Chapter 2 #2
Callum lifts his glass and takes a slow sip, his eyes anchored to mine. “Would you suck one of us while the other fucks you?”
A slow, icy panic unfolds in my chest, curling tight around my ribs.
This isn’t how Jon David sold it to me.
Callum’s grin turns wolfish. “JD, I’m starting to think she’s not into this.”
JD?
The nickname rolls off his tongue like second nature—casual, familiar, too damn comfortable. It hits wrong. And suddenly I’m not sure about their connection and where I fit in.
Jon David laces his fingers through mine and gives my hand a soft squeeze. “No worries. Laurette will be fine. She just needs a minute to warm up and relax.”
My heart stutters, and my chest tightens. A thought slams into me, loud and clear: I don’t want to be here.
I can’t catch my breath. My chest tightens, ribs pressing in as if they’ve forgotten how to expand. A thin sheen of sweat gathers at the back of my neck, and the room tilts, edges blurring. I taste acid at the back of my throat—sharp, metallic, rising.
This is too much. Too fast. And I can’t seem to slow it down.
Jon David lifts our joined hands and kisses the top of mine before letting go. “Hang on, baby,” he says.
He stands and walks to the wet bar across the room. I watch his back as he pours a drink, the soft clink of ice and quiet rush of whiskey barely audible over the pounding of my pulse.
He returns and kneels in front of me, pressing the glass into my hands. “Here, baby. Drink a little, okay? You’re too tense. It’ll help you relax.”
I stare down at the whiskey. “I don’t want this.”
Jon David places two fingers under my chin, lifting until our eyes meet. His smile is tender. “Take a few sips, sweetheart. Please. Do it for me.”
Across the room, all of Callum’s attention is fixed on me. “There's no harm in a little liquid courage, darlin’. We’re all friends here. No judgment.”
Maybe he’s right. I need something to take the edge off. This is too much. Too fast. Too far from what I thought it would be. Hell, I’m not even sure what I agreed to.
But I know I need to breathe. To stop thinking. To stop shaking from the inside out.
Sip. Burn. Breathe. In that order.
“That’s it,” Callum says, voice smooth as whiskey. “A little more, sweetheart.”
Sip. Burn. Breathe.
“One more. You’re doing great.”
Sip. Gulp. Breathe.
Jon David kisses my forehead, voice low against my skin. “That’s my girl.”
I drain the glass and time blurs after that.
Jon David and Callum talk—low voices, easy laughter—but I’m no longer part of the conversation. Which is fine. I don’t care. I don’t even try to follow what they’re saying.
The empty glass stays in my hand, heavier than it should be. My vision shimmers at the edges.
Relax, I tell myself. Just relax.
But the warmth spreads too fast. Too deep. It curls low in my belly, then rises, thick and dizzying.
My head floats, then sinks, like a balloon filled with lead. The room tilts, edges softening, voices coming and going.
I blink hard. “Jon… Da—”
My tongue thickens like I’m trying to speak through cotton. The words come out slurred and shapeless.
Jon David is there, kneeling in front of me, smoothing my hair back with careful fingers. His smile is soft and coaxing. Too soft. “It’s okay, baby. Just lie down. You’re tired, that’s all.”
I try to shake my head. I think I do, but my body doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore. My hands slide off my lap, the empty glass slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clink.
“I… don’t… I… can’t…”
“Shh.” His voice is a murmur at my ear. “Nothing has to happen tonight. Just rest.”
The room narrows, and my vision tunnels. I fold into the couch, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Fingers graze my cheek before a blanket settles over me.
And then—
Nothing.
Consciousness returns in fragments, flickers of thought in the darkness. Nothing makes sense.
The room is too quiet.
My mouth is dry, each breath ragged. Pain pulses behind my eyes, brutal and pounding.
The blanket draped over me is too thin. I’m cold and shaking, my skin damp with sweat.
I try to move, but my limbs are heavy and uncooperative. Blinking hard, I push through the fog, but confusion cuts clean through it.
What happened?
I brace on shaky elbows, breath catching in my throat. The room tilts, a slow, sick spin that curls my stomach.
“Jon David?” My voice is hoarse, more air than sound.
Nothing.
Just silence.
I tug the blanket off and drag myself upright. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I stand, swaying, one hand braced against the couch. My head throbs. The living room stretches out dim and unfamiliar, moonlight slipping in thin ribbons through the blinds.
My shoes are gone. I don’t remember taking them off.
Where are they?
Each step is careful, heartbeat thudding loudly in my ears. The hallway stretches ahead, dark and silent. Closed doors line the walls. My palm glides along the wallpaper as I stagger forward.
“Jon David?”
My voice barely disturbs the air, swallowed by the hush.
At the end of the hall, one door glows around the edge—a sliver of light bleeding through the crack at the bottom, pale against the dark floor.
Something cold coils low in my stomach. My fingers twitch at my side. My feet continue to move, carrying me forward before my mind catches up.
Please.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is.
Bare soles whisper across the old wood floor. My feet move, trying to catch up with my imagination. It races ahead of reason, pulled by some quiet, awful knowing.
My pulse throbs at the sides of my neck, a tight, sick twist winding low in my gut.
What are you doing, Laurette?
Go back. Just go back.
But I don’t because that’s not who I am.
The door looms ahead. My hand hovers near the knob, fingers trembling.
Then a sound. Muffled. Wet. A soft, rhythmic thud. A groan, low and strained.
The air thins. My vision narrows, darkening at the edges.
Don’t open it, Laurette. You don’t want to know.
You already know.
I push the door open and stop dead.
Jon David is on his knees. Callum towers over him, naked and merciless, one hand fisted in his hair, the other resting at his side. He fucks Jon David’s mouth with slow, brutal precision, hips rolling forward, cock disappearing inch by inch down his throat.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
“Fuck, you suck cock better than any woman I’ve had.”
Callum lifts his head, eyes catching mine over Jon David’s shoulder, and he grins.
The motherfucker smiles right at me.
Slow. Sinister. Shameless.
“Tell me you want it, JD. Beg with your eyes since your mouth’s too full.”
Callum’s fingers tighten in Jon David’s hair, a low grunt slipping from his throat as he drives forward again—unbothered, unchanged. Like I’m invisible.
“Your mouth’s a good start, JD. But I’m ready to pump my cock in that tight little asshole. Get on all fours. Face down. Now, pretty boy.”
Jon David doesn’t see me standing in the doorway, every nerve screaming, the world fracturing beneath my feet with one brutal truth rising loud and clear.
This was never about me.