Page 38

Once again, she waited for the negative emotion, and once again, it didn’t come.

She squirmed as Cian caught her hips, dragging her up and down over his length, making her pant over the drag of his cold piercing inside her.

He built her to a peak and then his grip grew punishing as he held her down, his punishing length flexing inside her.

He wasn’t letting her move.

He smirked at her, reaching down beside the chair to where she had dropped the marker.

“Don’t forget this is a punishment, doll.

” His voice was strained, despite the cruel words, his dark sapphire eyes distractedly roving over her damp skin.

He flexed himself inside her again as he made a show of trying to decide where to put his name.

She whimpered, trying to move her hips again, but he suddenly caught her nipple, pinching painfully.

“I don’t think so,” he drawled. “Orgasms are for good girls.”

He pinched harder, drawing a pained gasp from her lips that had him flexing again.

He grunted, his eyes rolling back as his head hit the chair.

“Shit, Illy. I can’t stop. If you come, you’re going to be in a lot of fucking trouble.

” He put the marker between his teeth and gripped her hips, moving her over him in a rough, merciless rhythm.

It should have been too hard and fast for her to chase a release, but she loved it when her men lost control.

She bit down on her lip so hard that she drew blood as he growled loudly around the marker, chasing down his release like some kind of wild animal.

He ground himself into her as he caught it, spitting out the marker, his teeth sinking into her neck.

She was pinned in more ways than one as he spilled heat deep inside her, pulsing and growling, his teeth digging in deeper.

He extracted himself carefully, licking over his bite, which thankfully hadn’t broken skin.

He glanced down between them to where the marker had fallen.

He picked it up and signed his name beneath the angry red bite mark, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips .

“Fetch a wet hand towel from the bathroom for me,” he said, picking her up and setting her on her feet. “And don’t even think about quickly getting some relief in there. We’ll feel it.”

She wanted to scowl at him, but she was too drugged up on lust. She fixed her panties, glimpsing Niko, Kilian, Oscar, Mikel, and Kalen as she passed them all again to reach the bathroom attached to the back of Kalen’s office.

Heat crawled over her skin, scorching possessive pathways over the dips and valleys of her form.

It was the closest she had ever come to feeling as beautiful as she did when she was dancing.

She had thought this feeling of confidence, of ease , could only exist when she flicked that professional switch on and took herself out of her own head, but she was feeling it now.

She felt it because they were right there with her, putting aside all their possession, jealousy, and rage. They couldn’t claim her with any of that, and somewhere along the way, they had realised it. And they had chosen claiming her over indulging their darkness.

As soon as she was inside the bathroom, the instinct to reach a hand between her legs and ease that ache was immediate.

“Don’t even think about it.” Kalen’s voice boomed across the room, making her jump in fright.

She quickly wet a hand towel and scurried back to Cian, who had already tucked himself back into his pants.

The towel was for her, apparently. He was very thorough, wiping the sheen of drying sweat from her skin and pulling her panties to the side again to clean between her legs.

When he was done, he tossed the towel to the floor and handed her the marker.

“You’re not done yet,” he warned.

She moved to the next chair, to Gabriel, and a hint of clarity pierced through the fog of her desire as she realised why Cian had cleaned her so thoroughly.

Gabriel eyed her, his pupils a dark, ruby-tinged brown. He held his hand out for the pen and then pulled her hand out between them, neatly printing his name across her palm.

He leaned back and pushed her hand toward her panties, quietly demanding, “Now, touch yourself. You know the rules.”

“Can we change the rules?” she begged as she dipped eager fingers into her own wetness, already gathered in abundance since Cian’s cleaning.

Gabriel smirked at her, running his hand over the rigid bulge in his pants, squeezing it once.

“Fuck no,” he said, massaging himself. “Stop.”

She had been right there , and the asshole knew it.

He leaned forward, holding out the marker. “Run along, puppy.”

She tore her hand from her panties with an angry whine, gripping the marker and stomping over to Elijah. He was smirking at her, enjoying her frustration .

“Are they being mean to you?” Elijah asked with false sympathy.

She nodded anyway. “I thought tethers were supposed to be spoiled.”

Kalen’s low laugh skittered across the room. “Only a few thrones left to sit on, princess.”

Elijah cajoled her onto his lap with still-fake sympathetic noises, and then he was writing his name on the palm of her other hand, kissing each of her fingers.

“My poor girl,” he said, stroking her cheek and pulling her lips in for a deep kiss.

It was just warm and comforting and sensual enough for her to let her guard down, her body softening toward him.

He was smirking again when he abandoned her lips, guiding her hand, freshly signed, to her panties.

“Maybe you’ll last longer with your left hand.” Dark, male satisfaction shivered along his tone. “But I doubt it.”

Her sigh was one of relief and agony, her body coiling tight as the first touch of her fingers yanked her right back to the edge.

“Please,” she begged, imploring him with tears springing to her eyes.

“So pretty,” he praised, brushing his mouth over hers like he could taste her plea. “But no. Stop.”

She snarled out a sound that she barely believed could come from her, her hand trembling as she slid it free from her panties in defeat. She pulled the marker from Elijah and moved to Theodore with tears spilling down her cheeks.

He sat her sideways over his lap, gently wiping her tears away and caressing her thighs in soft, reassuring strokes until she calmed down, puffing a sigh into his warm neck.

He took the marker from her without a word and repositioned her to face him, stamping his letters across her chest, from the top of her right breast, down the slope of her cleavage, and to the top of her left breast. He kissed her lips sweetly.

“Have you forgotten something, Illy?” he asked, setting her back on her feet, his fingers teasing over the curve of her ass. “Forgotten to ask me something? Is there a club, perhaps, that you should be inviting me into?”

She scoffed out a sound of disbelief. “Theo.”

“Illy.” He grinned, reading the exasperation warring with her desire.

“I’ve been yours for years,” she said with a huff before turning on her heel and passing that marker on to Moses.

“But not mine,” Moses said quietly as she landed between his thighs.

She didn’t know what to say because Moses wasn’t looking for reassurance.

He was simply making a statement. Isobel and Theodore had come together easily and twisted into each other at every opportunity, braiding themselves into the other’s life with every opening and chance that was provided.

Theodore had never hesitated when it came to Isobel, and his charm had cajoled her to him the way nobody else was quite capable of.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was Moses.

Her first kiss.

The man who challenged her every step of the way.

His aggression pushed her away whenever she spun too close, and her own fear pushed him away whenever he barrelled his way into her orbit. They were like two opposing magnets. Always circling, eyeing each other, and clashing, clashing, clashing.

Even now, with that statement challenging her, she could only think to challenge him back.

“Do you want me?”

He leaned forward and wrote his name across her ribcage. “Completely,” he said.

It landed on her like a riddle and a slap all at once.

Something that should have been obvious, but there were so many layers of words beneath that one, so much she was failing to read and he was failing to say.

She shuffled forward another step, waiting for him to stop her or push her away.

Sometimes, it felt like the closer she got to Theodore, the further away Moses wanted her from himself.

Theodore had just kissed her, and she was nervous.

Wracked with indecision. She didn’t want Moses to push her away.

If he did, it would hurt her far more deeply than she wanted to admit .

She placed a hand on his shoulder and when he didn’t push it off, she lifted her knee to the velvet of the armchair he reclined in.

He watched her carefully, a hint of surprise whipped up by the storm in his eyes, flashing out of existence fast enough to have her doubting if it was real or not.

She lifted her other leg, and he gripped her hips easily, dragging her fully onto his lap.

It was so smooth, so easy. He always touched her like that.

So why did it feel like there was always some invisible force there, propelling her away?

“I think that’s enough,” Moses said softly, reading every inch of hesitation written across her face. “It’s your turn, Illy.”

“My turn?” she asked.

He nodded, picking her up and standing with her bundled in his arms. He walked to the coffee table, setting her on the edge of it, the soft hum of the projector on one side, a covered tray on the other.

He whipped the cover off the tray, and she blinked at the pile of alcohol wipes and the tattoo pen.

It was her turn to mark them.

She swallowed, her eyes darting around the room. “Really?”