Page 107 of What We Become

“Careful,” Micah whispers, his hand coming up to cup my breast, thumb rolling the nipple that’s still wildly sensitive from the wax. “Don’t fight the bindings, baby girl. Just let us give it to you.”

I nod frantically, unable to form words. Holden’s fingers curl inside me, hitting that deep, aching spot again and again. At the same time, Eli’s mouth closes over my other breast, his teeth scraping the peak in a way that makes my hips buck instinctively. Knox’s hands clamp down over my thighs, holding me steady, absorbing the shock of my movements so my healing ribs don’t have to take the strain.

They are a machine built entirely for my undoing.

The dread of tomorrow—the return to Hunter Harbor, the hunt for Stephen, the blood and the shadows—melts away under the absolute sensory overload. There is no past and no future. There is only the heat of Eli’s mouth, the frantic glide of Holden’s fingers, Micah’s soothing whispers, Knox’s immovable strength, and Milo dragging his teeth lightly down the center of my stomach.

I throw my head back against the wood, blind and bound and completely free, and let my Hangmen take me apart.

Holden’s fingers slow before the pleasure can tip me over.

I make a sound of pure betrayal.

“No.”

“No?” His voice comes from below me, calm enough to be criminal. “You want to reconsider that answer?”

“No, don’t stop.”

“That’s better.”

He withdraws anyway.

The emptiness is immediate and infuriating. I pull against the silk before I remember not to, the rope tightening around my wrists as Knox’s hands shift higher on my thighs.

“Easy, Fury.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Tomorrow,” Milo says against my stomach. “Tonight’s schedule is full.”

His teeth catch lightly at my hip. Micah’s thumb continues its slow pass over my nipple, soothing where Eli’s mouth left it aching, and somewhere close, Holden gives a quiet laugh.

“You wanted all of us,” he says.

“I do.”

“Then you wait for all of us.”

A mouth replaces his fingers.

My entire body jerks.

Knox takes the movement without letting my back lift from the cross. His palms bracket my hips now, so large they feel like restraints of their own, and Holden’s tongue moves over me with none of Micah’s gentle patience. Precise. Ruthless. Like he’s gathered evidence on every reaction I’ve ever had and is building a case designed to destroy me.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” Milo says.

“Not helping,” Eli tells him.

“I’m providing emotional continuity.”

A hand closes around the back of Milo’s neck. I know it’s Holden’s even before Milo’s breath catches against my skin.

The picture builds in my head because the blindfold makes imagination vicious. Holden kneeling between my legs, one hand holding Milo exactly where he wants him while his mouth works me. Milo bent close enough that every restless breath ghosts over my stomach. Eli beside my breast. Micah at my throat. Knox standing in front of me like the last solid thing in the room.

I want to see.