3. Reed
REED
I draw my hands back, watching her amber eyes flare with unmistakable disappointment. The whimper that escapes her throat—half protest, half plea—shoots straight to my cock, but I'm sure as hell not rushing it.
"Reed. Mr. Carson." she starts, and Christ, hearing that word from her lips makes my chest tighten.
"That's not what you should call me." I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip. "Try again."
Her pupils dilate, chest rising with a sharp breath that makes those perfect breasts lift. The correction lands exactly where I want it—straight between her thighs.
"Daddy," she whispers.
Better.
"Patience, little girl." I cup her jaw, tilting that beautiful face up. "We're going to take our time with you."
Roman's dark eyes meet mine over her shoulder, pupils blown with the same predatory hunger clawing through my veins. He nods once, understanding passing between us without words.
I claim her mouth, swallowing her gasp as I taste her properly for the first time.
She's sweet, warm, eager despite her helplessness.
Her tongue meets mine tentatively at first, then bolder as Roman's tattooed hands cup her breasts from behind.
The contrast of his olive-toned fingers against her cream-and-honey skin is obscene, perfect.
"Fuck, she's so soft," Roman rasps against her throat, teeth scraping her pulse point. His thumbs brush her nipples and milk beads immediately, pearling on the dusty-rose peaks before trailing down her curves in thin white rivulets.
She arches between us—as much as the leather-wrapped chains allow—a gorgeous bow of desperate femininity. The restraints hold her upright, arms stretched above her head, ankles spread and anchored to the floor rings. Completely exposed. Completely ours.
I break the kiss to watch Roman work her throat, his mouth mapping the column of her neck while his fingers massage her heavy tits.
More milk flows, coating his hands, dripping onto the floor between her feet.
Her pussy glistens in the low light, swollen and slick, the scent of her arousal thick enough to taste.
"Please—" she gasps when Roman's teeth find her earlobe. "I need?—"
"You need what we give you." I trace her ribs, her waist, the flare of her hip. "Nothing more."
Roman's eyes find mine again, feral and focused. Without speaking, we move in sync—a choreography of dominance. My mouth finds her right breast as he takes the left, and the sound she makes is somewhere between a sob and a moan.
Her milk flows hot and sweet across my tongue. I suck hard, massaging the soft flesh, feeling her whole body shudder in response. Roman groans against her other tit, his hand sliding down her stomach toward her pussy.
"So fucking wet," he mutters, fingers ghosting over her slit without giving her the pressure she craves. "Dripping for us."
My own hand joins his, exploring her soaked folds, circling her clit without touching it directly. She writhes, chains rattling, milk flowing faster as we work her body with deliberate, maddening care.
"Daddy, please—Roman?—"
"You'll come when we decide." I release her nipple with a wet pop, milk still leaking down her breast. "Right now, we're just milking you, little girl. Getting you nice and empty."
Roman's cock juts thick and flushed between his legs, pre-cum already beading at the tip as he works Rue's breast with his free hand. His tattooed fist moves in slow, deliberate strokes up his length, matching the rhythm of his mouth at her nipple.
The sight sends a bolt of raw heat through my gut.
My stepson—twenty-six, dangerous, built like a goddamn warrior—milking this tiny girl while stroking himself. The contrast is obscene: his massive frame dwarfing her petite curves, olive skin against cream, dark ink against unblemished softness.
And she's ours. Both of ours.
My cock throbs against my zipper, demanding attention I won't give it yet. Control is everything. Patience wins wars.
"Daddy—please—" Rue's voice fractures on a sob, chains rattling as she tries to arch closer. "I can't—it's too much?—"
"Too much?" I catch her chin, forcing those amber eyes to mine while Roman continues his assault on her breast. Milk streams down her torso in white rivulets, pooling in her navel before trailing lower. "You haven't even started."
Her pupils are blown, lips parted and swollen from my kiss. Every breath makes her tits heave, more milk flowing as Roman's fist works faster on his cock.
"Please touch me—need more?—"
"You came into my home, attempting to scam us." I trace her jawline, down her throat, feeling her pulse hammer beneath my fingertips. "Posed as staff. Tried to infiltrate my security, gain access to my finances."
"I explained?—"
"And you think your reasons matter?" My hand wraps around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming. "You think desperation excuses what you attempted?"
Roman releases her nipple with a wet sound, his dark eyes meeting mine. Understanding passes between us. He shifts position, his free hand sliding between her thighs while the other keeps pumping his shaft.
"Fuck, she's soaked," he rasps, fingers ghosting over her pussy without giving her what she needs. "Dripping down her thighs."
Rue whimpers, a broken, needy sound that makes my cock pulse. Her hips roll forward, seeking friction Roman deliberately denies her.
"You need to be taught a lesson, little girl." I release her throat to grip her hip, holding her still. "Breaking and entering. Attempted theft. Seducing my stepson."
"I didn't?—"
"You stripped naked in front of him." My thumb traces the curve of her waist, feeling her tremble. "Let him drink from these perfect tits. Offered him this virgin pussy."
Roman's breathing roughens, his fist moving faster as he circles her clit without touching it. His cock is thick and angry-looking now, pre-cum smearing across his knuckles.
Sharing her with him feels right in some primal way I won't examine too closely. This isn't about morality or convention—it's about power, possession, the absolute certainty that this girl belongs to us both.
"Please—" Rue's whole body shakes, milk still flowing, arousal glistening on her inner thighs. "I'll do anything?—"
"You will." I step back slightly, taking in the full picture: my stepson naked and hard, working himself while he torments her; this tiny, desperate girl chained and dripping between us. "But first, you're going to learn that actions have consequences."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Look at me."
Her amber eyes focus to mine immediately, pupils blown wide with arousal and desperation. Good girl. Already learning obedience.
Roman keeps circling her clit without giving her relief, his other hand stroking his thick cock in slow, torturous pulls. Her milk flows steadily, trailing down her stomach, but her attention locks on me now.
I reach for my shirt buttons.
The first and second are already undone. Then I pull the third undone. I take my time, watching her gaze track each movement of my fingers, as I undo the rest. Her breathing quickens, chains rattling softly as she shifts.
"Daddy—" The word comes out breathy, reverent.
"Quiet." I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall to the dungeon floor.
Her lips part on a sharp inhale.
The tribal ink spanning my chest catches the low light—dark abstract patterns winding across my pecs, over my shoulders, down my arms in masculine waves. The thick vertical scar bisects the left side, a brutal reminder of past violence that makes her eyes widen.
I'm not built like Roman—not that lean, shredded aesthetic. My frame carries more mass, thicker muscle earned through decades of discipline and ruthless control. My chest is broad, solid, dusted with dark hair that trails down my abs toward my belt.
"You like what you see, little girl?"
She nods, throat working on a swallow. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip.
Behind her, Roman groans low. "Fuck, the way she's looking at you?—"
I unbuckle my belt with deliberate slowness, watching her pupils dilate further. The leather slides free with a soft hiss that makes her flinch—but not from fear. From anticipation.
My zipper comes next. The rasp of metal teeth fills the silence between her ragged breaths and Roman's harsh panting.
I shove my pants and boxer briefs down together, kicking them aside.
Her eyes drop to my cock and she makes a sound—half whimper, half moan—that shoots straight through me. I'm thick, hard, flushed dark with blood. Older than Roman but just as hungry, just as ready to claim what's ours.
"Please—" She tugs at the chains, milk streaming faster as her arousal spikes. "I need?—"
"You need to learn patience." I step closer, letting her feel the heat radiating off my body. My hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Learn to accept what we give you when we choose to give it."
Roman's tattooed hand slides up her inner thigh, fingers ghosting through her wetness without penetrating. "She's fucking drenched, Dad. Dripping for us."
The word—Dad—sends a dark thrill through my chest. We've never shared a woman before. Never wanted to. But this tiny, desperate girl chained between us feels inevitable, right in some primal way that defies logic.
"You see what you've done to us?" I press closer, my cock brushing her stomach, leaving a smear of pre-cum on her cream-and-honey skin. "Got us both hard, both ready to ruin this virgin pussy."
She trembles, another sob-gasp escaping her throat. Her eyes roam over my body—chest, abs, the thick muscle of my thighs—with undisguised hunger that makes my cock pulse.
I slide my hand between her thighs, finally giving her what she's been begging for. My fingers find her clit—swollen, slick, desperate—and press down with firm, deliberate pressure.
"Oh god—" Her whole body jerks in the chains, back arching.