Chapter 13
Kenny adjusted his collar in the mirror, the black jacket lying clean and sharp across his shoulders. The tie felt too formal, but Silas had picked Ruth’s Chris, and he wasn’t about to show up looking like some half-assed biker on date night.
The choice had been made before Misty opened her bitch mouth, and now that he knew about James Fucking Winslow, their restaurant choice felt like a pissing contest he hadn’t meant to enter.
Hell, part of him wanted to scrap it entirely, opt for Taco Bell or Sonic just to prove he wasn’t trying to compete with a damned billionaire.
He knew that was bullshit thinking though. She was with the three of them for what they could do to her body, her psyche. For the rules established by ownership, for the way they understood her need for submission and pain, her craving to be used.
And he was perfecting that with her, stripping her down to three needy holes, owning every inch of her sexuality because she offered it to him. He didn’t have to take it, he only had to use what she handed over.
The three wolves were giving her what the rich human fuck hadn’t.
But tonight was different. It was showing her they wanted all of her, the woman and the fucktoy. She’d need to be their girlfriend too, amongst all the orders and protocol. The ritual part of their life needed some humanity. She couldn’t be an object twenty-four/seven.
Submissive and owned, yes, but not an objectified fucktoy the entire time.
And bonus points for forcing her into submission in public, showing her she belongs to them all the time, twenty-four/seven, no matter the location. It would be understated in public, but the threads of control would still be there.
* * * *
Silas arrived home from the restaurant and stepped into her bathroom while she was drying her tantalizing body after a shower.
She wasn’t allowed to close her doors, much less lock them. No privacy. No way to escape. That was the point. She belonged to them, and they could walk in any time they damn well pleased. She’d asked for ownership and now she had it. No safe bubble, no bullshit boundaries.
He didn’t bother with hello — just hooked a finger in her hair, pulled her head back, and kissed her hard.
“On your knees,” he said against her mouth, and she dropped without hesitation like a good little fucktoy.
He took her throat fast, rough, no time for finesse. This wasn’t a scene — just him feeding the ache in his cock. No mercy. Just a hole to use. She gagged and clutched at his thighs, desperate for oxygen, but didn’t try to stop him.
When he was done with her mouth, he hauled her up like a sack of grain and tossed her over his shoulder, dumped her on the bed like the toy she was.
“Oh yeah, permission to get on the bed,” he smirked, after his dick was already inside her, claiming her slick cunt like it belonged to him. Because it did. Same as all her holes.
Two minutes later, he wanted her ass, pressed her legs higher, and made the switch — no warning, no extra lube, just pussy-slick cock and a hard thrust.
She squealed, made a fuss, and Silas rolled his eyes. Dramatic little whore. She could take it. Her ass was tight, yeah, but not enough to stop him from driving deep. If she could still squeal, she could still breathe.
His wolf was more tender than Silas had expected though, and gave him a warning when she was nearing her endurance, so he sped things up, got what he came for, and emptied into her ass with a grunt.
He chose a heavy stainless plug with a narrow neck she’d have to squeeze down on to keep from losing while she walked through the fancy restaurant.
And the whole rest of the night, too.
She’d be tight as hell for Boone later, and Silas grinned at the thought as he picked his pants up and headed for his own shower.
Forty minutes later, Kenny’s damned automated text program reminded everyone they needed to leave in three minutes to make their reservations, but they were already climbing into the SUV.
No one had mentioned Willow’s hundred-and-fifty-grand sports car when she’d first arrived. They’d assumed traveling nurses make a lot, and that’d seemed to confirm it, but now he wondered if it was a gift from the billionaire.
It probably didn’t matter, but it bugged him, thinking something the bastard might’ve paid for was on pack lands.
Bugged him enough, he considered talking to Brain about doing a little hacking to see who’d bought it. It felt a little stalkerish, and yet his wolf wholeheartedly agreed with the plan. If she’d bought it, they’d hurt her feelings by suggesting she hadn’t.
But if she hadn’t? He didn’t want it here.
That was Kenny’s call, not his, but he had a sneaking suspicion their Alpha would feel the same.
Hell, maybe Kenny had already looked into it.
What do we know about her car? He telepathed.
She bought it. Funds came from her account, and there’s no evidence he ever added to it. He bought her jewelry, clothes, and shoes, but no cars, and he didn’t give her money.
Silas had to suppress his chuckle. Kenny was on top of it.
He was also behind the wheel. They already knew Silas wanted the backseat with her, so Boone slid into the front passenger seat, and Silas watched their little fucktoy hawk climb into the back of the SUV.
Before Kenny made it the two miles to the main road, Silas had leaned sideways and reached beneath her dress.
His fingers slid up her thigh, into her folds, but he didn’t rush.
It would take them forty minutes in traffic to get there.
He stroked, circled, inserted, pulled out and rubbed all around her clit until her eyes rolled back in her head.
He loved seeing her like this: needy, breathless, and trying so hard to behave, to make herself into what they needed even when she was so sore two fingers hurt. Even when they denied her release.
Her willingness to obey, to submit, meant giving the right balance of consequences and rewards would work to eventually reshape and mold her into the perfect little fucktoy she so desperately craved.
And he’d have fun pointing out she wanted to be what he was making of her.
He found her nipple through the fabric and pinched the fuck out of it, holding until she gasped, and then he twisted and pulled. She had no idea the levels of suffering he could put her through, but she’d find out if she chose to make this permanent.
Her knees pressed together, a futile defense against his hand.
He spread them apart and slapped the inside of her left thigh a half dozen times to make his point, and then pressed two fingers inside, the heat a statement of how raw they’d made her.
He curled and moved his fingers enough to make her bite her lip, then added a third, but without enough movement to let her find release.
Oh no, he kept her teetering, close and then back. Over and over.
By the time Kenny parked, she was flushed and frustrated, her pulse fluttering under his palm.
* * * *
Boone climbed into the rear seat with their little hawk for the ride home.
Her thighs tensed when his hand went under her dress and cupped between her legs, the scent of her arousal sharp and warm in the enclosed space.
He crammed three fingers into her pussy without warning, thick and deliberate, stretching her walls until he felt the fine tremor in her hips.
She yelped and whined, screamed, “Sir!” Even put her hand on top of his forearm a brief second, but quickly moved it to the car’s armrest before she actually tried to push him away.
As Silas had done earlier, he worked her up and then backed her away from orgasm. Once. Twice. When she was slick enough he could add a fourth finger, he pressed the pinky in slow enough to make her feel every inch. Her breath hitched, chest rising fast.
He pushed harder, with more pressure, opening her faster, harsher.
Held her open without backing off, his hand sliding in millimeter by millimeter. Her scent changed — pain, submission, that raw pulse of yes, Sir — but under it, a ripple of fear.
Boone breathed it to the bottom of his lungs: feral need, pain, and her cunt all braided together.
And still she held her position. Gasping, squirming, but not fighting him. Not truly. Until the pinky slid in deeper, past the widest stretch, and her body locked up.
The moment she realized he wasn’t backing off, she gasped out, “No — Sir, I — can’t—” she choked out, tears glinting in her lashes. “It’s too much, Sir! God, it hurts!”
“I know,” he told her. “And you’re so lovely like this, full, stretched open, fucking owned.”
Her scent twisted again, sourer now, her body trying to retreat. Not physically because the seatbelt held her fast, but in the way she clenched up around him, unsuccessfully tried to twist away.
Boone’s dick pulsed hard in his jeans.
She’d been taking everything, wanting it, surrendering — until now. This was where her instincts kicked in and screamed too far.
Good.
That’s where the training started.
He didn’t say a word. Just held her stretched around him, letting her feel the weight of it. The invasion. The inevitability.
Because Boone wasn’t just testing her body.
He was watching her mind. Measuring how long it took her to exhale. To stop trying to fight what was already true.
And when her muscles finally gave that tiny shift, the smallest relaxation, a whimper instead of a protest, Boone pressed in a little more.
Because pain or no pain, her cunt was still slick, and her body still wanted.
He pressed in harder still when they turned onto pack lands, but he abruptly pulled out when Kenny put the SUV in park. Playtime was over for a few hours, until bedtime, when he’d have more time with her.
“My night with the fucktoy,” Kenny said, and he turned to face Willow. “Get your ass upstairs. Permission to remove the plug so you can lube your ass, and then stand and wait for permission to enter the playroom.”
* * * *