2. Knox
2
KNOX
I fucked up.
I mean really fucked up.
Why hadn’t Sagan told me about what Beatrix was doing behind the wall? It would’ve made a world of difference knowing she had been turned on, playing with herself. Maybe not in the moment, but a day or two later, I probably would’ve found myself flattered. The rest of his confession probably would’ve helped me reach my epiphany faster, too. I figured out why I’ve been so moody the past week and why it took so much for Thatcher to beat it out of me.
I like Starr Girl.
Not just in the platonic, friendship way I confessed to the Hunt twin that muzzled me. Somehow, in a short amount of time, she’s managed to get under my skin. Which, typically, is an impossible feat. I don’t catch feelings. Not because I’m incapable of them—I just have to like a person’s personality in order to appreciate them in other ways. Yet I learned early on that most people fucking suck. I’ve been let down so many times over my life, I don’t expect to connect with anyone anymore.
I mean, sure, I can pretend to be friends with someone or that I’m into them. For short periods of time, I can be your best friend or an eager lover, impatient to jump your bones. My victims soak up my smile and friendliness like a sponge, not realizing it's just a paralytic before I strike.
Somehow though, I’ve become the sponge and, unexpectedly, it’s Beatrix that I’ve been soaking up. I didn’t realize her sweet smiles, gentle teasing, and her listening ear had grown to mean something to me. No one has ever paid me much attention, except for the twins, of course. But they lacked the warmth Beatrix radiates. Talking and hanging out with her is like coming home where I’m safe from the trivial problems of the world.
Now I’ve gone and fucked it up. She’ll never trust me now. I’ve spoiled what could’ve been between us before I even realized there was something between us. Fuck, fuck ! If it felt like coming home, now that I’ve burned that bridge, does it mean I’m homeless? Probably. And I deserve it.
What’s worse? As guilty as I am about putting her through that type of ordeal, I can’t stop replaying the way she cried out my name and came in that coffin.
The hot water from the showerhead beats down my back, burning and stinging, but it's ignored as I pump my fist up and down my throbbing cock. I try to picture my last kill, the terror in my victim's eyes and their whimpers in my ears. Usually, I can visualize it without closing my eyes, but this evening, I really have to focus. My eyes squeeze shut. Even then, the pained sounds of my victim morph into Beatrix's soft cries, groans, and breathless sighs. My name on her lips causes my hips to jerk forward and my hand to slide up and down my shaft faster.
Fuck, I have to stop this.
I should be on my knees apologizing to her, not jerking off to her misery—I can do that after I earn her forgiveness. Yet I can’t keep my hand off my permanently hard cock. I went through half a bottle of lotion while I sat on my bed and came into tissues before I slipped under the water in an attempt to cool off my overheated body. Clearly, this isn’t helping.
Out of spite, I hold off my impending orgasm each time the sight of Beatrix flickers across my mind's eye. I don’t deserve to cum. At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Yet… how can I not find it hot as I picture her fighting the urge to close her thick thighs so she can show me how she plays with herself? I can still see her arousal as it dripped from her slick pussy between her butt cheeks and onto the floor of the coffin. And when she came, how her juices flowed freely…
I squeeze my cock, holding off on my release as I open my eyes to glare at the wall.
Cut it the fuck out , I snarl at myself. My cock doesn’t listen. The water isn’t helping me cool down; the sight of my past victims’ terror isn’t doing the trick either. Just as I’m about to give up and cum so that I can hate myself just a little more, I’m hit with a cold blast of air as the door to the bathroom opens.
“I'm busy, get out,” I spit out through gritted teeth.
There's no response. It's quiet for a moment before the shower curtain is pulled aside. I drop my hand and turn around to find Thatcher standing there, naked and glorious, before me. His hair is wet, and his body is pink from the warmth of his earlier shower. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth, but this isn't his typical one. There’s a sharpness to it that screams danger. Unable to help myself, my eyes travel down the rest of him and land between his legs. Judging by his swollen, throbbing cock—he's looking for a little relief. Hm, I could’ve sworn he would’ve buried himself in his stepsister, but maybe she rejected him? Or it’s the more likely scenario where he got exactly what he wanted from her, and is searching for more.
I give him a full once over, enjoying the view of his long, lean body and loving the imperfections of it. From each of the small circular burn marks that litter his body to the battle scars he'd gotten from a few of his victims—Thatcher is perfect.
“Scoot over,” he orders, a quiet bite to his tone.
“No, fuck off.”
Thatcher’s in the mood to be a dick, I can see it in his eyes. But I’m beating myself up enough as it is.
He strikes quickly and without warning. His hand whips out and his fingers wrap around my neck while he pushes his weight into me. I stumble backward until my back slams against the wall of the shower. He steps under the water and into my space until our chests just barely press up against one another. His hand sits in a safe zone, but the way he leans his chest into me? I hiss as terror and pain sizzle just beneath my skin. Thatcher knows what he’s doing. A satisfied glint in his eyes tells me as much. I flinch hard and try to press myself further against the wall as my stomach twists and revolts.
“Stop it!” I snarl.
Rather than listen, Thatcher presses his body harder against mine, and I can’t stop the scream as memories from my past flash before my eyes. Pain causes the muscles in my body to spasm.
“Hm… I wonder… if I replay the video you recorded, would Beatrix’s screams sound a lot like this?” Thatcher muses, as he pins me with a dark look that promises trouble. He takes a mini step back so our chests are no longer touching. The instant relief as the pain and memories recede leaves me lightheaded.
“What part of fuck off didn't you get?” I ask through heavy panting.
“I wasn't looking for an invitation.” He leans back to stare down at my cock. When his eyes return to my face, a glint of something eerie stares back at me. “I know you're not in here thinking of my little sister, are you?”
It takes everything in me to hold his gaze and break one of our few rules. “No.”
Thatcher's pupils narrow. “ No ?”
Shit, can he hear the lie? He and Sagan are so good at picking up on them. It’s been a while since I needed to lie to them. They don’t like it and, after learning the hard way that part of the communication rule that they have means not lying, I realized I don’t need to. Whatever I want to say, I can say it. Most of the time.
Doubling down, I ask, “Can’t a guy just be jerking off for no reason?—”
“Liar,” Thatcher says with a hiss. He reaches out and grabs my cock in a firm grip. My hips unconsciously jerk forward into the touch. “I can read the guilt all over your face.”
Shit. “I wasn't?—”
“Stop. Lying .”
I don’t see his next move until it’s too late. His other hand comes up and lands in the middle of my chest.
Immediately it feels like I’m both freezing to death and burning at the stake. Phantom pain from my past barrels to the present too fast for me to brace for. I throw back my head and scream as agony rattles around inside of me. My chest is caving in as the pain blurs my vision and steals the air from my lungs. My knees knock as my throat strains from the endless scream I can’t seem to stop. Thatcher doesn’t let up.
“You want to be punished? Because trust me, I’m more than happy to dole one out to you,” Thatcher hisses.
Just as I think I might pass out, Thatcher relents. His hand retreats and he grins.
“Fine, fuck. I was thinking about your sister and her hot fucking pussy while she called out my name!” I gasp out.
“That’s better.” Thatcher nods his approval. His hand returns, but this time it cups my balls, massaging them just the way I like. The motion has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. I groan, and he chuckles darkly. “Do you remember when we accepted you into our family, Knox?”
How could I not? It had taken months to find them after they’d plunged their knives into me and almost six months of trying to prove to them I was worthy of their attention before they caved. It is a victory I still savor to this day, despite the bumps in the road to get here.
“Yes,” I gasp out as Thatcher’s other hand works my oversensitive cock.
“Then I’m sure you remember that there was an adjustment period.”
I nod. Learning the rules had been both fun and terrifying. The adrenaline rush their torment brought was a drug I’m still addicted to.
“But you trusted that we would follow our own rules, didn’t you?” he growls out. “ Trust is an important role in our little family, isn’t it?”
Again, I nod, knowing that Thatcher and Sagan demand responses. My breathing comes in rapid gasps as Thatcher continues his hard, demanding strokes. Trying to focus on his words rather than his touch, I spit out, “I didn’t mean to keep her underground that long?—”
“And yet you did!” he snaps, his voice echoing around us.
Suddenly his grip shifts. My eyes flutter open, and I look down to find his cock pressed up against mine, his hand wrapped around both dicks. He strokes us, his grip biting and wonderful. I groan while I rest the back of my head against the shower wall.
“We need to be able to trust one another, Knox, or our family dynamics will never work. That is a lesson we taught you long ago and one we hope to instill in our little sister,” Thatcher grinds out. “I thought we could trust you to help us, but you’ve proven us wrong.”
No… I shake my head as I let out a whine. “You can! It was a one-time slip up.”
“A slip up that nearly cost one of us our lives!” Thatcher’s grip around our cocks becomes painful.
I love and hate it. My grunt of pain morphs into a moan as I slap the wall behind me with both hands to brace myself against it. I shove my hips into Thatcher's and tremble as my release nears. His other hand continues to massage my sack. I gasp sharply.
“Beatrix no longer trusts us, Knox.” Thatcher’s voice grows colder as he speaks. “And if she can’t trust us, we can’t trust her. Do you see the problem here?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do to fix this,” Thatcher demands.
Shit, I need to fucking cum. His grip on me, however, is cutting off that ability. Even with the intense pleasure rolling through me, he’s stalled my release.
“Apologize,” I whimper as my hips jerk desperately.
“Good boy.”
With that, he loosens his grip just enough for me to finally find my release. When I cum, a weak cry slips past my lips. The mess splatters all over Thatcher's waist and runs off as the water cascades over him. All my weight is pressed against the shower wall as each spurt of cum drains the energy out of me. When I'm done, Thatcher lets go of me. Breathing heavily, I stare at him through hooded eyes. I’m vaguely aware he didn’t finish, but don’t give a fuck. I did and right now, that’s all that matters.
“You know, she’s fine ,” I point out with a lazy smile. “It’s not like she’s in a coma or anything.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Thatcher's hand leaves my cock and shoots to my hair, grabbing it by the roots. He bends down so that his face is in mine and bares his teeth. The fury rolling off him is thick and mixes with the dangerous energy humming through him.
“You don’t mess with the lives of your family, Knox!” Thatcher roars, his voice deepening. “You deserve to be punished and will be soon enough. Maybe we’ll base the severity of it on how quickly you can resolve this mess.”
My stomach drops as my heart flutters with excitement. The organs are at odds with each other, but that's how it is most of the time around the twins. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Thatcher lets out a shaky breath. As he does, he seems to deflate a bit. His visible anger dispels, and he becomes cool and collected right before my eyes.
It’s like a magic trick.
Thatcher lets go of my hair and steps to the side, bringing the shower curtain with him. My hiss of annoyance as cold air washes over both of us is cut off when I find Sagan, fully clothed, leaning against the bathroom counter. His arms are crossed over his chest as he waits for us.
“What’s this?” I ask suspiciously.
Sagan’s head rolls to the side to regard me coolly. “Come here.”
I glance between him and Thatcher. Both Hunt twins watch me like wolves ready to pounce.
Well, fuck. I guess this is what I get for messing up. With a sigh, I step out of the shower. For a second, I contemplate fighting them. It might make this a bit more fun, but I doubt I’ll end up with my face in a pillow and a dick up my ass like other times I’ve chosen that course of action. They’re not in that type of mood.
Sagan’s arms drop and he reaches behind him to grab something off the counter. When he pulls it around, my head drops back, and I groan loudly.
“What? Really? Come on?—”
“Shut up, Knox,” Thatcher snaps from behind me, commandeering my towel that’s hanging from the shower curtain rod.
With a loud huff, I close the distance between me and Sagan, then stand there and allow him to stuff my softening cock into the cage.
“This is unnecessary,” I grumble. Perking up a bit, I offer. “I’ll fix this right now. Where’s Starr Girl?”
“Asleep,” Sagan growls, straightening once the contraption is on. “You’ll leave her alone until she wakes up.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Fine, tomorrow I’ll apologize, and it’ll be right as rain, ok?”
Sagan holds my gaze as he lifts the key to my cage up to eye level. Without a word, he opens his mouth and throws it back. I gape as his throat constricts and he swallows it.
I throw my hands up. “What the fuck, Sa?—”
“I’ll let you know when you can dig it out of my shit.” With that, he heads for the door. “Until then, get comfortable wearing that thing.”