The sensation is so intense, so powerful, that only a whimpering sound escapes me.
How would each of them fuck me?
Ridge would be hard and fast. He seems like the type. But he wouldn’t just fuck me once and be done with it. Oh no. He would wring so much pleasure out of my poor body that I wouldn’t remember a time I wasn’t full of his cock. I would fall asleep dreaming about his dick deep inside of me, dragging me kicking and screaming to climax.
Luka would memorize my body. He would take his sweet damn time, licking and sucking and coaxing out moan after desperate moan from me. I imagine he’s the type who loves foreplay. Only when I’m sobbing and begging for more would he slide his cock inside of me, giving me a second to adjust to the intrusion. Then he would begin to move, his hips thrusting, his hand gliding between our sweat-slick bodies to play with my clit.
Kylian… I don’t even want to think about what he’s like in the bedroom. Would there be ropes involved? Knives? The thought both scares and excites me, my nipples pebbling in greedy anticipation. I’m almost positive that Kylian would play with me—but I’d be the winner after each and every game we complete. How could I not?
And Colter—I already know he’d be gentle. His huge body would conquer mine, but I would never feel like prey with him, not even for a second. There would be so much tender reverence in his eyes that I couldn’t possibly look away. His lips would claim mine, hungry and intense, laced with this desperate need toclaim. Own. Possess. And then he would push inside of me, and I’d be helpless to do anything but cling to his shoulders, tears pricking my eyes. He’s huge. Bigger than any of my past lovers.
My orgasm tears through me in both the fantasy and real life, scouring every last thought from my head, burning them until they’re nothing but ash. It’s bone-deep, a foray of thunder and lightning in my blood, and I can’t help but tremble and cry, wishing it weren’t my hands bringing me to the peak.
But theirs.
I fucking miss them.
It takes considerable effort to get myself under control—to calm the erratic pattering of my heart and the breaths sputtering in and out of my chest. My limbs feel like jello, but I force myself to sit up.
To slide the drenched panties down my legs.
They smell like me—sweet, musky, and riddled with pheromones that should drive most alphas wild.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I push up onto my tiptoes until I’m able to reach the air vent. Ignoring the drag of the chains tugging me down, I slide the underwear through the metal slats.
I don’t know how long it’ll take until my scent permeates the building, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
For now, there’s nothing for me to do but wait.
When they come for me, I’ll be ready.
I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of here alive and back to my mates.
8
LUKA
Hope popslike a blister and oozes from me as the fighting continues to surge all around.
The scent of charred flesh fills my nostrils, and screams flash then cut off unnaturally, strobe lights made of sound.
Normally, I storm through fights like this with a series of calculations running through my mind: ten rooms left to clear, likely two opponents per room, twenty total—that’s only five for each of us, so if I get more than five, I win…
But today, that steady stream of thought has halted.
Instead, there’s a tight, constrictive feeling in my chest.
Unfamiliar.
Uncomfortable.
Urgent.
Worst of all, in this chaos, my battle lust withers when Colter grunts through our comms, "Think it's a setup?"
His words make my head tilt and my trigger finger loosen. My lungs skip over my next breath.
Should I have done more research? Verified more about this location before allowing my team to come?