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“Wait!” she cries, and I grunt, grabbing her thighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

“Hold her down!”

My brothers each take a side. Wicker’s hands clamp around her bicep while Pace’s wrap tight around her throat. My cock is throbbing so badly that I feel it like a goddamn jackhammer in my pants. Idly, I wonder if this is what I’m like when I’m asleep.

“You know it only hurts worse when you fight, Princess.”

Spreading her thighs, I shove her dress up her hips, clawing at her panties as she thrashes. A prickle of familiarity rolls over me. This is the same position we’re always in downstairs. The difference is, I wasn’t able to take her like I wanted to during all those nights with her in the stirrups.

Now, my cock surges with want.

The panties are white and pristine. Another lie. After wrestling them off her, I hand them to Wicker, gaze honing in on the glint of gold shining from her pussy. It’s the plug holding in our deposits. Glare hardening, I wedge my finger in andyank.

“Ah!” she cries out, muscles tightening as the plug pops out. “Lex, please, wait!”

I hand the plug to Pace, ignoring her pleas. My dick weeps at the sight of her pretty pink cunt, begging to be filled back up, and when I take my cock in my hand, I feel the thing I’ve been searching for all this time.

Power.

Fuck, I’d forgotten that. The power in sex. The way my cock feels in my palm, hard and potent, the surge of animalistic lust that burns in the pit of my balls as I nudge the tip against her slick entrance. “Is there anything else you want to tell your Dukes?” I ask, nodding to the camera. “Any other secrets you want to reveal? Last words?”

“You can’t show them this,” she croaks, squirming against my brothers, a different sort of misery twisting her face. “Youcan’t. They think I want this. They don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?” I ask, gathering the wetness on my head. “What your real duty is here? That you’re a vessel for our seed? That your days and nights are spent on your back with the singular goal of creating an heir?” Without warning, I thrust in, stretching her with my girth. She gasps, and I grin coldly down at her. “You’re nothing to us, Verity. Just an incubator for our future. And it seems you need to remember your place.”

When I draw my hips back, the second punch inside is harder, my cock driving in with incredible force. Her body skitters up the table as she screams, but my brothers hold her in place, making her take the full brunt of it. My fingers dig into her flesh, keeping her still, while my hips hammer into her. The rush is so good, everything is amplified, from the blood pumping into my cock, to her little strangled cries as she takes me.

It’s the rawness of it all that gets me. The notches my fingertips make in her soft thighs. The torn texture of her voice when she releases a sob. The way we look together, my skin rubbing roughly against hers with every brutal thrust. There’s no bright light, no smell of antibacterial hand soap, no gleam of stainless steel instruments or crinkle of latex.

It’s primal.

I remember nothing about those nights in her room, nothing about the way it felt to claim her, to pump my seed inside with the intent to make a baby. I hate not knowing, and at this moment I know why.

This feels like the most glorious goddam dream.

Wicker pulls roughly at her dress, freeing her tits, and his fingers find her nipple, pinching and twisting tight. She yelps, and her pussy tightens around me. “She likes it,” I say, sniffling the flavor of residual Scratch into the back of my throat. “Makes her tighten up.” Wicker does it again, and this time her teeth bear down on her bottom lip so hard that blood beads.

She doesn’t know it, but directly behind her, Tommy Wright is slouched low in his seat, pumping his fist around his dick.

As I fuck into her, jolting her body with each slam of my hips, her green eyes catch mine, brimming with hurt and shame. Instantly, my balls fill, the urge to come intensifying.

Look at me.

I’ve made her do it every time I’ve put my seed into her. She’s never pushed with the need to know why, which is good, because I’d never tell her. There are no facts or studies or clear analytical evidence attached to my reasons for it. The truth is, I do it because of where I come from–who I come from. I do it because if creating life is more than medical, then I want to be sure.

I want to be sure it’s made with some kind of connection.

And suddenly, it’s the last thing I want.

All those nights she watched me, watchedLagan, surrendering to her while I was lost in another world, somewhere tucked deep in my mind. No. Now it’s my turn to watch.

“Cover her eyes,” I grunt, barely holding back. “I don’t want to look at this bitch’s traitorous face.”

It feels right that it’s Wicker who smashes her face to the side, forcing her gaze to Pace’s perversely bulging crotch. It’s only then that I allow the floodgates open, grunting raggedly with the force of it. I yank her hips into my thrust and hold them, my cock jerking with a river of cum as I spill into her.

There’s no better orgasm than one had while high on Scratch.

It spreads out like wings, heat rushing to every appendage. My thoughts scatter like fine sand, a complete interior annihilation. The neurons don’t just fire, they shatter into millions of pinpricks of light. I coast on the crest of it for so long that by the time I come down, my muscles are twinging in protest. I look down as I pull out, my cock slipping free.