Page 115 of Bitter Truths

My words hang in the air for a moment while they process that.

“Damn it to fucking hell.” Owen’s growl reverberates through the room, a sound so primal it raises the hair on my arms.

Tristan’s mouth finds the curve of my ear, teeth grazing the delicate skin. “Tell us what he did to you.” Every whispered syllable drags across my skin, igniting nerves and sending shivers cascading down my spine. His grip tightens, turning possessive, determined to erase every lingering trace of someone else’s touch. “Every. Single. Detail.”

My breathing hitches, defiance flaring weakly. “You think I wrote down every encounter in my diary or somethi⁠—?”

“Bianca,” Owen interrupts, his voice rough and commanding. He moves swiftly, dropping to his knees in front of me, invading my space. His hands bracket my thighs, trapping me beneath his demanding gaze. “How many times did he make you come?”

What?!

My heart pounds violently, shock blending with embarrassment. “Hundreds? I don’t⁠—“

The room fractures. Their energy snaps instantly from simmering restraint to primal possession. Their scents clash together, overwhelming my senses, saturating the air until I can almost taste their jealousy on my tongue.

Owen leans forward, pressing his forehead against my thighs, breathing me in like a man starved. When he lifts his head to meet my eyes, his gaze burns with desperate need. It shatters what’s left of my composure.

“Can I touch you, Princess?” he rasps, his voice breaking on the final word. “Please?”

He’s kneeling in front of me, eyes black with need… like he’ll die if he doesn’t touch me right now.

It’s intoxicating.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His mouth brushes tender kisses across my knees, lips lingering softly over each scar as if they’re precious, fragile things. My breathing falters, heat building beneath my skin.

Then his grip tightens, palms pressing firmly to the inside of my knees, easing them wide open, leaving me vulnerable and trembling beneath his touch.

“Owen,” I gasp, my head tipping back helplessly against Tristan.

“Hundreds,” Owen growls, his voice ragged as he presses his face to the bare skin of my inner thigh. His breath sears through the thin fabric of my underwear, scorching my nerve endings.

“I’ll erase every single one,” he vows, eyes burning with a desperate, fierce promise. “Until the only thing your body remembers is my mouth.”

My breath catches hard. “Owen⁠—”

His lips press against my inner thigh, just shy of where I ache. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my sensitive skin.

Tristan’s hands slide up to my breasts, his mouth finding the spot behind my ear. “We’ll take care of you… promise.” His voice rumbles through me.

I’m pinned helplessly between them, Freddie and Weller drinking in the scene thirstily.

Slick heat pools between my legs, my body betraying every attempt at dignity.

“Lift,” he commands roughly.

I obey, hips rising without thought. He slips his fingers beneath the thin fabric of my panties, peeling them slowly down my thighs, deliberate and taunting.

Owen tosses the scrap of fabric directly at Freddie, who catches it reflexively, eyes widening as he fists the material.

“Spread for me.” The words are not a request but a demand that bypasses my brain and speaks directly to my body. My thighs part further without conscious thought, surrendering to the alpha command resonating in his voice.

“Fuck, look at her,” Tristan hisses against my ear, pressing his hard cock into me from behind. “Dripping already.” His fingers pinch my nipples through my dress, sending sharp pleasure down my spine.

I should slap him, shove him away, but instead, I arch into his cruel touch.

I want this too fucking much.