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“It’s not about screwing up,” Damon snaps, running his hand through his hair. “It’s about looking like the Baroness. Like the kind of woman the King would marry.”

My heart rate skitters, the anxious feeling of doing something to displease him rising in my chest. “Should I change?”

“It’s too fucking late.” Hunter cranks the engine and the big truck rumbles to life. “I’m giving a presentation in my mechanical engineering class at ten, so get in.”

There’s a beat where we all look at one another, but the standoff is between the two of them. Finally, Damon grunts and says, “Fine.”

He doesn’t move as I approach the open door, but he grabs my arm, leans in and asks quietly, “How are your tits?”

“They hurt,” I reply, squeezing between him and the truck, “but I think you know that.”

I spent most of the night alternating between trying to remain completely still and easing the pain with a cold washcloth. Another reason I’d chosen the cardigan was because I could button it over the top of the new piercings. Tossing my bag onto the floorboard of the truck, I leverage myself onto therunning board. Moving slowly, I try not to do anything to irritate the wound on my chest or my healing nipples.

“Pick up the pace, Baroness.” Damon’s hand flattens under my skirt and boosts me up. His fingers dip between my thighs, brushing over my pussy. His touch sends a jolt of heat through my body and tears well in my eyes. But worse, my nipples tighten, igniting a fresh throb of pain across my breasts. I scramble to the middle of the bench seat next to Hunter, who frowns down at me.

“Are you crying?” His eyes flick to Damon, who has climbed in behind me and slammed the door. “Why is she crying?”

I feel dizzy from the overload of my senses, the pain and humiliation, the confusion my body feels when I’m around these men. Inhaling, the cab smells like a mix of leather, soap, and cigarette smoke. It’s warm with the bodies so close. I can’t help but think of the things their hands have done to me.

“Show him,” Damon says, elbow propped on the car window.

“What?” I lift my arms to cover my chest, but that just hurts more. I wince and shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Can she say that?” Hunter says, those pale eyes looking over my head to Damon. “She can’t say no to you, can she?”

“No, she can’t,” Damon replies, a small smirk on his mouth. “Because here’s the thing, sister, the King has given us our orders, and we’re here to prepare you for him, and the one thing he doesn’t want is a mouthy bride who talks back.” He moves his hand behind my head, his thumb grazing my neck. “He wants a good girl that follows directions. Don’t you want to be a good girl for him?”

All I want is to serve my King, and make him happy. “Yes.”

Damon’s thumb dips underneath the collar of my sweater. “Then show your Baron why you were crying.”

My hand shakes as I reach for the top button on my cardigan and push it open. With my eyes focused on the shiny knobs ofthe old-fashioned looking radio, I loosen button after button, until the smooth, black satin camisole is revealed. Damon’s finger pulls at the collar, dragging the loose fabric away to expose my breasts.

“Fuck,” murmurs Hunter, seeing the piercings for the first time. “When did you do that?”

“Yesterday afternoon. You were crashed out.”

Hunter reaches out, his finger flicking the hard knob at the end of one of the bars. I hiss, choking back a sob. His eyebrow arches and he bobs his head. “Nice.”

Damon’s wide hand slips under my breast and lifts it with a surprisingly gentle touch. “They look good,” he says, inspecting it. “It’s normal for them to be sore–it could take weeks for the pain to ease. Did you clean them this morning like I told you to?”

“Y-yes.” He drops his hand, and the weight of my breast sags, tweaking the piercing. “Are you finished?”

Damon shrugs. “For now.”

Hunter steers the truck off of the property, and I quickly cover myself back up, buttoning the cardigan to the very top. The cab feels so tight, my legs cramped over the hump in the middle. Damon’s thighs are spread apart, taking up most of the space. I distract myself looking out the windshield, taking in the driveway splitting the forest, different looking in the daylight. The trees are changing colors, the tops filled with bright red, yellow, and orange.

It was summer when I’d walked out of that dance studio–the afternoon air steamy. One minute I was walking home the next–

“Planning an escape?” Damon asks, draping his arm over the back of the seat.

“No.” I blink, drawn out of a memory I can’t access. “I didn’t realize we were so far from town. My uncle’s house is basically on campus. I’ve just never been out here.”

Hunter drives over a pothole and the car dips, heaving us up and down. My tits bounce and I whine, clasping my hands over them to keep them steady. “God, that hurts.”

Damon’s hand lands just below my skirt but above the socks. His fingers run along the skin and he says, “Remember what I told you the other night, sometimes the best way to handle pain is with a little bit of pleasure.”

“Is that what that was?” I ask, thinking about how he drew me in, getting my body to respond to him, and then yanked it away. “Don’t pretend you want to make me feel good.”