Chapter Sixteen
CINDER
Hunger overrides my need for answers.
Every question I had about tonight, about the look on Daddy's face when he stood across from me, about the unique quality of his voice when he said it was supposed to be.
All of it dissolves the moment brother's hands find my waist, takes me from boyfriend, then flips me around and pulls me back against him on the kitchen table.
I peer up at him over my shoulder and the look in his eyes unravels something in my chest that has nothing and everything to do with want simultaneously.
I am already ruined and they have barely touched me.
This is different.
I feel it in the way Daddy's fingers now feather across the top of my tits, unhurried, deliberate, like he has all night and intends to use every second of it.
There is no urgency in him right now. No hunger dressed up as punishment.
This is something else. Something that sits underneath all the hatred and the things neither of us will say out loud and feels, terrifyingly, like care.
Something shifted in them tonight.
I don't know what broke open or when exactly it happened, whether it was the horn or the bluff or the moment Daddy stood across from me at that table and looked at me like I was something he was deciding what to do with rather than something he had already decided.
They are not the same men who locked me in that collar and told me my holes were theirs whenever they wanted them.
Or maybe they are exactly those men.
Maybe this was always underneath it.
Brother's chest is warm against my back.
Daddy is now firmly and intentionally in front of me.
Boyfriend's gaze from beside me is a pressure all its own—steady, focused—the particular quality of attention that makes me feel simultaneously seen and undone.
The three of them together are an inferno I have been circling since the first night on this island, and I am done pretending I want to find a way around it.
I want to walk straight into it.
I want to burn.
Daddy's fingers find the hem of my shirt and he begins to work it upward slowly, with a patience that is almost cruel.
My chest rises and falls rapidly. The kitchen is warm from the fire and warmer still from the three of them surrounding me, and I feel the heat building from somewhere deep and insistent.
“You're shaking, Cinder Soot,” brother murmurs against my ear.
“I know,” I breathe back.
His hands tighten on my waist. “Is that fear?”
I turn my head just enough to find his eyes. “You know it isn't.”
The sound he makes low in his throat is not quite a growl, not quite a groan and it moves through me like a current.
Daddy gets the shirt over my head and tosses it aside.
He looks at me, really looks, the way he hasn't allowed himself to since I arrived here, like looking costs him something he has been carefully rationing.
What I see in his eyes, in this moment, is not the hatred I have grown used to navigating.
It’s something that looks devastatingly close to its opposite.
And that frightens me far more than the hatred ever did.
“What changed tonight?” I whisper.
He doesn't answer with words.
He answers by stepping forward, closing the small distance between us. His hands are gentle in a way I was not prepared for.
It’s only the four of us and whatever this is becoming, whether any of us are ready for it or not.
Brother shifts his hold and glides the rest of my clothes away with slow deliberation until I am bare on the kitchen table and I feel no shame.
I want them to see me. Every inch of exposed skin, every reaction I can’t control.
I want them to know that only they have ever done this to me.
Only they have ever made me feel simultaneously powerful and completely undone.
I hold Daddy's gaze and slowly lower to my knees.
His breath hitches. The smug curl at the corner of my mouth is involuntary and I don't bother hiding it as I reach up and unfasten his pants with steady hands.
“Shit.” Brother's voice has gone rough. “That is—”
“Don't,” Daddy says quietly, and the single word silences the room.
The moment his cock springs free my restraint evaporates.
I grip him and relish the sharp hiss that escapes him when I stroke upward, slow, deliberate, giving him back every ounce of the patience he has used against me since the first night.
His eyes hood and darken and I hold them as I dart my tongue out and taste him.
The sound he makes when I wrap my lips around him and take him to the back of my throat is the closest thing to undone I have ever heard from him.
I feel invincible.
Brother moves to stand beside Daddy and I release Daddy long enough to knock his brother's hand away from himself and take over, alternating between them with a focus and a hunger that leaves no room for thought.
I am drunk on the sounds they make, the specific quality of each of them losing control in their own way and on the power of being the one responsible for it.
I am theirs.
And right now, kneeling on the kitchen floor of a crumbling cabin with the fire throwing broken light across the stone walls, that feels less like captivity and more like the only thing that makes sense.
Boyfriend's hands find me from behind and I gasp around Brother when I feel something cold and smooth sliding through my folds and I pull back, look down and see—
A fucking carrot.
I stare at it for one full second of complete disbelief.
Before I can form a single coherent thought, daddy fists his hand in my hair and draws my attention back to him. His thrust forward is uncompromising and deep, causing me to gag. I take it and love every second of it.
“Suck it like a good little slut,” he rasps, “and daddy will reward you.”
The words detonate through me. I take him deeper in answer, stroking brother with one hand, trying to hold onto some thread of focus. Then boyfriend tilts me forward slightly and pushes the carrot inside me and every thread snaps simultaneously.
The sound I make around daddy is not dignified.
“There she is,” boyfriend growls against my ear, his pace merciless and precise. “I want to hear you fucking shatter, Cinder Soot.”
Daddy releases me and I turn to brother, then the four of us find a rhythm in the warm flickering dark of the kitchen. The fire is roaring with me at the center of all three of them—finally, completely, without shame or reservation, or the pretense of resistance.
I don’t know if they are actually related. The fact I have never seen them touch or engage in any act in the bedroom that doesn’t involve me or boyfriend has me believing they really are related. That adds an element of taboo and that shit adds to this fucked up situation is orgasmic.
I feel the orgasm building from somewhere deep and central, slow, enormous, inevitable and I stop fighting it.
Forgive me, Father, for wanting this fairytale, I have created on my own, to end with me being fucked hard by three men in masks. I only pray that they are really related and I can finally embrace this daddy fetish I have to the fullest.