Page 10

I mean…she’s not wrong.

We’re three masked men currently surrounding a girl we blackmailed into sex.

But I can’t get past the way my cock is so hard right now that it hurts. And I haven’t touched myself once. I haven’t needed to. Watching Kipton fuck her, watching her face shift from pain to something else, something broken and real, was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. At the same time, something that’s really fucked up. Because I want to be next. I want to know how that tight pussy feels around me. I want to know what it feels like to be the one making her make those sounds.

But I also don’t want to hurt her.

The contradiction sits in my gut like a stone. I’m twenty-one years old, and I’ve never once given a shit about whether I hurt someone during sex. I’ve fucked plenty of women, taken what I wanted, and have never lost a minute of sleep over it.

But Fawn is different.

I don’t know why. And honestly, I don’t want to. I just know that when I look at her, all laid out and naked on those ruined sheets with Kipton’s cum running out of her, something twists inside me. Feeling dangerously close to care.

“Do you think you can handle someone else?” My voice is barely recognizable through the mask. “Or are you done?”

Fawn turns her head, looking at me for the first time since Kipton finished. Her eyes are exhausted, the gold flecks barely visible in the dim light, but she doesn’t look away. She studies me like she’s trying to read something through the skull mask’s hollow eyes. Finally, she gives me a weak nod.

She wants this. Or she thinks she does.

“Get on all fours,” I command. “Suck Ryker’s dick while I take that tight pussy of yours from behind.”

Ryker makes a sound behind his zombie mask, and he’s already moving up the bed until his hips are level with her face. Fawn doesn’t hesitate, pushing herself up, wincing slightly as she moves.

She’s so fucking beautiful. And there’s something about her that makes me want to put my mouth on every sharp edge, tasting every place where life has worn her down.

I strip off my pants, my cock springing free, and I don’t bother with the rest. The mask stays on. It’s easier this way—not having to look her in the eye and pretend I’m not exactly the kind of man who fucks a virgin an hour after his brother did.

I position myself behind her, my hands finding her hips, and I feel her tense. She’s got to be sore. Kipton was gentle at the end, but gentle doesn’t erase the fact that he tore through her virginity not twenty minutes ago.

“Tell me to stop,” I say, and the words surprise me. I don’t offer outs. I don’t give people choices once we’re already here. But my thumbs are tracing circles on her hip bones, and my voice comes out soft. Almost human. “If it hurts, if you can’t take it, tell me to stop. And I will.”

Fawn doesn’t answer. She adjusts her position, spreading her knees wider and arching her back in a way that presents herself to me as an offering. It tells me she thinks that her job is to endure whatever we give her.

It pisses me off. The way she dismisses herself, her own pain, as if it doesn’t matter.

As if she doesn’t matter.

I let my fingers dig harder, enough to get her attention, and she gasps.

“Do you hear me?” I lean over her, my mouth near her ear through the mask’s rubber. “I said, tell me to stop. That means you have a choice, that this isn’t you lying there, taking it. Do you understand?”

She turns her head slightly, her cheek almost touching the mask. “I understand.” It’s barely a whisper.

With nothing more to say, I thrust into her. She’s so fucking tight that my vision whites out for a second, slick from Kipton’s release and her own arousal, but there’s no mistaking the way she stiffens as I stretch her, caught between pain and something else.

“Fuck,” I groan, forcing myself to stop, buried halfway inside her. “Are you okay?”

Fawn doesn’t answer. She’s got Ryker’s cock in her mouth now, her lips stretched around him, and I can see the way her throat works as she takes him deeper. Ryker’s hand is in her hair, guiding her, his head tilted back because looking at her is too much.

I start moving again. Making slow, shallow thrusts, and every movement is torture. The heat of her, the tightness, the way her body grips me like it doesn’t want to let go. It’s everything I’ve been fantasizing about since I first saw her in that ridiculous bunny costume at the party. But the sounds she’s making, the way her fingers curl tighter into the sheets with each thrust, aren’t all pleasure.

I force myself to slow down even more, my hips rolling instead of thrusting, grinding into her with a patience I didn’t know I had. My hand slides around to find her clit. I circle it slowly, matching the rhythm of my hips, and I feel the moment something shifts in her.

Her whimpers change pitch. Her hips push back into me instead of pulling away. The tension in her shoulders eases, and I know I’ve found the right combination. Pain and pleasure, mixed so tightly she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make this worth it.”

I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. Her or me.