Chapter 17 #4
“You really are so easy,” Deacon snickers.
“All she has to do is look up at you with those sad eyes and get her mouth on you, and you’re ready to give her the deed to the house, aren’t you?
” His hands smooth down my thighs, and I can hear him moving, doing something behind me that would make me tense if I wasn’t already in a very compromising predicament.
Still, a soft yelp leaves my lips around Fox’s tip when I feel Deacon’s fingers trace up my slit. He shushes me gently, doing it again, until his middle finger is slowly teasing my clit.
I try to sit up, to tell him that this wasn’t part of the ‘apology.’ I expected to do this, then for them to kick me out before going back to doing each other.
Not whatever Deacon is doing. But Fox doesn’t let me move.
His fingers tighten in my hair and he shushes me, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal.
“Don’t fight us, little rabbit. He’s not hurtin’ you. My brother just wants to play a little.” Fuck, those words should terrify me. They do, in a way, but the arousal coiling in my stomach is a big sign of how affected I am by this, no matter that I would rather not be.
It’s hard to tell myself I don’t want them, when my pussy clenches every time Deacon teases my clit. Even harder when I can’t stop the long, high whine that leaves me when he pushes two fingers into me slowly, my mouth still on Fox.
“That’s a good girl,” Fox praises, the words easily falling from his lips.
“You’re being so good for us. And you make such pretty sounds.
” His hand shifts in my hair, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s no longer holding still.
He gently drags my head down, and every time he does it, his hips come up slightly so he’s shallowly fucking my mouth, not overwhelming me quite yet, though I writhe uncertainly against his grip.
“Just breathe,” he pants, his breath hitching. “Breathe for me. Focus on Deacon’s fingers in your pussy. Doesn’t that feel so good?”
It does, and that is the whole problem. No matter that Fox is gradually picking up his pace, his cock sinking deeper and deeper into my mouth with every thrust, I’m too focused on Deacon’s hands to really get in my head about it.
“She’s got such a pretty pussy,” Deacon comments from behind me.
“So wet and tight for me.” He crooks his fingers, scissoring them, and I can’t help but shiver.
“Yeah, you can keep doing that. Makes you look like you want me to claim your cunt, Sadie-Rae. You’re so wet.
” As he keeps fingering me, the sounds of my arousal are loud in my ears over my racing heart.
His fingers are suddenly gone, and he shifts, gripping both my hips as I hear the rustle of fabric behind me. “I won’t hurt her,” he promises. “You don’t need to look at me like that, okay?”
I can’t tell how Fox is looking at him, nor can I tell what Deacon is doing. Not until I feel the slide of his cock through my wet folds, and I stiffen, realization hitting me.
“Shhh, shhh.” Fox grips my hair, his other hand coming up to touch my cheek with his knuckles in a soothing gesture. “You’re all right. I’ve got you. Not gonna hurt you, darlin’ girl. Just gonna make you feel good.”
“And me,” Deacon admits. “Fuck, I can’t hold back anymore. I’ve been dying for this, you know. I mean, have you looked at her?” He rubs his cock against me a few more times, drawing more soft whines of anxiety from me, though I never quite pull back enough to be seen as panicking.
Do I want this?
At first, I told myself that it was just a way out. Just me trying not to get murdered. I don’t really want Fox to fuck my face, and I don’t want Deacon to fuck my pussy, either.
Right?
My brain has a very unhappy answer for me, but I don’t get to admit it to myself.
Not when Deacon buries himself in my cunt in one smooth thrust, not stopping until his hips are flush against my ass.
I cry out around Fox’s cock, my fingers tightening slightly, though not enough to actually hurt him.
His thrusts pick up a little, like he can’t hold back, and before I can even catch my breath to really register what’s going on, both of them are fucking me, using both sides of me like a toy.
It doesn’t help that they talk to each other the whole time.
Fox’s voice is soft and breathy, matching the lightness of his fingers in my hair while he tells Deacon how good my mouth is, how he loves the feeling of my throat constricting on his cock.
Deacon, however, is the rougher one. Every thrust sends me forward, pushing Fox deeper down my throat, until my nose is brushing his body consistently. My eyes water as he talks, as he tells Fox how I clamp down on every thrust. How he’s never felt someone’s cunt be this tight and this wet before.
Whether it’s true, it makes me burn with a kind of shame that doesn’t make me want to leave. Instead, it spurs my arousal onward, tears running down my face as I fight my gag reflex. I have to swallow a few times around Fox as Deacon fucks me, and he suddenly growls, his hips jerking.
“Oh, fuck,” he snarls. “Jesus Christ, Sadie-Rae. You can’t do that, or I’ll—” His words are cut off with a gasp, but he doesn’t pull out, only thrusts deep between my lips one last time, fingers tight in my hair to keep my mouth on him as he comes.
“Swallow for me. Come on, Sadie. You can be such a good girl, can’t you?
” Even if it’s posed as a question, he’s not giving me much of a choice.
Especially with how Deacon is still fucking me, still gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise.
I have no choice but to swallow, though a combination of his release and my saliva trickle from my lips when he pulls free and wipes at my tears with his thumbs.
“Fox…” I whine, pushing up on my elbows as Deacon yanks me hard against him.
“Fox, please. Please, I can’t—” I don’t want to come.
If I come from this, it’ll make it a lot harder to deny how much I enjoy them, and how much I want this to happen again.
It’s already hard not to know I’ll be dreaming about this for at least my entire life, and it’s not getting better the longer Deacon fucks me.
“Yes, you can,” Deacon chuckles. “You absolutely can. I need you to, little prey.” One of his hands circles under me so he can play with my clit, fingers circling it unerringly.
I cry out, hips jerking back, though that only sends him deeper into me, causing him to let out a long, soft, goddamn it, as he continues.
A hand wraps around my throat lightly, pulling me up onto my hands.
Fox smiles sweetly. Beatifically, even. His free hand wipes the spit off my chin, stroking my jaw when he’s done.
“Yes, you can,” he agrees with his brother.
“We’re not really giving you a choice. You were so good.
You let me fuck your sweet mouth. And you’re letting my brother claim that pretty pussy.
So come for us, Sadie-Rae. Show us what you look like when you lose yourself. ”
“I want to feel it,” Deacon snarls, his thrusts becoming rougher, less organized.
He’s breathing heavily, and his hand grips my hip harder so he’s dragging me back as hard as he can with every thrust, until I’m seeing stars from how deep his cock is hitting inside me.
“Come on my cock, Sadie-Rae. You want me not to be pissed that you cut my brother?” He gives another swat to my thigh, sending a sharp sting through me that has me clenching around him.
“Oh, you really do like that.” He does it again, but then he just holds me tight enough for him to fuck me as deeply as he can, though his fingers never lose their insistency on my clit.
“Please…” I manage, dragging my gaze up to Fox’s. “Please, I can’t…”
He smiles, his thumb tracing my pulse point as he smiles. “Yeah,” he tells me. “You really can. Come for us, Sadie. Come on my brother’s cock right now.”
I don’t know why that does it for me, though later I’ll tell myself it was just coincidental timing. My eyes close hard and I go completely rigid, my orgasm rushing through me as my muscles clench and flutter around Deacon.
“Damn it!” he curses, leaning over me to bury his face against my shoulder. “That’s right! Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, she’s so tight, Fox. I’m not—” He gets a little breathy at the end, but his release hits him just as hard as mine, his arms locking me in place against him as he comes without pulling out.
For some reason, that doesn’t horrify me like it should. Even when Fox lets me slither back onto the bed and Deacon pulls out, my first reaction isn’t to gag or do anything except lie there and bask in the afterglow like a lizard in the sun.
I’ve never felt this good after sex before.
Though in my defense, I’ve never been fucked by two homicidal, cannibalistic brothers at the same time before.
Deacon leans over me and kisses my temple, though it’s a playfully chaste kiss, not like Fox’s.
“If you cut him again, little prey…” he murmurs in my ear.
“You won’t like how I make you apologize nearly as much as this.
” With that, he gets up then leaves the room, and the sound of the bathroom sink comes on a minute later.
It takes almost two minutes, if I’m counting the seconds right in my head, before I can move at all.
My breathing comes in sharp pants, and I focus on Fox carding his fingers through my hair, humming that song that’s going to be stuck in my head for eternity.
When I sit up to look at him, he smiles sweetly and glances toward the door.
“You can run, if it’ll make you feel better,” he tells me.
“It’s not like you can really go anywhere, anyway.
Don’t touch the knife, though,” he adds, his gaze flicking to where it sits on the nightstand.
“We’re not playing this particular game again. ”
I barely hear the last part. I’m up and on my feet, fumbling for my clothes that I jerk on without much trouble, and am out the door long before Deacon comes back.
Though from where I’m pressed against the wall at the other end of the hallway, I can hear the two of them continuing where we left off.
They aren’t exactly quiet, after all.
But the longer I stand there, the harder it is to say I didn’t want it, or to convince myself that part of me still doesn’t want to go back into that room and see what else they’re doing.
That’s normal, though, I try to tell myself. It’s Stockholm syndrome or trauma bonding or, fuck, just poor mental health on my part. I don’t want them. Not really.
The moment I get away, I won’t feel this pull to the two of them anymore.
Moonlight glints off something in the room next to me, and I look sideways to the half-open door of the bedroom I explored a few nights ago.
It’s still shrouded and dust particles are swimming in the air, but something draws me into it, across the floor, to the old wooden desk sitting right in front of the window.
A notebook and a very functional pen are on top of it, but that’s not what I’m looking at.
That’s not what the moonlight is shining on.
My fingers move, and slowly I pick up the old key that’s covered in dust, with a piece of duct tape slapped across the widest part of it.
Back Gate.
Back.
Fucking.
Gate.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, holding up the key in the moonlight. This is it.
Finally, I can get out of here. All I have to do is figure out when to do it.