Better Watch Out

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ Y ou think…” I trail off, still shaking with a scary combination of emotions. “You think for one second that I’m going to beg either of you for anything? After what you did? After everything you put me through?” I don’t have the guts to stand up, even though I wish I did. I wish I didn’t care what they see, or their reaction to my body being on display for them.

But I do, and the feeling of vulnerability and anticipation of humiliation makes me squirm visibly under their combined gazes. There’s a feeling of being powerless when I’m curled up on their bed, naked, with both of them standing over me completely clothed and incredibly confident.

“I think you’re holding onto this grudge a bit too hard. And what, exactly, is there for you to hold onto, hmm…Conor?” Fletcher moves, coming around to kneel at the side of the bed until he’s right in front of my knees with a sweet, interested expression on his handsome face.

Not that I believe its validity for a second.

“Oh, shall I list them? Would you prefer chronological order, or in order of how much I’m not over them?” I hiss back, having to rein in my temper a little bit with Fletcher so close and so still that every word feels like a dare for him to take this further.

“Chronological,” Boone answers, walking to the opposite wall where a long dresser sits, a match to the taller one where my clothes and phone are. He turns on the television, but instead of putting on a movie or show, music drifts through the room, reminding me that Boone doesn’t like the silence.

“Fine. Chronological. Well, both of you were born, first of all—” Fletcher’s hand darts out, fingers clasping around my throat.

“No,” he tells me. “We’re not playing that game. You can give us serious reasons so we know if we’re missing anything, or you can give up your right to discuss things until after we’re done with you.” I don’t mean to flinch, but I can’t help it. Not with the way he looks at me and the cold anticipation in his tone. It makes his eyes darken and I can see a small smile twitch at his lips. He considers my reaction a victory, and I promise myself not to give him more.

If I can help it.

“Whatever,” I mutter, but my shoulders fall and I reach out, grabbing for one of the fleece blankets on the bed, only for Fletcher to grab my wrist.

“I definitely didn’t give you permission to do that. You should be grateful I’m letting you do this”—he gestures to the way I’m sitting so I’m covering as much of my nudity as possible—“instead of tying your hands behind your back so you can’t do anything at all.” There’s a seriousness in his gaze that unnerves me, and I look away from him to glare up at Boone, who snorts and rolls his eyes.

“You’re only doing that because you’re afraid of him,” he points out. Boone’s not wrong, but I don’t admit it. Instead I swat at Fletcher’s hand as I pull my own back, intentionally missing. I don’t respond to Boone’s verbal jab, and instead shake my head.

“The shed thing. But you know that, so I’ll move on. You were both mean as fuck to me in high school. Like, you just changed all of a sudden. We went from being siblings to you two acting like you wanted me dead.” God, I’m so uncomfortable, and it’s hard to stay still on the bed. My temper rises as I talk, until I finally have the nerve to glare at Fletcher. “Then, then , you found out about the boy who I had a crush on and that it was mutual. You found that out before I did and you broke his leg! He was a soccer player, and you broke his leg! What the hell were you two thinking?”

It’s interesting and unnerving how Fletcher’s expression never changes. As if he’s interested but uncaring, like this isn’t about him. “Then I find out you were stalking me after I left? And let’s not forget how you two treated me after the day I walked in on him blowing you.” I jerk my chin toward Boone.

“Well, I told you that you could join in.” Boone doesn’t bother to sound apologetic. “I’m not sure why it was a bad thing.”

“And then, to top it all off, the two of you set this all up. You stalked me up here, and left me pictures of a murder you committed. But you didn’t just murder those people, did you?” I jerk forward, closing in on Fletcher’s space in a way I know he’ll hate. But this time I don’t stop myself, even at the flash of warning in his eyes. “You tortured them. Why? Why would you?—”

“God, you’re so childish.” His words are smooth, interrupting me, and Fletcher reaches up as if to push me away like I expect. But instead he stands, jerking me up with him by his grip on my throat. “You know what I think?” he murmurs in a mild voice, though he continues before I have a chance to respond. “I think your dad indulged you way too much when we were kids. He was always scared of pushing you away, so you could whine and bitch and never get in trouble. Like a spoiled little brat.”

His words send a rush of heat through me and I want to lash out at him. But worse, deep down, I know he isn’t wrong. And when I was younger, I’d known it too. I’d exploited it during my teenage years, which is something I’d rather die than admit to. But I can’t hold his gaze, so I look away, once more glaring at Boone as I cover my chest with one arm and press the other over my clenched thighs.

“Is this how you still handle your problems? You’re twenty-three, and you still think these tantrums of yours are acceptable? It’s embarrassing. You’re like a child who thinks they’re welcome to physically lash out, who never learned not to bite out of fear of the other person biting back. Your dad did you a real disservice, princess.”

His voice changes, dropping, and I turn to look at him with a sudden nervousness, unsure of where this is going. “Fletcher, I—” His fingers tighten and I shut up.

“So let me do you a favor.” This time he steps closer, his other hand coming out to brush my damp hair back from my face. “Let me do what daddy didn’t and teach you how to behave. And to do that, I’m going to show you there are consequences to your actions.”

I don’t get to ask him what he means, or snap back with some stupid retort. He shoves me back, forcing me to fall back onto the bed with my arms out to catch myself, instead of being able to use them to cover myself.

As if there’s some unspoken, pre-planned agreement between them, Boone is quick to pounce. I try to grapple with him, but it doesn’t last long. He’s physically stronger than me, and he has the advantage of not being taken by surprise. In seconds he has me shoved down over Fletcher’s lap, who sits on the edge of the bed with his arms back to brace himself on.

“Let go of me!” I demand, snarling and shoving my hands against his thighs, trying and failing to sit up. It’s hard to think about how embarrassing and revealing this position is, with my heart racing rabbit-fast in my chest and the way I feel like a bunny caught in a trap.

Snow bunny suddenly feels like a very apt nickname when I’m caught between two killers who have no remorse for what they’ve done.

“No, babygirl.” Fletcher reaches out to thread his fingers through my hair, and seconds later Boone shifts to sit on my calves, one hand gripping my wrists and keeping them behind me. I still can’t sit up, a fact that Fletcher ensures by keeping his left hand tangled in my hair. Every time I try to buck up he pushes me back down against his thigh, not allowing me to move more than a few inches. Hell, he doesn’t even seem to be struggling to keep me here, making me feel incredibly weak. “We can wait,” he adds as I let out a frustrated snarl against his thigh. “You just let us know when you’re done.”

Just to prove a point I continue to fight them, until finally I really don’t have a choice but to give up, body sagging as I lean my upper body over Fletcher’s lap. “Just…tell me what the hell you’re trying to do here,” I demand, realizing I’m trembling from humiliation and rage. “Do you want an apology? Is that it?”

“Yes. But not right now. I don’t want this kind of apology, the kind you only want to give us to get free.” His other hand brushes down my spine, making my shoulders tense. “Here’s how this will go. I’m going to punish you with Boone’s help. Because you really just don’t know when to quit.”

“You’re going to?—”

“Quiet.” His voice is soft but firm, and I can’t help but shut my mouth when he sounds like that. “Good girl.” Boone’s hand rests on my hip at Fletcher’s praise, stroking his fingers over my hip bone approvingly. “I know you can learn, Conor. I know it’ll just take the proper…incentive. Or punishment, I suppose. As I was saying.” he pauses, as if giving me a chance to push my luck further. “We’ve been telling you since we got here to stop pushing it, that you’re begging for a punishment. But we’re happy to give it to you, since you want it so badly. I’m going to treat you like the child you’re trying so hard to be, and when I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson…” he trails off, thoughtful.

“Well, I guess what happens depends on how you take it.”

“I’m…” I turn my head on his leg, only able to glare at the television as it shows the details of whatever playlist Boone has on. “Please don’t do this, Fletcher,” I say finally, the humiliation of my position setting in and making me close my eyes hard. “I’ll say whatever you want, and I won’t hit Boone again.” That’s probably a lie. “Just let me up, okay? I don’t like this.”

Fletcher’s chuckle is soft and not very friendly. “Oh, but that’s the point, princess,” he coos softly. “You’re not supposed to like the punishment.” His hand continues to drift down my spine, until he can cup my ass, kneading his fingers into my flesh. I stiffen in response, mouth open to say something or swear at him, but his hand disappears, only to come back with a crack as he slaps me.

“What— What the fuck?! ” I scream, bucking up against his and Boone’s grip. “Fletcher how dare you —Did you just—?!” My words are cut off when he does it again, this time on the other side. It pulls a yelp of surprise and pain from my lips, and heat spreads across my skin, up my thighs and tickling along my lower back from the sting.

“Stop—Fletcher—” He pulls his hand away and I flinch in anticipation, only for his hand to come back down to gently stroke over my skin. For a moment, anyway. Until he feels me relax just a little bit under him. That’s when he swats me again, not pausing between hits until my ass is burning and I’m sure my face is on fire with the embarrassment of being spanked like a child.

“Fletcher…” This time my voice is a whine, and I’m shaking under him, my heart pounding. I wince when I feel his fingers on my skin, cool compared to the way my flesh burns under his touch.

“You want me to stop?” he asks mockingly, and I can imagine a not-so-friendly smile on his face. His fingers dig into my thigh as he waits for me to reply, massaging my tight muscles painfully.

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, my breathing harsh. “Yeah, I think it’s pretty obvious I really want you to stop.”

“Sure, princess. I’ll stop.” He shifts his hand to the other side, running his fingers over that thigh as well. “All you have to do is beg.”

“Fuck you.” My reaction is immediate, and I don’t think about the words before they spill from my lips. I swear I can hear Boone snicker, and I feel him shift on my calves as Fletcher’s hand pauses.

“I could say I’m disappointed that you don’t learn your lesson quickly,” he tells me after a few moments of tense silence. “But that would be a lie. I love that about you. I think I’d be less interested if you caved too fast.”

“Are you interested enough to—” He hits me again, this time on my thigh, then does the same to the other one. He doesn’t bother to pause in between hits, and I bite my lip, wanting to keep quiet to deny him the satisfaction of my noises.

“Look at you trying to hold out on me.” He clearly knows what I’m doing, and runs his hand up my spine. “Aren’t you just a precocious little thing?” When he moves his hand back down I tense, but he doesn’t stop at my ass this time. Instead he keeps going, until he’s cupping my folds against his palm, and when he taps his fingers against my slit, it dawns on me what he’s going to do.

“N-no!” I protest, twisting my arms in Boone’s grip. “Fletcher don’t—” He doesn’t listen. Not that I can be surprised. He doesn’t hit me nearly as hard, but he does spank my pussy hard enough to make me howl with pain, back arching when he does it again. The tears prickling at my eyes finally break free, and I can’t keep still as he does it again and again .

As tears soak into his sweatpants I try to form the words stop and please over and over again, only to lose them in wordless whimpers and cries whenever his hand connects with my folds. Finally, though, by the time I can’t hold myself up and I’m a sobbing, trembling mess on Fletcher’s lap, he finally stops, and presses his palm against my body.

“Something you want to say to me?” His voice is mild, and I hear Boone huff in amusement, his hand coming up to stroke over my hip almost comfortingly. But that makes me flinch as well, from anticipation and the way my skin burns under any touch right now.

“Please, please stop,” I pant. “I’ll say whatever you want, I just—please Fletcher.” I can’t bring myself to care that I’m crying, soaking the leg of his pants as my body burns and stings with the heat from his punishment.

“Good girl.” Boone’s hands release me and he moves, shifting on the bed and pulling me with him. It’s easy for him to shove me down on my stomach once more, though this time my face hits one of their pillows. Breathing in deeply doesn’t help me figure out whose, as their scents are so intermingled that everything in here smells like both of them.

“Please don’t do it again.” I try to curl my knees up under me, the feeling of being so incredibly vulnerable hitting me yet again. “Just let me go to my room, okay? I promise I’ll stop being immature or whatever.” Hell, I’m ready to say anything right now in order to crawl back downstairs and climb into my bed.

Where I’ll clearly stay until I can leave, get a flight home, change my name, and move to Morocco.

“Let you go to your room?” Boone repeats, and I flinch when he smooths a hand down my calf, encircling my ankle with his fingers. “Why? If you want to sleep, snow bunny, you can do it right here where you belong. You don’t need to go anywhere. You aren’t going anywhere,” he corrects, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

My head is spinning and my skin still on fire, but I don’t answer him. I can’t answer him, when I’m much too focused on the incredibly embarrassing fact that’s slowly making itself known in my head.

I’m turned on by this.

At least somewhat, I realize, as my pussy aches and I get the sudden urge to grind down against the bed. I won’t admit it, and I figure as long as I just lay here and beg to go back to my room, they won’t realize it either. After all, what kind of psycho gets wet from this, when it’s from her two least favorite people in the entire world?

Me, apparently.

“Can I play with her now?” Boone asks, and I open my eyes, body tensing at the expectation of him dragging me over his lap to do this again. Or worse, though I don’t know what worse could mean.

“You can play nicely with her. She deserves the nap she’s been craving since we left the trail.” Fletcher reaches out and drags his fingers through my hair, prompting me to turn and look at him through narrowed eyes. It isn’t a true glare, I don’t have the courage for that. But he arches a brow at me anyway, a small smile on his lips. “Try me,” he invites. “Go on. Make it worse for yourself.”

But I don’t rise to his invitation. Instead I groan, burying my face in the pillow. “Can I have my clothes back now?” I mutter against the fabric of the pillowcase. “If you’re done?”

“Poor thing.” Boone flips me onto my back, and I stare up at the ceiling that spins across my vision before glaring up at him. “Poor little snow bunny.” Before I can stop him he’s settled between my thighs, not letting me press my knees together. “I’ll let you have your shirt, I promise, babe,” he agrees sweetly. “All I want is…” he trails off when he brushes his fingers against my slit, and I groan, covering my eyes with my arm when I see the beginnings of his grin.

It’s impossible to stay still as he slides his fingers between my folds, the burn of my overheated, abused skin making it hard to get comfortable. “Don’t,” I murmur, though it comes out as a plea instead of a demand.

“Well, well, well .” Fuck, he totally knows. “Fletcher, I think you have a problem.”

Opening my eyes, I find that Fletcher has paused in removing his shirt, eyeing Boone with confusion.

“ Don’t ,” I say again, but I’m only met with Boone’s wolfish smirk.

“I don’t think your punishment was enough of one to stick.” He suddenly shoves two fingers into me, pulling a yelp from my throat, and thrusts them in and out before pulling them free and holding them up in front of his face to prove his point.

My face burns in humiliation and I moan, trying and failing to press my thighs together.

“Seeing as her pussy is soaking wet.” When I do open my eyes to glare at him for his words, it’s to see him shove his fingers between his lips, then take his time licking them clean, perfectly aware of how Fletcher and I are unable to look away with him.

It really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

When he does drop his hand, Fletcher leans in without a word, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Boone’s brown hair. Silently he yanks him forward, growling and nipping at his lower lip until Boone acquiesces with a purr and opens his mouth for the blond.

This is definitely hotter, though I wouldn’t mind a repeat of either show. Fletcher licks into Boone’s mouth, like he’s chasing any hint of the taste of my arousal. There’s something incredibly possessive about it, and almost territorial. Like it’s Fletcher’s right to taste me in Boone’s mouth.

Seeing them like this reminds me of why I had so much trouble sleeping without having questionable dreams in the weeks after I caught them together in their room years ago.

“It’s not what you think,” I protest, but both of them look at me, Boone’s head tilting to the side, making it very clear that they don’t believe me.

“Princess, there’s no way to deny it.” Fletcher laughs, crawling over me until he can stare down at me. Boone growls, the sound more predatory than I expect, and flops down beside me, as if he can’t stand for Fletcher to be close and for him to be further away.

“You said I could play with her when you were done,” Boone says reproachfully, earning a glance from Fletcher, who sighs.

“I know I did. You’re right. I just didn’t think…” Again he gazes down at me, thoughtful. “You’re tired,” he observes. “And you’re sore. You’re embarrassed and humiliated and?—”

“I really don’t need you to list everything I’m feeling right now,” I interrupt, ignoring the way Boone snorts beside me. “I’m actually pretty in tune with my feelings, thanks.” I squirm under Fletcher, not quite brave enough to glare at him.

“You’re tired,” he says again, reaching up to tuck my hair sweetly behind my ear. “And I feel like being nice. Maybe I’m tired, too.” If he is, he doesn’t look it. “And I won’t be a liar. So you can play with her, Boone. But don’t take too long. She deserves a nap.”

The way he talks about me, like he can just decide what’s going to happen to my body, makes a prickle of something go down my spine. I want to argue as he sits up and rolls to his feet. But in a flurry of motion, Boone has yanked me onto my side and against him, his chest pressed flush to my back.

“Turn your head for me, snow bunny,” he murmurs, sitting up on one elbow. I find myself doing what he says, my curiosity winning out, and I’m caught off guard when Boone leans down to brush his lips to mine.

“You took that so prettily. You looked so good writhing while I held you down on his lap.” He settles back down, keeping me flush against him with an arm around my shoulders. “You know what I want to see next?”

I’m too exhausted, physically and mentally, to come up with a convincing insult, so I just glare at him and wonder if I could taste Fletcher on his lips if I tried hard enough.

“I want to put you on your knees and grip your hair.” He reaches up to do just that, tugging on the damp strands. “And hold you there while Fletcher fucks your face. What do you think, Con?” He releases my hair and wastes no time in reaching between my thighs, fingers brushing over my folds.

“I think we all need therapy. Did you know we’re siblings?” I ask in a low, dry voice. “Some people would have an unfriendly name for whatever this is.”

“Step-siblings and adopted brothers,” Fletcher corrects, coming back to the bed. His shirt is gone, and he lays down on his side to face me, not touching me but his blue eyes are bright. “You don’t mind if I watch, do you brother ?” he asks pointedly, obviously just trying to make a point with me.

“Not at all, brother dear.” Boone chuckles. He presses two fingers into me again, drawing an instinctive sigh from my throat. “Her pussy is mine right now, but I’m willing to share the rest of her if you want to do more than watch.”

“So generous.” At Boone’s invitation, Fletcher moves closer to me, grabbing my wrists when I reach up as if to stop him. Though really, I’m not sure if I was going to push him away or press my hands to his broad, smooth chest that’s just begging for me to run my nails down it.

God, I have a problem.

My surprised gasp is an invitation for Fletcher to kiss me, and he laps over my lower lip without the expectation for more. When I open my mouth on another gasp, however, he takes that as permission to deepen the kiss while Boone fingers me, adding another finger with his thumb on my clit and continuing until I’m a whimpering mess, the sounds being swallowed greedily by Fletch.

“You taste good,” he purrs against my lips. “Come on, Boone. She’s so close.”

“It’s because of your punishment.” Boone laughs harshly, his lips against my throat. He nips at the skin there, biting down and sucking at my skin hard. It’s going to leave a mark, I know it is. But I can’t find it in myself to protest.

Hell, at this point it feels like I’m just along for the ride.

In no time, I’m panting and writhing between them, my hands still held captive. Whenever I open my mouth some embarrassing noise comes out, and by the time I’m trying to tell them I’m about to come, Fletcher’s mouth finds mine again.

Like he just knows.

And maybe he does. Boone shoves a fourth finger into me, scissoring them and forcing my body to accommodate them. His thumb swirls against my clit, and suddenly Fletcher’s hand is there as well, fingers sliding in beside Boone’s and his thumb working alongside his.

It’s too much.

Way too much. My hips jerk against their movements and I cry out once, then again, the sounds being swallowed by Fletcher while Boone growls filthy encouragements in my ear.

“Come for us, snow bunny,” he purrs, nipping at my ear. “Come all over my hand so Fletcher can lick it off. Fuck , you’ll taste so good when I lick you out of his mouth. Come on, gorgeous girl. Perfect little thing.” He just keeps going, each promise dirtier than the last as my head spins and I gasp one last time into Fletcher’s mouth before my orgasm hits.

And it hits hard. My head spins, and I jerk my chin back to lean against Boone before Fletcher drags me back in for a kiss. They finger me through my release, dragging it out as I try to come to terms with the fact that both of them have their fingers in my cunt.

I’ve never imagined anything like this.

Which is saying something, given the things I have dreamed about when it comes to them.

At last they take pity on me. But by that time I’m nearly ready to cry and the only sounds I can make are panting whines and soft threats are directed more toward Boone than Fletcher. He’s the safer target, after all.

“Poor thing.” Fletcher chuckles, dragging his hand free and shoving his fingers into Boone’s mouth without hesitation. “Look at you, all worn out. Here.” He finishes up letting Boone clean his hand and sits up, revealing that he’s been hiding my oversized tee behind him on the bed. “You deserve this, princess. But”—he puts a finger to my lips when I start to speak—“I’m being nice to you. Don’t make me change my mind.” His eyes glitter with a promised threat, and it’s a damn good thing I’m too worn out, too absolutely exhausted, to think of something good to come back with.

“Can I go back to my room now?” I grumble instead, sitting up enough to drag the soft fabric over my head. It covers me to mid-thigh, giving me a bit more comfort now that I’m not so vulnerable and on display for the two of them.

“Oh, snow bunny.” Boone’s the one who chuckles an answer, and he drags me against him, having removed his shirt when I put mine on. “You’re not going anywhere. You can sleep right here, in my arms, so I can touch you and consider what I want to do to you next.” He pauses when I shudder, my eyes closed as I try to think of a good argument and my brain tries to reboot. “Does that scare you?” Boone murmurs in my ear, and laughs when I shake my head fervently.

“No. I’m not afraid of you, Boone,” I tell him, glaring over my shoulder at him as much as I can.

“What a shame.” His grin grows, becoming wolfish. “Because you really should be.”