Page 31 of Rogue’s Mark

Armen doesn't say anything. He just crosses the room and takes her mouth. She makes a sound against him that tells me everything, like she's been thinking about this for hours.

I adjust myself in my jeans. I do that a lot when Vi’s around.

Sting leans against the wall beside me, arms crossed, eyes on the same thing.

"You're both just going to watch?" Vi says, pulling back from Armen's mouth.

"For now," I say.

She narrows her eyes. "That's not what I came here for."

"I know what you came here for."

She rolls her eyes. “C’mon. Help a girl out.”

She doesn’t look like she needs much help to me but I stand up anyway, leaving Sting against the wall where he’s suppressing a laugh at how fast I jumped up.

I shoot him a dirty look and he laughs even harder.

The first time I saw Vi, I knew. Not that she'd end up here specifically, in this room, with us. But that she had something underneath the anger and the grief and the chip on her shoulder the size of Rothwell itself. Something that needed the right conditions to come out. A woman who'd been dealt that kind of hand and was still standing, still fighting. She had, and still has, the kind of fire that doesn't stay contained. It always finds somewhere to go.

Armen makes room for me by stepping behind her, placing his hands on her hips and his mouth at her neck. Her head lolls back while I work her shirt off.

"Rogue," she says.

"Right here, baby."

I get my mouth on hers, and Armen pushes her forward into me and she gasps. She grabs my shoulders for balance and I hold her face while Armen grinds against her ass.

Sandwiched by us guys, she manages to work her fingers between us just enough to remove her clothes. In less than a minute, she’s naked between the two of us.

“Lean forward, darlin’,” Armen says, looking down at her luscious ass cheeks.

She glances over her shoulder with a smile, then locks eyes with me. She takes hold of my upper arms for balance and leans forward, her face ground into my chest.

Armen gestures at Sting, who comes over and joins him in checking out her back side. He roughly grabs at her ass cheeks, making her jump, and spreads them to the point where his hands leave red marks.

“Would you look at that,” Armen breathes, while Sting, standing there with his hands on his hips, nods admiringly.

Vi squirms to lesson Armen’s hold, but he only tightens his grip.

Somebody’s going to have a sore ass tomorrow.

Armen glances at Sting. “Go ahead, man. Help me out.”

A wicked smile spreads across Sting’s face, and he leans over to spit on Vi’s asshole.

He spits again and starts rubbing her with his finger, not sliding inside yet, but the threat is there, and I can tell she’s part terrified and part turned on.

Nervousness pushed aside, she pushes her ass back toward them like she’s hungry for more. This is not lost on them.

I continue holding her in place, her face pressed into my chest and my hands holding her upper arms, while Sting continues to massage her asshole, adding spit and gently pressing it to open. Finally, he slides his finger inside to the knuckle, and Vi both groans and bucks against me, my own dick straining painfully against the fly of my blue jeans.

Goddamn. I don’t know if the tension is worse for us guys, or Vi.

Sting slips his finger all the way into Vi’s ass and with a long growl, she bangs her head against my chest.

“You okay, baby?” I murmur, lowering my head toward her.