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“Come again,” he snarls into my ear.

And I do. I don’t even have a choice.

The climax tears through me like a live wire, every muscle spasming.

My pussy squeezes them both so hard until they can’t keep their rhythm anymore. Until they can’t stay inside me. And then I feel it: the dam inside me snapping.

A gush of liquid erupts from between my thighs, and I scream again, not from pain or even pleasure—but from sheerrelease. From the fact that they did this to me, and I wanted every second.

The harsh pulsing of my climax hasn’t even subsided before they’re thrusting back inside me again. My body jerks, helpless in their grip. My mouth opens around a sob, but no sound comes out—just broken air and the feeling oftoo much.

“Please,” I choke. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you fucking can,” Rule growls, tightening his grip on my throat. “You were made for this. For us.”

They keep going. Hard. Brutal. Devouring.

My muscles cramp, my arms tremble inside the ropes, and my brainblanks.

Another orgasm builds fast.Violent. My clit is on fire. My body isn’t mine anymore—it’s theirs. Held. Used. Worshipped.

Rule comes first, buried deep, grinding into me with a groan that sounds like victory as it tears me apart. His hips still, cock twitching, spilling heat inside me as his breath stutters in my ear.

Then he slips out, and the absence is sharp. But Ruin is already pulling out and moving me.

He grabs a pillow—shoves it beneath my hips in one swift motion. The change in angle lifts my ass, puts me on display, and drives my bound arms deeper into the mattress behind me. It arches my chest up, tightens the ropes across my back, and sends a new wave of strain through my shoulders. My tits rise with every breath, nipples peaked and exposed as my body is contorted and offered up.

Then his gloved hands wrap around my thighs—andforcethem wider.

The grip is punishing. His fingers dig into the soft flesh like he owns it, bruising me without apology. Pain and pleasure blur. I cry out, but not in protest—because it only makes me wetter.

I’m open now. Stretched. Helpless.

And he fuckinglovesit.

Ruin kneels between my legs and doesn’t waste another second. He lines up, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, still slick from the wreckage Rule left behind.

Then he sinks into me.

Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.

The piercings drag along my inner walls, catching every nerve. My back arches harder against the ropes, my arms screaming with tension, but I can’t move. Can’t reach. Can’t take control.

I’mhis. And he knows it.

His rhythm is brutal in its restraint. Each stroke calculated. Each thrust a study in control. He drives in deep and pulls out just far enough to make my breath hitch—then does it again. And again. Andagain.

It’s maddening.

Every time I get close—every time my body starts to tremble, my pussy starts to clench, my breath starts to break—he slows down. Edges away. Leaves me clawing at nothing.

“Fuck—please,” I gasp, trying to rock my hips. But the ropes won’t let me. My legs are spread, my wrists are useless, my voice is the only weapon I have left—and it’s barely holding.

He doesn’t answer.

Just shifts slightly. Hits that fucking spot. Then backs off again.

“Ruin—please—I need to come,” I sob, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. My thighs tremble under his grip, already sore from how wide he’s forced them. “Let me.Let me—please—”