40. Aj
The pressure of his thick cock in my pussy and his fingers stretching my ass is almost too much. Every unrelenting thrust sends shock waves of pain and pleasure rippling through me. I’m pinned, face buried in the mattress as he holds me down with his weight.
I can barely breathe.
But I don’t want him to stop.
I want it harder.
I need him to ruin me until there’s nothing left but him.
My sore nipples drag painfully against the sheets as my body rocks beneath his.
Every one of his deep, animalistic grunts makes my head spin.
His hand stays pressed hard between my shoulder blades, pinning me down as he growls filthy praise against my ear—how perfect my holes feel, how he owns them, how he’s going to stretch me until I break.
Mouth hanging open, drool soaks the sheets while my back arches helplessly.
“Wolff, I’m gonna—”
He ruts his hips forward so powerfully I see stars, burying his cock and fingers to the hilt.
I scream into the mattress as my orgasm crashes through me.
He groans my name, fingers grinding deep, while his cock jerks and pulses.
Hot cum floods my pussy in powerful spurts as he continues grinding into me.
Before I even stop throbbing, he pulls out and roughly spreads my ass cheeks wide.
“Push my cum out, AJ. I want to see it dripping from your used cunt.”
Whimpering, my pussy tingles as I clench and push, feeling his cum leak and drip slowly down my thighs. He groans, spreading me even wider.
“Such a good fucking girl.”
He leans down and forces my head to the side before his mouth claims mine so viciously, I can’t breathe.
As his tongue pushes deep into my mouth, I moan helplessly into him, fingers knotting into his damp hair as I drag him closer, kissing him back with ugly desperation.
I want him.
God, I want him so badly, it makes me sick.
The heat of his body. The weight of him. The way he grabs me like he’s furious I exist. I’ll take all of it. Anything he’ll give me.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, staring at each other. Like something cracked open between us, and neither of us knows what to do with it. His forehead drops against my temple, chest heavy against my back while his breathing slowly calms.
Warmth spreads through my chest. I close my eyes for half a second—
“Fuck, I missed your body.”
My body…not me?
The warmth dies instantly.
He rolls onto his back beside me, and I stare at the ceiling, suddenly unable to breathe right. It feels like my chest is splitting open. Of course that’s what he missed.
Not my voice.
Not me talking too much.
Not the way I touched him.
Not the stupid stories he pretended to hate.
Just…my body.
Humiliation slithers beneath my skin. Because somehow—some pathetic, delusional part of me actually thought maybe this meant something.
Stupid.
So fucking stupid.
I turn my head slightly.
His dark hair is messy from my hands. One muscular arm stretches above his head. He’s already asleep, while my stomach twists so tightly I feel nauseous.
A familiar emptiness settles back in. That hollow feeling I can never seem to outrun anymore, no matter what I take, drink, or fuck. I swallow hard against the sting building in my throat and force myself to move before I do something humiliating, like cry in front of him.
The floor is cold beneath my feet.
Every part of my body aches as I pull on one of his hoodies, the fabric falling to my mid-thighs. It smells like pine and soap and him.
That almost breaks me more.
My purse and stilettos are tossed near the stairs. I grab both quietly and slip out the front door, texting for a driver.
The ride to Gage’s house seems endless.
I don’t check my phone.
Don’t check notifications.
Don’t look at the dozens of missed calls and texts waiting for me.
The second I let myself into Gage’s house, I hear him fucking some Servant somewhere upstairs. My nose wrinkles immediately.
“Gross.”
I grab a bottle of vodka from his bar and head straight for the backyard. The pool water glows pale blue beneath the late morning sky while I sit on the edge, my legs dangling in the water.
The first drink burns all the way down.
Then the second.
Then the third.
I’m aching all over from Wolff’s hands. But my chest hurts worse. I wish I could stop wanting him. Even now, if he texted, I’d still go back. I hate myself for that more than anything.
“Fuck, AJ,” Gage mutters from somewhere behind me.
“Morning to you too.”
The sliding door shuts quietly behind him before he drops onto the pool deck beside me with a tired groan.
“You’re drinking already?”
A bitter smile tugs at my mouth. “Don’t act surprised.” I lift the vodka bottle slightly toward him. “Want some?”
He shakes his head, blond hair still messy from whoever he dragged home last night.
Typical Gage.
We’re twins, but nobody would ever guess it looking at us. He got all the good parts. Bright blue eyes. Blond hair. Sharp jawline. Tall. Charming. The perfect Sovereign son.
And me?
I stare down at my reflection in the water. Dark hair. Ruined makeup. Hollow eyes.
A fucking disaster.
I take another long drink. Gage watches me before exhaling hard through his nose.
“Dad’s been calling me all morning.”
Leaning forward slightly, my elbows rest on my knees while the pool water laps softly against my calves.
“Do you know what you missed?”
I roll my eyes, already knowing where this is going.
“Your wedding cake tasting and menu planning with the caterers. David was there.” He rubs a hand down his face. “AJ, I know you don’t want this marriage, but disappearing all night and ghosting everybody isn’t helping.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Sorry. I forgot I’m supposed to be excited about being traded off like a fucking broodmare.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“What? That’s basically what this is.”
His expression tightens immediately. Because we both know I’m not wrong.
“David’s not a bad guy.”
I bark out another laugh and take another drink. “You sound just like Dad.”
“I’m trying to be realistic.”
“Well, stop.”
Gage goes quiet for a second, jaw flexing slightly while he studies me. “You’ve been acting different since you came back.”
My stomach twists instantly. Different. That’s one word for it.
“You mean fucked up?” I mutter.
His face softens immediately. “AJ…”
I look away before I have to see pity in his eyes too.
I’m so fucking sick of people looking at me like I’m fragile now. That I might crack open if somebody says the wrong thing too loudly. Like I’m some shattered little thing everyone has to handle with care.
Meanwhile, half the Servants I know spend every weekend blackout drunk, coked out at clubs, being fucked by whoever, and waking up in penthouses they don’t remember getting to.
Nobody sends them to doctors.
Nobody watches them every second.
Nobody lowers their voice around them like they’re terminally ill.
I gulp down another long drink from the vodka bottle. “I’ll go to the next fitting. And the one after that. And the stupid charity dinner. And whatever other perfect little Commander-fiancée bullshit Dad wants.”
The vodka hits harder this time, heat spreading down my throat and into the hollow ache eating my chest. Because honestly…it doesn’t matter anymore. A part of me died in Russia. And I’ll never be able to get her back.
Now I just go to appointments so everyone stops hovering. I tell the doctors what they want to hear:
Sleep’s getting better
Less panic attacks.
Less nightmares.
Eating more.
Healing.
Progress.
Lie after lie after lie.
I still sleep under my bed half the time because somehow the small space feels safer. I can’t leave the house sober most days. The second too many people get too close, my chest tightens until I can’t breathe. Every laugh grates on my nerves. Every man feels too big and threatening.
Being numb is easier than feeling terrified all the time. And I keep fucking because, for a few minutes, it shuts everything off. The noise. The panic. The memories.
But the second a man actually touches me, I want to escape my body.
So I get higher.
Drunker.
Anything to quiet the part of me that still feels trapped under somebody’s hands.
I wake up sweating half the nights, still feeling fingers wrapped around my throat. And every time I close my eyes lately—
I’m chained to a bed with a collar around my neck, waiting for the door to open again.
Gage rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Dad’s just worried about you.”
I roll my eyes. “No. He’s worried I’m embarrassing him.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I press, shaking my head when he has nothing to say.
Inside the house, muffled laughter echoes upstairs before a door shuts. Gage glances sideways at me again, his eyes dropping to the hoodie I’m wearing.
“Where were you last night?”
My grip tightens slightly around the bottle. “Out.”
“With who?”
I shrug, and pain flares sharply between my thighs. I immediately hate myself for noticing.
“AJ.”
“What?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Was it him?”
He’s always been like this. The weird twin thing. He knew the second I started acting strange about wanting Wolff’s number. He didn’t even have to ask. He just looked at me and saw it.
“No,” I lie.
Gage exhales slowly through his nose, leaning back against the concrete. “Fuck.”
I laugh bitterly under my breath. “Yeah. Pretty much.”