Page 100 of House Rules

“Then you take your punishment,” he says, eyes narrowing. “And we let it go. We start fresh.”

There’s an edge to his voice that tells me the last part isn’t just for me—it’s for Con, too.

I look up at each of them. Their eyes are hard. Unyielding. Even Storm won’t meet my gaze.

“Tick-tock, princess,” Con growls.

Fuck it. What can they possibly do to me that’s worse than what the mob will?

“Yes.”

Maverick moves to the table and clears it with a single swipe of his arm. Plates, bowls, and glasses crash to the floor, some shattering.

Storm grips my shoulders and lifts me to my feet. He rips the robe from my body and pushes me onto the polished surface of the table, the cold wood biting against my skin.

“Your safe word isTitan,” Atticus says, his voice measured. “Say it, and everything stops. But you won’t be forgiven. You’ll be out. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Who’s first?”

“I am,” Maverick says. “I’m the one who had to spill blood for her lies.”

He wastes no time. He grabs my ankles and flips me onto my stomach, the movement so quick my body lifts from the table. His hand slams down on my ass, and I cry out—more from shock than pain.

“Later, when Atticus gets his turn, he’s going to want you silent. I don’t.” Maverick leans in close. “I want to hear every sound I pull from your body. Understood?”

“Yes.”

His hand comes down again, harder.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

I feel something wet against the stinging skin of my ass, then something hard and cold pressing against it.

“I’m going to fuck this ass tonight. Maybe every night until your contract ends. But first, I’m going to stretch you. This is a plug. If it falls out, we start over.”

My breath catches as he pushes the plug inside me. The stretch burns, pressure mounting as my body resists, then yields. It’s painful. Intense. But a small part of me likes it—reminds me of when Con fingered me there, how wrong it felt to like it. How much I did anyway.

The burn crests, then fades into fullness.

Maverick moves to the head of the table, unzips his fly, and pulls out his cock.

“Open your mouth,” he demands.

I obey, tongue out, ready to suck. But he doesn’t let me. His hand fists my hair, yanking my head up as he thrusts deep into my throat. I gag, choking and flailing.

He holds me there, no mercy.

When I slap the table, he pulls back just long enough for me to breathe before he’s inside again.

“Stop squirming,” he snaps. “The more you move, the less air you get. You need to learn something. When you’re naked in these suites, we own you. We are not just your employers—we are your gods. We choose what you wear. What you eat. What you do. When you breathe. Understand?”

He rips free, and I gasp.