Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Van’s zipper sounded at his back, followed by the slapping of a fist against flesh. Van was stroking himself to get hard, and there was a measure of comfort in that, knowing his friend wasn’t aroused.
“Tate.” Her lips trembled through words that found no voice.
He tried to read her mouth.
Me… Look at me…
He didn’t need to look at her to see her, sense her, feel her. She was inside him, part of him, embedded in his being. Curled around her delicate frame, he kissed her cheek, buried his face in her neck, and waited.
Several minutes passed before he heard Van spitting. Then a wet finger forced its way into his rectum.
Unbidden, he tensed up and stopped breathing.
“Was I the last person here?” Van asked quietly.
Six years ago. More than enough time to physically heal.
“Yes,” he grated through clamped teeth.
“Don’t clench.” Van removed his finger and replaced it with something much wider. “You remember what to do.”
Breathe. Relax. Push back.
The instant Van pushed in, Tate couldn’t help it. He fought. The instinct to buck, kick, spit, and punch was uncontrollable. But he had no stamina, no energy, and Van easily subdued him.
“Hold still.” With a grip on his hair, Van pushed his head toward Lucia, pressing his face into her neck.
Then the hand was gone, and all that remained was the invasion.
Slow and cautious, Van buried himself to the hilt. The burning fullness was much like Tate remembered, but also different. Maybe because his back, his ribs, his arms, everything was on fire. Or maybe it was the comfort of Lucia’s hand on his leg and the rasp of her breaths at his ear.
Van held his body away as he drove in and out, no part of him touching Tate’s back. Fingers clutched his hip for leverage, but this wasn’t a dominant fucking. It wasn’t taunting or cruel with the purpose of degradation.
It was efficient, merciful, and far gentler than anything he’d ever experienced with Van Quiso.
But it still hurt. A shameful, defenseless, lasting hurt that annihilated a man’s dignity in one desecrating thrust.
He clung to Lucia, rubbing his lips against the tears that found their way to her neck. Her tears. And his.
Then it was over.
Van quickly pulled out and rolled to his back. Silent. So quiet it didn’t sound like he was breathing.
“Show me.” Badell leaned forward on the stool, craning his neck.
He wanted to see evidence of Van’s release.
With a shaky hand, Tate reached behind him and spread his cheeks to expose the wetness Van left behind.
“Very good,” Badell said. “Now switch.”
Switch places.
He lay like the dead, half on top of Lucia’s body, no doubt crushing her damaged organs. He didn’t have it in him to move, let alone do what Badell demanded.
His physical self teemed with brutal spasms and fever. But his mind was numb. Detached. Unresponsive.
Unending pain, exhaustion, and humiliation had taken its toll. He’d finally reached the limit of his ability. He couldn’t even will himself to look into her eyes.
“I failed you,” he whispered.
Her head twitched side to side, knocking more tears free. The hand on his leg squeezed, and her other one fumbled between them.
When she bumped into his punctured arm, he swallowed an agonized roar. She whimpered and sucked in a breath, reaching her hand lower, sliding along his thigh until she found what she sought.
Trembling fingers encircled his flaccid cock. Then she began to stroke.
He couldn’t. Even if he were able to send blood to that part of himself, how would he thrust? How would he stay hard inside of Van’s body?
But she was determined. Why was that? She wouldn’t push him into this depravity just to save her own life.
Suspicion aroused his senses.
Shifting his hand from her shoulder to her jaw, he turned her head and leaned up. Vertigo threatened to knock him sideways, and the cords in his neck quivered to hold up his skull. But he pushed through the pain and met her gaze.
Something flashed in her eyes, a fierce spark of perseverance.
If he were somehow able to satisfy Badell’s demand, she would leave this place. She would have to leave him behind. But that wasn’t what her expression conveyed.
He let his head drop, returning his mouth to her ear. “Don’t you dare put your life on the line for me. Understand?”
A feeble nod.
“I can do this.” He reached between them, nudged her arm away, and took his cock in hand.
The task was grueling. Each stroke aggravated the mangled muscles in his back. Every exerted breath squeezed the cracks in his ribs. There was no pleasure in it. And no blood. His dick refused to harden.
Then her hand was there again, wrapping around his, sliding in tandem, and lending him strength. He focused on her touch, on her slender weight beneath him, and on the sigh that parted her lips. He narrowed all his concentration on the pleasure and filled his mind with one image: Her pussy.