Page 83 of Twisted Play

I opened my mouth wider, terrified he’d chip a tooth, and Cole rewarded me with a swipe of his fingers around my clit.

“That’s it, sparrow. Show us how much you like this.”

“I don’t,” I tried to protest, but Tristan’s cock muffled my cries. He wrapped his hand around my hair and held my head where he wanted it, so he could fuck my mouth while Cole pounded my pussy.

Together, they set a brutal rhythm, pushing and pulling me without regard to my comfort, and somehow, being used and degraded turned me on even more. I couldn’t think, couldn’t protest. All I could do was take what they gave me as Cole spanked me over and over, as Tristan cut off my air supply with his cock, as pleasure wound through my body, dark and insidious.

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the rhythm of their strokes, reduced to a messy cacophony of need and humiliation until a finger stroked my clit again.

“Come for me, sparrow,” Cole said.

I whined, and he slid his fingers between us to massage my clit. The stimulation sent me screaming over the edge, my voice muffled by the cock down my throat. Bliss exploded outward from my core, euphoric shrapnel obliterating my sense of self as pleasure overwhelmed me. Tristan pulled out of me, and hot liquid splashed over my waiting face as he painted me with his release.

Cole’s rhythm turned ragged, and he clutched my hips, his fingertips digging into me as he fucked me stupid. Then he pinched my clit, and Jesus Christ, the pain made me explode again, collapsing forward as he shouted my name, filling me with his cum.

When he released me as he pulled out, I collapsed onto the desk, dropping my face to my arms, not caring that I was smearing Tristan’s cum all over me. I sagged, barely able to stand, my legs shaking, and cried and cried and cried some more.

“Shit,” Cole said from behind me. “What now?”

“We take care of her, asshole.”

Firm hands lifted me, and then a wet towel gently scrubbed at my face. I ignored them, letting them move me like a doll as I softly sobbed, unable to reconcile the bliss with my misery or force my limbs to move.

Hands wrapped around me, lifting me, enveloping me in warm fabric. It smelled good, comforting, and I let my head loll against the strong chest that held me.

“Fuck, what’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know!”

I snuggled deeper into one of their arms, refusing to open my eyes, refusing to look at the men who’d treated me exactly the way I deserved to be treated.

“Shit!”

33

TRISTAN

Cole drove.I squeezed into the back of his sports car with Eva, buckling her in and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge my presence, didn’t even look up as we drove away. She just curled in on herself and hid her face from the world.

“Eva?”

She didn’t answer.

“She needs to see a doctor,” I snapped. “This isn’t normal.”

Cole whipped around to stare at me before turning his attention back to the road. “And when she tells the doctor why she’s in this catatonic state? What the fuck do you think is going to happen to us?” A vein in his jaw fluttered as he drove. “What do you think is going to happen to her when the story comes out and everyone discovers what she’s been doing for the bratva?”

Fuck. I ran my hand over my curls then swore again. I was scared for her and disgusted at myself for ignoring the voice in my mind that had been screaming that good, decentmen didn’t blackmail women for sex. “Take her home, then,” I ordered.

“Already on it,” Cole said.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up. The light on the porch was out. I went through Eva’s purse, looking for her keys. I pushed down my fury when my fingers brushed against her second phone. Selling our secrets to the bratva. What the hell?

Cole lifted her in his arms, murmuring nonsensical words, as if that could change what we’d done to her and bring her out of her catatonic state.

Her porch stairs creaked when I walked up them, as if unused to the weight of a strapping young athlete, and unwanted sympathy crawled through my chest like poisonous vines.

No one answered when I knocked on the door, so I let us in with her keys. When I flicked on the light, I was shocked to see the threadbare condition of the house—spotlessly clean but empty. Fuck, she was poor.