Chapter 54
STING
That night, everyone comes to my room.
First time. My space, my bed, my door. Armen raises an eyebrow when I tell him. Rogue grins. Vi doesn’t say anything.
Four people in a room built for one. It’s tight, the bed taking up most of the space. My books are on the shelf, my binders stacked in the corner. It’s the room of a man who keeps his life contained.
Vi stands in the center. She’s wearing the dress from the club, the salvaged one, and I can’t stop staring at her. Armen closes the door, Rogue locks it, and I stand in front of her.
There are no masks tonight, no dim light, no one-way glass. Just the four of us in a small room with a single lamp throwing shadows on the walls.
“This is new,” Rogue says from behind her.
“Your point?”
“Just observing.”
I pull Vi’s dress over her head. She’s not wearing anything underneath. She planned this, or she hoped for it, and either way, the sight of her naked in my room makes my cock so hard it hurts.
Armen moves first. Comes up beside her, his hand on the small of her back, his mouth on her shoulder, steady, and warm. Vi leans into him, her eyes still on me, teasing.
Rogue comes up behind her, puts his chest against her back, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her neck. She’s bracketed. Three men, three sets of hands, and she’s standing in the center of it looking at me.
I close the distance and kiss her, deep.
My hand’s on the back of her neck, pulling her into me as she moans into my mouth.
Rogue’s hands slide up from her hips to her breasts, kneading, his thumbs working her nipples.
Armen’s hand slides between her thighs from behind.
I hear the moment his fingers find her because her whole body jolts, and the sound she makes breaks the kiss.
“She’s soaked,” Armen says. Matter-of-fact, like he’s reporting the weather.
“Of course,” Rogue laughs against her neck. “Look where she is.”
We get her onto the bed and lay her back. She’s got three men standing over her, looking down, and she’s not intimidated, just looking up at us like a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
“Who’s going where,” she says. Not a question, a demand.
Rogue laughs. “Damn. Bossy tonight.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” she laughs.
I make the call. “Armen. Under her.”
Armen strips in no rush. Folds his clothes on my chair because even naked, the man is orderly.
He lies on the bed. Vi climbs over him, straddles him, takes his cock in her hand, and guides him inside her.
She sinks down slow, eyes closing, her mouth falling open.
Armen’s hands grip her hips. He lets her set the pace, watching her face with his steady focus.
She rides him for a minute, getting used to him, rolling her hips, finding her angle. The sounds she makes are low, breathy, and building.
“Lean forward,” I tell her.
She does, chest to chest with Armen, her ass in the air. Armen wraps his arms around her and holds her still. She knows what’s coming, I can see it in the way her breathing changes, the way her body tenses and then deliberately relaxes.
I grab a small bottle from the shelf and slick my fingers. Run one down the cleft of her ass. She shivers.
“Okay?” I ask. My voice is rougher than I intended.
“Yes,” she says into Armen’s neck. “God, yes.”
I work one finger in her ass. Slow. She’s tight, hot. She gasps. Armen murmurs something against her ear, low, soothing, his hands stroking her back. I add a second finger and she pushes back against me, wanting more, and the greed of that movement nearly undoes me.
I position myself behind her and press the head of my cock against her ass and ease in, inch by inch. She makes a sound that’s pain and pleasure fused together, a noise that comes from somewhere deep, and I stop, wait, let her adjust.
“Keep going,” she says. Determined.
I push deeper into her ass. Armen holds her, both of us inside her at once. The tightness is insane. I have to grip her hips to keep from losing it immediately.
We start to move, finding a rhythm, Armen thrusting up, me pressing in, Vi between us making sounds I’ve never heard from her. She’s overwhelmed. Full. Taken. Her fingers are digging into Armen’s shoulders. Her face is buried in his neck.
Rogue kneels at the head of the bed and tips Vi’s face up.
She opens her eyes, glazed, barely focused.
He runs his thumb across her lower lip and she obediently opens her mouth, takes his cock, her hand wrapping around the base, and now, all three of us are inside her, and the room is nothing but breathing and skin and heat.
The rhythm builds. Armen drives up harder and I match him, deeper, the two of us working her from both sides. Vi can’t talk with Rogue in her mouth, but the sounds she’s making around him are desperate, animal, and fucking beautiful. Rogue’s head is tipped back, one hand gripping her hair.
I’m watching all of it—Vi’s back arching, Armen’s arms as he holds her, Rogue’s face going slack with pleasure. And I’m inside this woman, buried deep in the tightest part of her, feeling her body trembling between Armen and me.
Something breaks loose in me, not a crack, but something bigger.
The weight of everything I’ve been carrying—the evidence, the property transfers, the six-week gap, Vi’s father, my mother’s nursing home—all of it is right here, pressing against the inside of my ribs.
I should be drowning in it. Instead, I’m here.
I fuck her harder and she moans around Rogue’s cock. Armen groans underneath her. The bed is hitting the wall and nobody cares. My room, my bed, my rules. Let the Rot hear.
Vi comes first. I feel it everywhere. She clenches around me, around Armen, her whole body seizing.
Rogue pulls back as she cries out, letting her voice fill the room.
Armen follows, his hips slamming up, his groan buried in her hair.
I last maybe ten seconds longer. The tightness of her, the heat, the sound of her voice still breaking.
I come hard enough that my vision goes white.
Every muscle locked. Buried as deep as I can get.
Rogue finishes himself with his hand, his cock pressed against Vi’s shoulder.
We collapse into a tangle of bodies on a bed that wasn’t built for four people. Vi is between Armen and me, and Rogue’s draped across the foot of the bed like a man who fell asleep mid-thought.
Nobody talks for a long time.
Vi’s breathing evens out. She’s close to sleep. Armen’s already there, his arm across her waist, his face peaceful. Rogue is making the small sounds of a man who’s out cold.
I’m wide awake, lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the man in the supply room with the slashed sevens and the edited past. Thinking about the time lapse in Mayor Renner’s papers. Thinking about what L. Fischer knows that nobody else knows.
I close my eyes but don’t sleep, listening to everyone breathe while I carry what I know, and what I haven’t said.