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“Fuck, little dove. Your juices are dripping down my chin.” JD groans, the smugness in his voice loud and clear.
That cunt knows what he’s doing.
“JD,” Alana begs, making my head hang.
This isn’t over.
Of fucking course this isn’t over.
“Such a good girl, Dove. Are you going to take my cock like the dirty little whore you are?”
My teeth grind as I picture him getting to his feet and lining himself up behind her.
Fuck, I miss sex.
I miss it so fucking much. But still, not enough to use her.
The desire to shove my hand into my pants and take the edge off right alongside them is strong.
But I hold back.
This is a game, I’m more than aware of that, and if I give in to my baser instincts then I’m handing myself over as a willing participant in this bullshit.
I try to convince myself that JD doesn’t know the past. Doesn’t know what she’s been through, all the pain she’s suffered.
Or maybe he does, and he doesn’t care.
Or maybe she begged him for it.
I slam that thought down as soon as it emerges.
Of course JD isn’t as strong-willed as I am. Even if he knew, she’d break him down. He’s a fucking whore. There probably isn’t a club slut he hasn’t tapped.
I shake my head, remembering a time when the others probably said the same about me. I saw action in that place every night of the fucking week from the age of fourteen to the day I caught Alana in the woodland trying to escape.
It feels like another life. Like that Maverick was an entirely different person to the one I am now.
But despite getting my cock wet on the regular, I knew, without having to put any thought into it, which version of me is happier.
I was living a lie back then. I knew what was happening around me; I’d put the pieces together and it was poisoning me from the inside out because I didn’t know what to do about it.
“Yes, yes. Please,” she begs.
“Fuck, yeah. I fucking love it when you’re desperate for my cock, little dove.”
She cries out as he pushes inside her, his low grunt of pleasure filling the air.
Resting my elbows on my knees, I squeeze my eyes closed and twist my fingers in my hair in the hope the bite of pain is enough to drown them out.
It’s not, of course. Nothing fucking is.
The sounds of their mixed pleasure and the unmistakable slap of skin on skin continue to echo around me as I drown in the worst kind of hell.
They should have just killed me.
If all they want is to take my wife from me.
I might as well be dead.
