat, cutting off what little air I had. Above me, I can just make out the image of Ryker behind Kai, hands gripping his hips, plowing into him as Kai bends over to skull-fuck me.

They use me ruthlessly. Knoxx slamming into my pussy, Kai fucking my throat in time with Ryker’s thrusts into him. The angle, the lack of air, the overwhelming stretch, the visual of Ryker wrecking Kai right above me whilst I’m stuffed at both ends⁠—

My orgasm detonates without warning.

It rips through me so violently I squirt hard around Knoxx’s cock, soaking his hips and the sheets beneath us. My whole body seizes. Pleasure whites out everything. The last thing I feel is the pulse of them still moving inside me as the world goes soft and black and I slip under completely.

Chapter Fourteen

Violet

The alarm cuts through my deep sleep like a knife to my throbbing skull.

Low morning light streams in through the bedroom windows, soft and golden, painting the sheets in pale stripes. I blink against it, groggy, every muscle in my body protesting the simple act of waking. The room is empty. No masked men. No hands on my skin.

Just me… and Mr. Pickles, purring near my feet.

He clambers up the bed the second I shift, paws kneading the duvet until he reaches my face and nuzzles with shameless affection. I stroke behind his ears on instinct, the soft fur grounding me as I reach for my phone on the bedside table and silence the alarm.

“Thanks for the help last night, you little traitor,” I mutter, nuzzling him.

Confusion settles heavy in my chest as I utter the words aloud. Did I dream it?

The ache between my legs answers first. Then the deeper throb in my ass. The tenderness in my throat. The dull bruises I can already feel blooming across my hips and thighs. Nope. Not a dream. My used, thoroughly abused body is proof enough that last night was real.

I roll out of bed with a quiet hiss and pad into the ensuite on unsteady legs. The mirror shows me everything. Naked skin mottled with fingerprints and purple marks. There’s makeup smeared under my eyes and down my cheeks. Hair a tangled black mess. Every step feels like fresh hell—sore in places I didn’t know could hurt this good.

I grab my bag, pull on clean clothes with careful movements, and twist my hair up into a messy bun. Downstairs, Mr. Pickles is already waiting, meowing like the world is ending.

“Sorry it’s late, Pickles,” I murmur, setting his food down in the kitchen. He dives in without another sound and I can’t help but feel a little guilty that he probably didn’t get fed last night. Not by me at least .

I check the time. Almost nine. My ride will be here soon.