Page 49

Chapter 48

Seanna

I twist beneath Matteo, every muscle screaming protest—but it’s not fear that lights me up inside. It’s fire. It’s hunger. His grip on the chain doesn’t falter. Neither does the sharp gleam in his eyes. I can’t breathe properly—only in tight, shallow gasps—but it doesn’t stop the slick pulse of heat between my thighs.

"You planning to choke me out or fuck me?" I snarl.

His mouth curves into something dangerous. “Why not both?”

His eyes lock on mine, then drift to where the hilt protrudes from my curled fingers. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t threaten. He just takes . Two fingers slide between mine, prying them open with maddening slowness until he’s palming the knife like he always meant to reclaim it.

“I said try not to stab yourself,” he murmurs, almost amused. “Didn’t say you’d keep it.”

I snarl. “Give it back.”

Instead, he presses the cool metal flat against the curve of my breast. I freeze. Not in fear—never that—but anticipation. My pulse roars.

“You want to play with knives, little storm?” His voice is low, coaxing. “Let’s play.”

The blade traces the curve, slow and shallow, parting skin with a delicate, deliberate graze that beads crimson. It’s not deep—barely more than a scratch—but it burns , a thin line of pain blooming into heat that pulses straight to my core.

My breath shudders.

“You bleed pretty,” Matteo murmurs. “Wonder if your blood tastes as good as your come.”

Then he leans down . Tongue flicking out, he licks the line of blood from my skin, slow and savoring, like he’s sampling something forbidden. Like he’s starving.

And then—the knife bites again, adding another sting to the other breast. Sharp and deliberate.

My breath hitches. Once again it isn’t deep. Just enough to let blood rise in a delicate line beneath the steel.

He watches it bead. Watches me.

Then he leans in. Licks the blood from my skin again like it’s wine.

Bodhi groans low behind him. “God, you’re so fucking twisted.”

“Don’t act surprised,” Matteo says, not looking away from me. “Besides, she likes it.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t you?”

I breathe hard. Glaring. Wanting.

He shifts backward, sliding between my legs, then flicks open another thin cut just above the waistline of my pants. Sharp enough to send another jolt to my pussy. I gasp, body jerking, thighs clenching.

He drags the blade just below the first line, slow and surgical. Another sting. Another shimmer of crimson blooming in its wake. I flinch—but the pain sharpens everything. Makes me wetter. I hiss through my teeth. Bodhi watches, mesmerized.

Matteo leans down and presses his tongue to the blood, licking a clean stripe along the parallel lines like they belong to him. The bastard groans.

“You taste like violence,” he whispers against my skin. “Like fucking war.”

I shudder. My core is hot and aching with need.

Bodhi laughs low, head tilting as he drags his gaze down my body. “God, you’re fucking beautiful like this. Filthy and defiant.” He slides his hand between my thighs, presses the heel of his palm against the soaked crotch of my pants. “You’re soaked, little storm.”

I arch against Matteo’s hold just to spite them both, but there’s no denying it. I hate how wet I already am. I’ve been wet since the first breathless sprint through the trees. Since their eyes locked on me like prey. Since I knew they’d chase. And catch. And ruin.

Matteo jerks the chain once more, sharp and claiming, as he moves to the side.

Bodhi’s already taking his place and unfastening my pants, tugging them down my legs with a grunt and a wicked grin. His hands are rough, greedy, dragging the soaked fabric away and baring me to the cool air.

“No panties?” he murmurs. “You came out here begging to lose.”

“Shut up,” I snap.

But Bodhi just laughs again and leans forward, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh—hot, open-mouthed, biting just enough to make me gasp.

“Fuck, she’s so wet already,” he growls. “You like the game, don’t you? You love losing.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grit, trying to close my legs—but his hands are there, spreading them wide, holding me open.

“Tell us,” Matteo says, reaching down to slide a finger along my wet entrance, pushing it just inside, teasing, “what do you want, little storm ?”

My body betrays me.

I moan.

Low. Desperate.

Bodhi laughs again, louder this time, and bites at the swell of my breast—enough to sting, enough to bruise. Matteo adds another finger at the same time and I cry out, not in pain—but in need .

“Say it,” Matteo urges, voice like silk dragged across a blade. “Say you want us, say you’re ours.”

“No,” I pant, writhing under them both. “I want—”

But then Bodhi thrusts two fingers inside me alongside Matteo’s without warning, and my sentence dies in a moan. Matteo tightens the chain again—just enough to steal the air and make my vision starburst white.

My world becomes sensation: the dirt under my back, the bite of cold metal, the heat of their hands, the way they both crook their fingers just right.

“Not going to last long, princess,” Bodhi says, grinning down at me. “I can already feel you tightening around my fucking fingers.”

He’s right. I’m already close.

And that pisses me off more than anything.

My back arches off the forest floor as their fingers work in tandem, dragging slick, obscene sounds from my pussy while my throat strains under the chain still tight around it. Matteo’s watching me like a wolf watching prey weaken.

“You want to come?” he asks softly. “Beg.”

I snarl up at him, even as my body bucks against their hold. “Fuck. You.”

Bodhi chuckles and twists his fingers deeper, rougher. “Already working on it, princess.”

They remove their fingers without warning. I cry out—desperate, angry—but it only earns me a sharp slap to my now empty pussy. The sound echoes in the trees. The sting is immediate, dizzying.

“You don’t come until we let you,” Matteo says, voice pure command, even as he lets go of the chain. “Understand?”

I nod once, sharp and furious.

“Good girl.”

Bodhi moves first, shifting up to straddle my chest with a knee either side of my ribs. His cock—thick, flushed, pierced—is already in his hand. He strokes it once, then taps the head against my lips.

“Open,” he says.

I don’t.

“You want this to stop, just say so. If not, then open that pretty mouth.”

I bare my teeth but open my mouth. He slides in, slow and claiming, until I’m choking again, my jaw aching, my throat stretched.

Matteo kneels between my legs now, pushing my thighs up and out. He takes a moment to brush his own pierced cock against my entrance, before lining himself up.

“Breathe,” Bodhi murmurs, just before Matteo thrusts into me.

I choke on Bodhi’s cock.

Matteo doesn’t ease in. Doesn’t give me time.

He fucks me with the same intensity he stalked me with—every thrust deep and measured, timed to each ragged breath I try to draw around Bodhi’s cock.

“God, you feel like fire,” Matteo groans, pounding into me. “So fucking tight.”

I moan around the thickness in my mouth. My body is undone—split open, used. I should hate it.

But I’ve never wanted anything more.

Bodhi holds my head still, both hands in my hair now, rocking his hips with a snarl. “You look so fucking pretty gagged on my cock, princess.”

He pulls out for just a second—just long enough for me to gasp air—and then pushes back in, deeper. Harder.

Matteo’s thrusts are savage now. His hands grip my hips so hard I know I’ll bruise, and I want him to. I want every mark. Every ache.

“Fuck,” Bodhi groans. “She’s shaking already.”

“You should feel how tight she is,” Matteo mutters, voice ragged. “She’s gripping me.”

I try to glare, but Bodhi is already pushing deeper.

I feel my orgasm building—dark and deep and devastating .

Matteo’s fingers find my clit, pinching hard, cruel and perfect.

“Come for us, Seanna,” he demands. “Come on my cock while you choke on his.”

I scream around Bodhi’s cock, the sound high and wrecked. My body convulses, wave after wave rolling through me until I’m shaking, muscles locking, the orgasm dragging me under like a riptide.

Matteo groans, still pounding into me. Then his rhythm falters. He jerks forward once, twice, and I feel the hot flood of his release inside me.

I’m still dazed—trembling and gasping—when Bodhi takes his place. His cock is slick with spit and need.

And he doesn’t wait.

He slams into me, fast and unforgiving, eyes locked on mine.

“You’re ours,” he growls. “You were always fucking ours.”

I moan, back arching. His cock hits deeper, sharper, the metal of his piercings dragging against something perfect .

“Say it,” he hisses.

“Fuck you,” I gasp.

He grins. “ Say it. ”

I want to fight. God, I do. But it’s slipping through my fingers. My defiance. My logic. My fucking breath.

Every inch of me is burning.

My mouth opens on a gasp—part rage, part surrender.

But I know the truth deep down.

“Yours,” I choke out. Voice wrecked. Eyes wild. “I’m—fucking— yours .”

Bodhi’s snarl is animal. Pure possession.

He slams in harder, until my vision whites out again, until I’m clawing at the dirt, until my second orgasm tears violently through me.

Bodhi follows with a loud, broken groan, hips jerking as he spills inside me.

When it’s over, we’re a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and come and dirt.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of panting. Wind threading through the trees. The faint shift of leaves above us like the forest itself is catching its breath.

I blink up at the sky, my body wrecked—core pulsing, thighs trembling, throat raw, and a warm, slick mess dripping between my legs.

Then reality decides to be a bitch.

“Ow,” I mutter, voice wrecked. “Everything fucking hurts.”

Bodhi laughs. A hoarse, satisfied sound as he slumps beside me, one hand dragging through his hair, the other lazily resting across my thigh like he’s claiming the territory all over again.

“Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago,” he says, smug.

I roll my eyes. Or try to. “That’s because I was too busy choking on your cock.”

“Poetry,” Matteo murmurs behind me. His hands are already moving—wiping sweat and dirt from my face, gentle now in the way that always throws me off balance. “Hold still.”

He grabs my pants, crumpled and ruined in the dirt, and shakes them out. They’re stiff with soil, torn a little at the hip, and damp with more than just sweat.

I glare down at them as Bodhi tugs me upright with a hand under each arm, then brushes a few leaves from my hair.

Matteo crouches to help me step into my pants, holding them steady while I wobble like a newborn deer. My legs still don’t work right. The fabric drags up my thighs, catching on grit and the wet stickiness of come clings between my legs.

It’s awful.

I groan, face twisting. “Oh my God . That’s disgusting.”

Bodhi snorts behind me. “That’s what happens when you let two men fill you like a fucking cream donut.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” I growl.

“Cream... filled... donut,” he says slowly, delighting in every syllable.

I shoot him a death glare over my shoulder as Matteo pulls the waistband over my hips. I flinch when it tugs against the fresh cuts. He carefully sheathes the knife in the holster at my back again.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low now. The one he saves for damage control. “You look so annoyed. Is that the pants or the losing?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”

Bodhi’s laughter is wicked. “She’s still got fight. I’m proud of her.”

“I will stab you,” I mutter.

Matteo chuckles low, brushing dirt from my shoulder as we start walking back toward the house, like it’ll make any of this better. “You say that like it’s not exactly why I love you.”

I freeze mid-step. Just one heartbeat. One sharp intake of breath.

But he keeps walking, like he didn’t just drop that word like a loaded gun between us.

Bodhi arches a brow and grins. “Well that’s one way to ruin the afterglow.”

“I hate both of you,” I mutter.

“I love that you said that right after he said he loved you,” Bodhi calls over his shoulder.

“I swear to God—”

“By the way, you’re walking like a drunk baby deer after a gangbang in the woods.”

“I will bite you before I stab you,” I say, limping after him.

He tosses a grin over his shoulder. “That’s not the threat you think it is.”

I scoff, but I’m too busy trying not to wince at the way my pants cling. Every step is uncomfortable. The material sticks in all the wrong places, tugging against swollen skin and fresh bruises, and I can feel their come leaking from my pussy. It’s obscene. And frustrating. And distractingly hot.

We eventually reach the back door to the house, Bodhi ahead, Matteo brushing his fingers lightly down my spine as I stumble across the threshold.

Bodhi freezes in front of me, two steps inside. I don’t notice until I slam into the back of him.

Behind me, Matteo tenses. His hand lifts off my back.

Then, quietly, just above a breath: “ Fuck. ”

I blink past Bodhi’s shoulder.

Men.

Four of them. No—five. All armed.

I freeze.

One of them is leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. He’s flanked by another with a gun held loosely at his side.

“Well,” the man says. “You’ve been busy, hijo .”

Bodhi doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, with a voice that sounds suddenly emotionless , he murmurs—

“Papá.”