Chapter 21 Liam
LIAM
“My turn,” I announce, the words cutting through the tension.
Dominic’s eyes meet mine, a silent question there. I don’t flinch. Unlike him, I’m not torn about what we’ve done. The plan worked perfectly—Mayor Pike’s face when he saw his precious daughter displayed like that was worth every second of planning.
Dominic finally nods, loosening his grip on Cora. Her tear-streaked face turns toward me, and I feel a surge of dark satisfaction. This broken, vulnerable creature is exactly what I wanted—what we all wanted. The mayor’s perfect daughter, shattered.
“Come here,” I command, pulling her from Dominic’s lap onto mine. I position her over my cock, still hard despite—or perhaps because of—her distress.
She whimpers as I lower her down, her body still slick and ready despite her emotional state. I begin moving her hips in a slow rhythm while my fingers find her clit.
“You might be upset now, sweetheart,” I whisper against her ear, not bothering to soften my tone like the others. “Being fucked in front of your father and stepmother wasn’t part of your little rebellion plan, was it?”
Her body trembles against mine, but I don’t stop. Unlike Dominic with his conflicted conscience or Ryder with his care for her, I understand exactly what this always was.
“But you’ll thank us in the end,” I continue, increasing the pressure on her clit. “We’ve freed you from him. He can never control you again, not after seeing you like this.”
I thrust deeper, enjoying how she tightens around me despite herself.
“You belong to us now, Cora. And Mayor Pike knows it.” I emphasize each word with a thrust. “His power over you is gone. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? Freedom from him?
“Look at me,” I demand, gripping her chin when she tries to look away.
Her eyes flash with anger through the tears. Good. I prefer her fighting.
I thrust up harder, making her gasp. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Someone who sees the real you?”
My hands grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. I lift her up almost completely before slamming her back down. She cries out, the sound somewhere between pain and pleasure.
“I’m going to keep you,” I growl. “Not just for the Hunt. For much longer.”
Despite everything—her tears, her anger—her body responds. Her inner walls clench around me, her breathing quickens. When my hand finds her throat, applying enough pressure to make her eyes widen, she moans.
“Your father couldn’t control you,” I whisper. “But I can. And you love it.”
I glance at Dominic and Ryder, their eyes dark with desire as they watch us. Dominic’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists. Ryder licks his lips, leaning forward.
“Tell me you’re ours,” I command, emphasizing each word with a thrust. “Say it.”
Cora’s lips part, but only a choked sob escapes. I tighten my grip, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my fingertips.
“Say. It.”
I’m demanding her submission even now. The look in Cora’s eyes—rage mingling with devastation—shouldn’t arouse me, but it does. Every delicious tremor of her body as she fights against her own response fuels my need to possess her completely.
Her lips part, but instead of submission, she spits in my face.
Perfect. This is the spark I was looking for.
I laugh, wiping away the spit with my thumb. “There she is. Not quite broken after all.”
My fingers tighten on her throat enough to see panic flash in her eyes before I release the pressure. Control—it’s always been about control. For her father, for Dominic, for me. We’re all the same, using different methods to achieve the same goal.
“You don’t have to say it,” I murmur against her ear. “Your cunt has already told me everything I need to know.”
I slide my hand between us where we’re joined, finding her slick and swollen. Her sharp intake of breath confirms what I already know—she hates us right now, but her body craves what we give her.
The feast continues. Hunters and prey engaged in their own displays of dominance and submission. But my focus narrows to Cora’s face, to the conflict raging behind those emerald eyes.
“The difference between your father and us,” I continue, establishing a slower, more deliberate rhythm, “is that we’ll never pretend to own you for your own good. We want you because we want you. No noble lies.”
I can feel Dominic and Ryder watching us. The atmosphere between the four of us has shifted. What started as a straightforward revenge plot has evolved into something deeper. My words aren’t strictly true. All of us want to keep her away from the monster we set out to hurt.
“We used you,” I acknowledge, seeing no point in denying the obvious. “But somewhere along the way, you became more than Mayor Pike’s daughter to us.”
Cora’s eyes narrow, tears streaming down her face. “You expect me to believe that? After this performance?”
I don’t soften my grip on her hips, keeping her firmly in place. Let her hate me—it’s easier than the alternative. Easier than admitting how quickly this carefully orchestrated revenge plot spiraled beyond our control.
“Believe what you want,” I reply. “But ask yourself this—if all we wanted was revenge against your father, why would we be discussing keeping you afterward?”
Her body still responds to my touch despite her rage, a fact that clearly frustrates her. This dichotomy fascinates me on a level I hadn’t anticipated.
“I see you, Cora,” I continue. “Not the Mayor’s perfect daughter. Not our revenge object. You.”
She tries to turn away again, but I hold her in place. Around us, the other hunters and prey continue their feast, oblivious to our private drama. Dominic and Ryder remain silent, watching the confrontation unfold.
“I see the marks your father left,” I add, tracing a finger over a faded bruise on her collarbone. “I see how you’ve been living in a cage your whole life.”
Her breathing hitches, and I can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or pain or some complex mixture of both.
“We may have started this to hurt him,” I admit, “but now we want to protect you from him.”
The laugh that escapes her is brittle. “Protect me? By humiliating me in front of dozens of people, including my own father?”
I don’t have a good answer for that. The lawyer in me wants to spin this, create a defense that sounds plausible, but for once, I find myself unwilling to manipulate. Something about Cora demands honesty, even when it’s ugly.
Enough talk. I’m done with justifications and excuses.
I grip Cora’s hips harder, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I lift her slightly, adjusting her position on my cock.
“We’re done with the conversation portion of the evening,” I growl.
Her body jerks against me. My free hand slides between us, finding her clit with practiced precision. Despite everything, she’s still wet, still responsive.
“Look at you,” I hiss against her ear, setting a brutal pace with my hips. “Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
She whimpers, trying to turn her face away. I don’t allow it, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at me.
“You can hate us all you want,” I continue, circling her clit faster, “but your pussy knows exactly who owns it.”
I thrust harder, each movement deliberate and punishing. Around us, the feast continues, but my world has narrowed to Cora’s body clenching around mine, to the conflicted pleasure on her face.
“That’s it, take it like the good little slut you are.”
Her orgasm catches us both by surprise, her body convulsing around me as she comes with a choked cry. The sudden tightness pushes me over the edge, and I groan as I empty myself inside her, my fingers bruising her hips as I hold her firmly in place.
“Look at that,” I pant against her ear. “All that protest, and you still came on my cock. Guess you’re just as filthy as the rest of us after all.”
She collapses against me, trembling. Before I can say anything else, Ryder leans forward, his eyes dark with desire but also something else that looks like concern.
I watch as Ryder reaches for Cora, his expression softening in that predictable way of his. Always the gentle one of our trio.
“My turn,” he says.
Such a contradiction, our Ryder. He’ll participate in public humiliation without hesitation, yet look at him now—eyes full of concern like he’s about to rescue a wounded animal rather than fuck a woman we’ve jointly destroyed.
I lift Cora from my lap, feeling her body trembling against mine.
She’s limp, almost doll-like, as I pass her to Ryder’s waiting arms. My cum trickles down her inner thighs as she’s transferred between us, a white rivulet marking the path of ownership.
The sight of it—evidence of my possession sliding out of her—sends another pulse of arousal through me despite having just finished.
“Careful with our toy,” I murmur to Ryder, deliberately using language I know will make Cora flinch. “She breaks easier than expected.”
Ryder cradles her against his chest, shooting me a look that’s half-warning, half-plea. As if his gentleness now can somehow erase what we’ve done. As if soft touches can make her forget the calculated cruelty of our revenge.
Pathetic. But useful.
Let Ryder play the comforter. It creates the perfect good cop/bad cop dynamic without any planning needed. I’ve seen enough victims in courtrooms to know how effective that psychological trap can be.