“Ours,” they both agree, smacking my ass and gripping my hips.
The orgasm keeps rolling, on and on. They keep going even after it dies down. I scream and squirm, unable to take any more. I collapse on the floor, bound and utterly helpless, flopping like a fish on land. Still, they keep fucking me. Just when I’m about toreach a new peak, they pull out, suddenly and abruptly, leaving me reeling.
“No, no, no,” I pant, utterly desperate.
“That’s thirty-three,” I hear one of them say.
“We’d better gag her,” the other says. “For her own good.”
Then someone’s pulling me up to sit against a solid chest.Ian.His cedar-cardamom scent envelops me, familiar and safe.
Hands work to bring my head forward, pushing the rubber ball into my mouth and buckling the straps. When they release me, my head lolls onto a shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” Ian says, smoothing his hand over my forehead in a soft gesture. I don’t understand why he’s reassuring me until the first strike lands.
Thwack!
The cane bites into my thigh. With a cry, I buck forward—or try to. Ian’s hand firms over my forehead, his arm banding tight around me. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he repeats. “Just breathe. There’s a lot more coming.”
I whimper around the gag, lifting my gaze to Killian, who’s towering above me.
“That’s one,” he says, licking his lips, eyes burning with feral fire. Kicking my legs apart, he steps between them. When he places the cane against my inner thigh, I strain my legs, wanting to close them, but he only widens his stance, asserting his unrelenting control. It goes straight to my head, deepening the daze, clouding whatever little thought that still exists.
Only a brief pause, and he strikes again. A new scream tears from my throat.
Ian kisses my cheeks, stroking my hair. His comfort is all over—whispers in my ears, caresses along my hairline, firm grips and soothing hugs. All the while, Killian keeps going at my thighs, demanding my attention stay on him through the sheerforce of his furious eyes, full of violence and desire, his voice raw with primal power as he counts each strike.
“Two, three, four, five…” He keeps going. Striking and counting. Saturating my world in pain and desperation. Soon, I’m weeping, then sobbing, utterly lost to his unrelenting dominance. But somehow, I manage to stay afloat—Ian holds me up. I sink into him, soaking up his every calming caress and every comforting word. He’s my lifeline, my anchor.
“Twenty-five,” Killian counts and tosses the cane aside. I know there’s more to come, but my brain can’t quite process it. All I see is that willful force towering above me, holding me captive. I keep crying for a while, utterly exposed and unraveling beneath the mighty force that is Killian.
“Shh,” Ian soothes, wiping my eyes and my mouth, holding a tissue up for me to blow my nose. I don’t release Killian’s gaze through any of it. I can’t. It’s all his to soak up—my utter crash into helplessness.
When my sobs turn to sniffles and my convulsing spasms turn to shudders, Killian sinks to his knees before me. His eyes flare with burning lust as he aims his eyes between my legs. That feral look is my only warning before he drops down and goes at my pussy like a hungry beast. Licking and lapping at my clit, he shoves two fingers inside my pussy—just like Ian did before. I greedily latch onto him, my inner walls clenching and spasming, hungry to be filled after having been ignored for so long.
Killian is utterly feral, grunting and growling. I think it must be an awkward position, but he doesn’t need to stay there long. Within minutes, I’m screaming around the gag, jerking and straining with the full force of a stormy orgasm. Drool slips down my chin, tears trickle from my eyes—pure overwhelming sensation. I can’t control anything. I don’t want to.
Killian rises to his knees and scoots between my legs. Grabbing my face, he starts licking my lips, kissing me aroundthe gag, licking up my spit and advancing past the gag to let me taste myself on his tongue. It’s awkward and so damn depraved, and it has me moaning and leaning my head back, wanting more of Killian’s dirty possessiveness.
Ian wraps his hand around my throat, tightening his grip around my middle to the point where I can barely breathe, thrusting more possessiveness upon me. It’s coming from all directions, their power, their desire to own me. I feel like I’m about to drown in it, and at that moment, I think that would be the sweetest way to go. I wouldn’t even want to fight if that were my fate.
When Killian suddenly pulls away, feral intensity hanging thick in the air, I reel. I haven’t even refocused my eyes when the next strike lands, harder than any of the previous.
I scream around the gag—no sobs this time, just raw, harrowing screams. Killian is merciless. He keeps going, delivering the last eight strikes in rapid succession. My entire body locks up under the building pain, my mind threatening to cave in beneath the pressure. Yet somehow, I don’t crash. Because between Killian’s wordless possession and Ian’s calm claim, I’m right where I want to be.
42
The Wounds
Ian
Jenna’s relief when Killian finally puts the cane away is instantaneous. She collapses into my arms, going slack in every muscle. Her chest keeps shaking with the force of her ragged breaths, but that’s just her body still processing. The way she lets her head loll against my chest and melts into me, as if she wants to crawl into me, tells me all I need to know. She’s overwhelmed and exhausted but in a sated, peaceful way.
I remove the gag and the cuffs, then, reassured she’s okay, turn my focus to Killian. He’s hovering above us, his tongue running circles across his lips, eyes burning with an intensity I can’t quite decipher. He wants something, but I’m not sure what—I’m not sure he even knows. Or wants to admit it. Because it’s becoming clearer by the day what heneeds. To care for Jenna. Subtle signs have been there all along, but they’re growing clearer. I noticed how he caught himself when he was about to be soft with her, and I noticed how he did eventually forget himself and caressed her cheek, even inviting her to lean into his touch. Protecting her is becoming more than instinctive—a burieddesire pushing toward the surface. And maybe that means he’s ready for the next step; he just needs a small push.
Hope growing, I suggest, “Why don’t you hold her?” I gesture to the floor in front of me, the urge to pass Jenna to him greater than the need to hold her. These two people mean everything to me, and seeing them both get what they need would be as good as getting it myself.
“No, I’m good,” he simply says, eyes distant.