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“Go up to my room and wait for us,” Seven says.
A shiver skates down my spine at this command.
When I get to Seven's room, I strip off the dress and get into his huge bed. When they join me, I don't get the rough claiming fucking I expected. I assumed they would want to piss on their territory. After another man had his hands on me—even if the situation wasn't my choice—surely they'd want to fuck me in a way so there was no mistake who I belonged to, lest any creature with breath in its lungs forget.
But they don't do this. Instead, they are so careful, gentle as though I might break. Soft kisses, gentle caresses, murmured endearments I no longer know if I should let myself believe, yet can't chastise myself for hoping are real. They don't fuck me together. They take turns, and each of them is slow and deliberate, savoring the feel of their body inside of mine.
My monsters take such very good care of me. Maybe they can't really feel love, but I've heard that the early kind of love in a relationship is only infatuation, that it isn't real. Everyone who claims to really know says that love isn't a feeling; it's an action.
If love is an action, then my monsters definitely love me. Maybe they can't feel the same things other people can feel, but they do take care of me. And they do want me.
I don't know if they're still playing a game with me or if what we have is real, but either way, I'll play.
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