Page 124 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

My eyes drift shut as I savor the sensation of being claimed by all three of them. For a moment, I’m suspended in a haze of pleasure, my body still buzzing with the aftershocks of my release. Something earth-shattering just happened, and I can still feel the tremors running through me.

I’m aware of the weight of the men on top of me, but it only adds to the feeling of being cocooned in a tangle of strong arms and hard bodies. Atlas’s touch is surprisingly light and tender as he traces my jaw with his thumb. Nico and Killian are motionless, their bodies still joined with mine.

And then, slowly, Killian pulls out, his cock slipping from my mouth. I open my eyes, my gaze locking with his, and I see a storm of emotions swirling in their depths—no doubt reflecting what he can see in mine.

“You okay there, siren?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “Thought we might have fucked you senseless there for a second.”

I lick my swollen lips, tasting the remnants of him on my tongue, and a shiver runs through me at the memory of how I just sucked him off while Nico and Atlas used my body. “I’m good,” I breathe, my voice hoarse from screaming around his cock. “Really good.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

The intimacy of the gesture takes my breath away, and I feel myself falling a little bit harder for him. But then Nico shifts, drawing my attention, and I’m snapped back into the moment.

I’m keenly aware of how I must look—well-used and thoroughly fucked—but right now, I feel beautiful. Desirable. Wanted.

Atlas, still kneeling between my breasts, runs his thumb gently over my lower lip, mirroring Killian’s earlier action. “That’s what you are to us,” he says softly, his eyes flicking to the other two men before landing back on me. “We’re yours and you’re ours.”

Killian’s smirk mirrors my satisfaction, and he shifts to wipe his finger through the mess Atlas left on my chest. He holds it up, slick and glistening, and offers it to me. I react instinctively, licking his finger clean and moaning softly at the taste.

“Look at the mess you are,” Atlas teases, as he surveys the state I’m in. My hair is wild, my makeup smudged, and my body is glistening with a sheen of sweat and cum.

“A gorgeous fucking mess,” Nico murmurs, running a hand down my side.

“Messy enough that we should probably get you cleaned up a little,” Killian agrees, but there’s a hint of reluctance in his tone.

Nico slips away to the bathroom and returns with a couple of warm, damp washcloths. I feel their gentle care as they use them to clean me, wiping away the evidence of everything we’ve just done.

I smile sleepily, my eyelids drooping as I relax into the mattress. Their concern for me is evident, and it wraps around me like a warm blanket. Nico’s thumb brushes my collarbone, his touch careful and gentle. “Get some rest, mia cara.”

Atlas leans in close to my ear and whispers, “We’ll be right here if you need us. Or want us again.”

“Mmm,” I hum in response, my eyes drifting shut. I feel safe and content, surrounded by the three of them.

The bed shifts as they move, carefully cleaning me without disturbing my rest. Their touches are feather-light, barely grazing my sensitive skin. Before I know it, my body gives in to the pull of sleep.

I wake sometime in the middle of the night, feeling sore and a bit crusty. My skin feels sticky in places where the washcloth didn’t quite reach, a reminder of the intense night we’ve had. I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, and it takes me a second to get my bearings.

The bed is warm and crowded, and as I slowly come to, I realize I’m nestled between my three men.

Atlas is to my left, his arm draped protectively over my waist. Nico is at my right, his head resting on the pillow next to mine, his hand lightly brushing my shoulder.

And Killian, always the protector, is at the foot of the bed, his legs tangled with mine.

For a moment, I lie still, taking it all in. The room is filled with the scent of them—earthy, musky, and completely intoxicating. My mind races, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. It’s a lot to get used to, but I like it more than I care to admit.

Every muscle in my body is sore, but there’s a warmth spreading through me, a sense of belonging that I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. Their presence is comforting, and I can’t help but smile in the darkness.

I carefully pull myself from the tangle of limbs, trying not to wake the others. My feet touch the floor, and I shiver slightly as I stand. The hallway is dark, but I’m not going far.

I close the door behind me and flick on the bathroom light, wincing at the sudden brightness. The large tub is calling to me, and I turn on the taps, letting steaming water fill it. As I wait, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—hair tousled, skin marked with evidence of our passionate night.

“Jesus,” I say out loud, then have to stop myself from laughing. If someone saw me on the street right now they would probably turn and run in the other direction.

But my three men were looking at me like I was the hottest thing they’d ever seen.

The tub fills quickly, and I sink into the hot water with a contented sigh. The heat soothes my aching muscles, and I close my eyes, letting the tension melt away.

Suddenly, the door creaks open. I startle, eyes flying open to see Atlas step inside.

“Still on guard duty, huh?” I tease. “Just like old times, sleeping in the hallway outside my room.”

His brow furrows, a small frown tugging at his lips. Belatedly, I realize how my words might have sounded—as if I’m implying he doesn’t trust me, that he’s only here to keep tabs on me.

I immediately regret my words as I see his expression change. The easy comfort we’ve built up over the past few hours seems to evaporate, leaving an awkward tension instead. It’s like I can’t help but sabotage myself, pushing away the very thing I want most.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, sitting up straighter in the tub. Water sloshes around me as I lean forward, trying to catch his eye. “I… I don’t know why I said that.”

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, he’s silent, and I can almost see the internal debate playing out on his face. Finally, he looks up, meeting my eyes with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“It wasn’t just about making sure you wouldn’t try to leave,” he admits, his voice low and rough. “I mean, yeah, that was part of it at first. But…” He trails off and shakes his head again.

I wait, hardly daring to breathe. Atlas might not be as guarded as Killian, but he’s still hard to read sometimes. A few more seconds pass as I watch him struggle with his words. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“What other reason?” I prompt gently, keeping my voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “Part of me just wanted to be near you. Even when I was supposed to hate you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I have to swallow hard to speak past it.

“Come here,” I say, gesturing for him to move closer.

He hesitates for a moment before approaching the tub.

He kneels beside it, his eyes never leaving mine.

I lean over slightly, resting my forearms on the edge of the tub.

The bathroom is quiet, save for the occasional drip from the faucet and our soft breathing.

In this intimate space, it feels easier to be vulnerable, to say the things we’ve both been holding back.

Holding his gaze, I ask, “Do you think it’s possible to come back from all of this? From the things we all did to each other? The lies, the spying, me burning the clubhouse…”

Atlas sighs, his eyes distant as he considers my question. For a moment, I think he might not answer, but then he finally begins to speak.

“I’ve been living like this for so long,” he says, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond me. “It’s hard to imagine stopping, to care enough about someone to even consider building something real.”

He pauses, and I wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say. Finally, he meets my eyes again.

“You asked if it’s possible to come back from all this. I don’t know. But maybe… maybe we can move forward instead.”

There’s a vulnerability in his expression that I’ve never seen before, and it makes my heart ache. I reach out, gently taking his hand in mine, encouraging him to continue.

“I never told you about my dad,” he says. “He was part of a motorcycle gang in Chicago. Tough guy, always in and out of trouble, but he was my hero, you know?”

I nod, squeezing his hand gently.

“I was just a kid when my old man died. Fourteen years old, watching him bleed out in some dirty alley because of a stupid fight with another member of our club. The Rebel Saints, they called themselves.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Not much saintly about them though.”

I lean closer, the water sloshing around me forgotten as I focus entirely on Atlas’s words.

“After that, I couldn’t stay in Chicago. Ended up in Detroit, bouncing between gangs, never really fitting in anywhere. I was good at what I did—enforcing, protecting—but it was just a job. Never felt like family.”

His eyes meet mine, a spark of something—hope, maybe—flickering in their depths. “Then I met Killian and Nico. It was different with them, you know? We clicked right away. For the first time since my dad died, I felt like I belonged somewhere.”

He pauses, his thumb absently tracing circles on the back of my hand. “That’s why loyalty means so much to me. I’ve seen what happens when people turn on each other, when petty bullshit tears a club apart. I swore I’d never let that happen again. Not to me, not to my brothers.”