Chapter 30 Lottie
Lottie
“Ican’t go out there looking like this.”
The words are a choked whisper, barely making it past the lump of pure fear in my throat.
My reflection shows the truth of them. Mottled purple and blue blossoms around my neck, a brutal necklace left by hands that shouldn't have been on me.
I trace the marks with a trembling finger, the skin tender and hot.
The bedroom door opens without a knock. I don’t have to look to know it’s Archer. Only he moves with that kind of silent, solid certainty. The floorboards don’t even creak under his weight.
“Lottie.” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates right through the panic threatening to swallow me whole.
I can’t turn around. I just stare at the girl in the mirror, at the evidence of today’s terror.
Archer is behind me in two strides, his big hands coming to rest on my bare shoulders. His touch is impossibly gentle, a direct contrast to the memory still burning my skin. His eyes meet mine in the glass, his gaze hard and protective.
“He won’t get near you again,” he promises.
The door opens wider and Oscar slips in, closing it softly behind him.
“I’m okay,” I lie.
“You’re not,” Oscar counters. He comes to stand beside Archer, forming a wall of solid, furious male between me and the mirror. “You’re shaking, baby.”
I am. A fine, constant tremor runs through me. The adrenaline from this afternoon has long since burned off, leaving me hollowed out and raw.
Archer’s thumbs rub slow, soothing circles on my shoulders. “You need to get out of your head. You can’t walk into the club like this.”
“I don’t know how to turn it off,” I admit.
Oscar exchanges a look with Archer, some silent communication passing between them. Then his eyes flick to the armchairs in the corner of my room. “They can go if you want them to,” Archer offers.
I follow his look. Elijah and Roman are there, sitting stiffly, their expressions a mix of guilt and hunger they’re desperately trying to hide.
My trust in them is still frayed, a torn ribbon… but sending them away feels wrong.
“Are we still getting revenge?” Oscar asks me.
I nod.
“Have you forgiven Crew enough to let him join?”
A shiver, one entirely separate from the fear, races down my spine. I give a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
“Then this is their punishment. Watching. Wanting, but not allowed to touch. Not until you say so.” Oscar smirks when my eyes flick to his. “Make them suffer, baby.”
“They can stay,” I sign, my eyes still locked on theirs in the mirror. A flicker of hope ignites in Roman’s eyes. Elijah’s jaw clenches, his hands gripping his knees.
Archer leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then let us take care of you. Let us make you forget everything but us. Let Crew make you feel good.”
All I can do is nod.
That’s all the permission Crew needs. I don’t even hear him move. He moves like a shadow, but now he’s right in front of me, on his knees. His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, pushing the short silk robe I’m wearing out of his way. The cool air of the room kisses my bare ass.
“Just focus on this,” Crew murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “Just focus on how my mouth makes you feel.”
He doesn’t give me time to overthink it—what this means.
He simply pulls me back against him, his strong arms wrapping around my thighs to hold me steady, and he buries his face between my legs.
A sharp gasp punches out of me. My head falls back against Archer’s chest as Crew’s tongue finds my center.
He doesn’t start soft or exploratory—he goes in like a man starved of his favourite drug, a flat, firm stroke right through my slit that has my knees buckling.
He keeps going like he’s afraid I might change my mind.
Archer holds me upright, his hands moving from my shoulders to cradle my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples and rolling them into hard, aching points. “That’s it, baby. Just feel it,” he growls in my ear.
Oscar watches us, a dark, pleased smile playing on his lips as he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves like this is a job he’s ready to get started on. His eyes are hot on me, missing nothing.
But my wide eyes are fixed on the mirror, on the reflection of Crew devouring me.
The sight of it is so lewd, so much that it should embarrass me…
but all it does is send another jolt of pure heat straight to my core.
His tongue is relentless. It flicks and circles my clit with a precision that steals the air from my lungs.
Every lick is a promise, every suck a vow to erase the memory of any other touch he ever gave me.
He laps at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste, and a broken, needy sound rips from my throat.
The fear, the anxiety—it’s all being washed away in a rising tide of sensation.
The pain in my neck is a distant echo, replaced by the building, coiling tension low in my belly.
My fingers dig into Archer’s arms as he pinches my nipples, the sharp pleasure-pain a perfect counterpoint to Crew’s merciless mouth.
I can hear how wet I am, the slick, filthy sounds of his worship filling the quiet room. I can see the dark intensity in Elijah’s eyes as he watches, his chest rising and falling fast. I see Roman’s white-knuckled grip on the armchair.
Crew slides two fingers inside me, curling them, and my vision whites out for a second.
Oh god.
He finds that spot inside me instantly, rubbing it in a steady, punishing rhythm that makes my entire body clench. His tongue never stops its work on my clit, the dual assault shattering the last of my control and the last of my ability to keep him away.
I’m not thinking about Lorenzo anymore. I’m not thinking about the bruises. I’m only thinking about the pressure building inside of me, a wave getting ready to crash. My breaths are ragged sobs now, each one punctuated by a thrust of Crew’s fingers.
“Look at them, Lottie,” Archer commands, his voice rough. “Look at them watching you come apart.”
My eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed, drag over to the mirror, to Elijah and Roman.
Their want is a physical thing, a heat I can feel across the room. They’re trapped there, forced to witness this, to see how well I’m being taken care of without them.
The thought, the image, the incredible feel of Crew’s mouth—it all collides.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train.
It’s brutal and overwhelming, a raw scream tearing from my throat as my body convulses against Crew’s face.
He holds me through it, his fingers pumping, his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave until I’m boneless, held up only by Archer’s strong arms.
Crew finally gentles his touch, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on my inner thigh before leaning back on his heels. He looks up at me, his chin glistening, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
I’m panting, trying to remember how to form words. Archer nuzzles into my hair. “Better?”
A weak, breathy laugh escapes me. “A little.”
Oscar finally moves, stepping forward, his eyes burning with a new intent. “Good.”
My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs, but now the rhythm is one of raw want, not fear. Oscar’s eyes never leave mine, possessive and sharp. “Do you still want them to stay? They need to see. Need to understand what they’re waiting for… What they still have to earn.”
My eyes flick to Elijah and Roman, still bound to their chairs. Elijah’s jaw is clenched so tight I think it might break, his knuckles white where they grip the armrests. His gaze is a physical weight, full of a desperate hunger that borders on pain.
Roman is a state of pure, frustrated need, his eyes dark and burning, drinking in every detail of my naked, flushed skin. Every clench of his jaw seems to make the snakes that run down his face move as if they are real. A shiver runs through me, a complex cocktail of power and vulnerability.
They’re being punished, and a part of me loves it.
I nod while signing. “Yes.”
Archer kisses my temple, a gesture so tender it clashes with the raw hunger I see in his eyes. “Good girl.”
In one smooth, power motion, he lifts me and lays me onto the soft rug, positioning me right in the center of the room, a feast displayed for them.
Oscar is already there, kneeling right beside me, his fingers tracing the line of my hip.
Archer stands, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open is as loud as a gunshot.
He sheds his clothes with an efficient, muscular grace, his body a monument. Every ridge of his abdomen, every cord of muscle in his thighs, is a testament to the protecting he offers.
He isn’t just the man I fell in love with—he’s my shield.
Archer drops to his knees between my legs, his large hands spreading my thighs wider, opening me up completely to his gaze, to Oscar’s, to Crew, and to the two men watching from the shadows.
Oscar leans down, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and control. It’s not soft… It’s a claiming.
His tongue invades my mouth as his hand slides between my legs, two fingers sinking into me with no warning. I cry out against his lips, my back arching off the floor. “Look at her,” Crew murmurs, “Look how ready she is. This is what you’re missing…”
Oscar’s fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes my vision blur. Crew joins us, kneeling beside me, his hands reaching out and caressing my skin almost reverently.
“Easy, Lottie. We’ve got you,” Archer’s hands glide up my thighs, then he positions himself, the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
The pressure is immense, a sweet, almost too-much stretch that makes me gasp.
He doesn’t push. He waits, his eyes holding mind, a silent question.
I nod, a frantic movement, my fingers digging into the rug beneath me. “Please, Archer. Please.”
I ignore the ache in my throat. The need to feel him inside of me too much.
With a low groan that seems to come from the very core of him, he pushes forward. It’s a slow, inexorable invasion that steals the air from my lungs.
I’m utterly full, stretched to my limit. My head falls back, a broken moan tearing from my throat.
Oscar watches, then leans in again, his mouth trailing down my neck, carefully avoiding the bruises, to latch onto my nipple.
His tongue flicks the hardened peak, his teeth grazing it with just enough pressure to make me jolt, the sensation ricocheting straight to where Archer is buried deep inside me.
Archer begins to move. His thrusts are not gentle. They are powerful, measured strokes that punch soft, pleading sounds from my lips with every inward drive.
The world narrows to this: the smell of sweat and sex, the sound of skin meeting skin, the sight of Oscar worshiping my breasts, and the overwhelming sensation of being taken, owned, and protected.
“That’s it,” Archer grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Take me, Lottie. Take all of me.”
Oscar releases my breast with a wet pop, his eyes shifting to look across the room.
“Watch,” he commands Elijah and Roman.
His words are the final key. The coil snaps. A climax crashes over me with the force of a tidal wave, blinding and absolute. My inner muscles clamp down on Archer, milking him as my body convulses, a raw, guttural scream ripped from my throat.
Through the haze, I feel Oscar move. He shifts down my body, his mouth replacing where his fingers had been earlier.
His tongue flicks over my oversensitive clit, and I sob, the sensation a sharp, exquisite torture that prolongs the ripples of my orgasm.
Archer drives into me once, twice more, his own control shattering.
He stills, buried to the hilt, and I feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release inside me.