by Logan Fox
Finn threw open the door, jaw already too tight to shout out anything. He stopped in the doorway, staring over to where Lars and Cora were making out on an expensive piece of furniture that looked designed singularly for the purpose of fucking.
Cora tore away from Lars with a gasp he heard all the way across the room. Lars looked over at him and gave him an open-mouthed smile.
Finn fumbled behind him, found the edge of the door, and slowly pushed it closed.
If her heart had been racing before, it was fluttering like a trapped bird now. Pins and needles speared into her fingertips and traveled with light speed up her arms. She tried getting out from under Lars, but he’d managed to trap her with his long limbs.
Finn walked closer—mute, face a thunderstorm. He was all in black, but dressed as casually as Lars in a t-shirt and sweats. He wore a hoodie, but it hadn’t been zipped up and his muscles strained against the shirt as if it was a size—or two—too small. This, however, didn’t seem to hamper his movements as he grabbed Lars by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off her.
She managed a breathy, “Finn, don’t—”
But by then Finn had already slammed Lars against the wall. The man laughed at him, started to say something, and was cut off when Finn grabbed him by the throat.
A scream bubbled up inside her, but it was strangled in a throat suddenly too tight to breathe. She half-fell, half scrambled off the chaise lounge, and staggered closer to the pair. She could so clearly imagine Finn pounding his fist into Lars’s face. Shattering the man’s jawbone. Sending teeth and blood spraying over the long-haired rug.
But he didn’t. He just stood there, hand around Lars’s throat, glaring at the man as Lars slowly began to break into a laugh.
“Did you think I was joking?” Lars asked, his voice struggling through a chuckle.
“Yes,” Finn muttered. “Then I remembered what a cocky shit you are.”
“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted, I’d have gotten to know her real good.” Lars brought his elbow into Finn’s stomach. Finn folded over with a groan, and tried to keep his hold on Lars. But he sidled out of reach and brushed off his clothes with exaggerated care.
Finn straightened, a murderous glint in his eyes. Eyes that he then turned on Cora.
Her stomach twisted, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hide her hardened nipples.
“Do you want to fuck him?” Finn asked quietly in that rough, ruined voice of his.
Her stomach went cold. She swallowed hard, and tried to force a protest past her lips. But it would have been a lie. And one thing Santa Muerte looked down upon was a liar.
Inexplicably, her mind flashed to all those red candles she’d burned—almost as many as the black ones.
Black for protection.
Red for love.
Until Bailey, she’d thought she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone. When Finn had killed the man, that thought had come back twice as fast and twice as hard. Because how in the world would she ever meet anyone—let alone someone she could fall in love with—if she never saw more than five people throughout her entire day. Each day, every day.
And then Finn had happened. But she’d been wrong about him. He didn’t love her. And she probably didn’t love him either.
Well, there was only one way to find out, right?
She stuck out her chin at him. “Yes,” she said, voice warbling only a little.
“You do?” Finn didn’t seem surprised. Maybe he’d lost conquests to his friend before. Lars wore a permanent grin now, and turned it on her.
“Yeah you do,” Lars said.
“Then fuck him.” Finn came up to her. For a moment, she thought he’d walk past her and out the door. Her heart hammered at the thought, knowing he’d never look at her again. Would never make eye contact. And tomorrow, he’d be gone. Never to return.
But instead of leaving, Finn sank down in a single armchair close to the unlit fire. He brought one leg up, resting his ankle over his knee, and settled back in the chair with a hand draping over the edge of each armrest.
She gaped at him. And then jerked when Lars touched her shoulder. She took a step back, glancing between the two men. “W-what are you doing?” Who the hell the question was meant for, she didn’t know. Maybe both of them. Her heart pattered furiously.
“Go ahead,” Finn said dryly. “Fuck him.”
“Wh—” she cut off, managed a laugh that sounded more strangled than anything else. “I’m not going to…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Lars trailed his fingers up the side of her neck. Traced the outline of her ear. And slowly stepped closer, as if afraid she’d bolt.
Which is exactly what she should have done. Except she couldn’t. Panic had paralyzed her.
What the hell was going on?
She looked at Finn, opened her mouth to demand an explanation. Because maybe he was being all kinds of sarcastic, or he was waiting for Lars to take out his dick before he’d launch himself across the room and beat him to death.
Or…maybe…
Something in Finn’s expression had changed. She was still trying to figure out what when Lars’s mouth touched her ear. His breath whispered unintelligible, hedonistic promises to her. Her eyes fluttered, blurring Finn into a dark smudge.
Her arms slowly slid out of the tight hold she’d had on her chest. Lars’s fingers caressed her collarbone, and then the man took a last step, closing the distance between them. Standing behind her, his body flush with hers.
Warm.
Hard.
34
Getting to know her
Lars watched Milo over Cora’s shoulder. The man hadn’t moved since slumping in the chair. Hadn’t said a word. But there was an unspoken agreement between them.
There always had been.
Cora’s breast filled his hand, but barely. Her tits were as cute and perky as she was.
He breathed into her ear, relishing the way it made her shiver against him. He could have fucked her right then—he was hard enough for sure—but this was theater. He and Cora actors on a stage. And the more entertaining their performance, the more satisfied their audience would be.
And it was impossible to satisfy Milo. He was a black void that could consume everything and still be left wanting.
Lars squeezed Cora’s breasts hard enough to make her gasp. His other hand slid that annoying black robe from her shoulders. She grabbed his wrist as if trying to stop him, but there was no actual resistance in those arms. The robe fell to the crook of her elbows and gathered there. She clung to his wrist, shifting her weight as if she wanted to step away but never actually taking that step. Her pathetic excuse for pajamas skimmed her in all the right places; tight over her breasts where her nipples poked that creamy fabric, spanned across that inch of skin between her legs. He wished he had Milo’s vantage point right then, because he was sure she looked fucking amazing. Like a cold beer to a man dying of thirst.
Still grabbing hard at her breast, Lars nipped on the edge of her ear as he slipped off first one of the camisole’s straps, then the other. Her only complaint was a low moan in the back of her throat.
How complacent. But would it last? Or would she wake up ten minutes from now wondering what the fuck was going on and screaming at them to get out?
They stood about two feet from the heavy oak coffee table perfectly placed between the chaise lounge and Milo’s armchair. Lars coaxed her forward until her shin was almost knocking into the edge.
Milo shifted in his chair. It was a small movement, one anyone else would probably have missed.
Lars didn’t. His grin stretched, and he licked the outside of Cora’s ear as he smoothed the edge of the camisole down, exposing Cora’s breasts. There wasn’t much light in the room, but when he glanced down, he could see her dusky nipples had tightened into buds. He wanted to suck them, desperately wanted to feel them in his mouth, but that would obscure his Milo’s view.
He coul
dn’t bear to disappoint his audience.
Lars tweaked her nipples. Cora arched into him and made a mewling sound.
Milo shifted again, this time bringing up one hand to press his curled knuckles against his mouth. Lars could see a hard-on tenting the front of his sweats.
He put his lips by Cora’s ear, whispering to her as he slowly slid the camisole down to her belly button. “Did he fuck you hard, my Milo?” Lars asked her in a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough that Milo would have had to be struck deaf not to hear.
“Yes,” came Cora’s immediate response.
“And you liked it?” He massaged her breasts, drawing circles around her nipples, and then slid both hands down her waist. They followed the curve of her hips, then her thighs, his chin resting on her shoulder the lower he went.
“Yes,” came the same breathless response.
“Do you always like it hard?” he asked as his hands worked their way up again, pausing on either side of her hips.
“I…” Nothing more than a sigh. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“You don’t know?” Lars said, hearing the smile in his own voice.
Cora arched hard into him again, grinding her plump ass into his dick when his fingers worked their way between her legs. He was still an inch from her slit, but he could feel the heat blossoming out from her core, coating his fingers.
Not just heat. She was wet. Soaking, dripping wet.
He barely held back a groan, instead bit her shoulder hard enough to make her cry out.
“I’ve only ever…it’s only ever been Milo,” she finally said.
Lars’s eyes flashed up to Milo’s. The man had a fist against his mouth now, the fingers of his other hand digging into the edge of the armrest. He’d been staring at Lars’s hands, but his eyes flashed up as if he could feel Lars looking at him.
“Yes…Milo told me you were a virgin,” Lars said. Fuck, he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the thought that Milo had been this girl’s first, that he would be her second…made him even more horny. He could barely resist the urge to yank down her pathetic shorts and shove his dick into her before she could say another word.
Instead, he grabbed her leg closest to the coffee table and tugged it up. She staggered a little, caught off balance, and then her foot came down on the table’s low surface. He took hold of her knee and slowly spread her leg to the side.
Baring her to Milo.
The man let out an animalistic sound, sat straight in the armchair, and used the hand not pressed against his mouth to try and flatten his dick into his lap.
Lars wished Milo would take it out; it had been too long since he’d seen it.
He touched Cora through her satin pajama shorts. She flinched, moaned, bucked into him.
“Then I’ll show you what gentle’s like,” he murmured into her ear. “You can tell us after which you prefer.”
She made a desperate, pleading sound, grabbed his hand, and tried to force him to touch her harder.
Like the spoiled brat she was. He pulled free, grabbed her wrists, and held her away. But she wrestled herself free, her own hand going for her clit as if she was so desperate to come that she’d hump his fucking leg if that would bring her relief.
But it didn’t work like that.
Milo rose from the armchair. It took him one short step to reach them. He grabbed Cora’s wrists and forced her now fisted hands against his chest.
Lars gently stroked the entire length of her slit until she bucked and whined like an animal in pain. He took his time, lightly building pressure on each stroke until his fingers were digging into her flesh, and then eased up until he was barely touching her.
“Please!” she cried out, her voice strained. “Harder.”
Milo made an unhappy sound in his throat. Forcing her wrists together, he knocked her foot off the coffee table and ripped her camisole down to her feet. She was still taking a breath to gasp or scream when he twisted that satin into a thick rope and shoved it between her teeth.
Her body sagged. Lars almost didn’t catch her in time. Her breath was a pant now, and she shuddered as if she’d been doused with ice water.
Lars urged her foot back on the coffee table as Milo twisted the fabric once in his hands, pulling it taut.
Now she was gagged and bound as effectively as if they’d used ropes. Milo was breathing hard too, but not from exertion. Desperate lust burned in his eyes. He could almost see what the man wanted to do to her, and how hard.
Sex already hung thick in the air, and neither of them even had their fucking cocks out yet.
Cora whimpered and mewled when he stroked her again. Her satin hot pants were cold and damp with her arousal. So he pulled them aside. The fuzz over her lips thrummed under his fingertips as he explored the outside of her slit.
But Milo had become impatient. The man bucked his hips forward, and ran the length of his stiff dick over Cora’s clit. She moaned and tried to arch forward to meet him, but Lars held her back. Instead of holding onto her leg—Milo was blocking her from closing it now anyway—he fumbled with Milo’s hand where the man held the gag behind Cora’s head. He took the twisted satin from him, freeing Milo’s hand.
The man wasted no time. Milo grabbed the wet fabric of her shorts and yanked it so hard to the side that the seams tore open.
Cora yelped through her satin gag and turned big, wet eyes up to Finn. He watched her as he jerked that fabric again, tearing it more. Then he looked down. He’d exposed the most intimate part of her. And the sight of her made him groan deep in the back of his throat. He whipped his dick out of his pants, stroking himself hard and slow. He was so close to coming he could fucking taste it already. But he knew Lars liked taking his time, and the man had only just started.
Lars slid two fingers inside Cora. She gasped around the gag, eyes squeezing shut as she murmured something too muffled to make out. And then Lars fingered her, slowly—almost lazily—for what felt an eternity. It was all he could do to keep himself in check, watching that arrogant display. When he looked up, Lars was staring at him with a secret smile that promised every debauchery he could think of, if only he asked.
“Fuck her,” Finn said in a gruff voice.
“Yeah?” Lars murmured happily.
“Do it.” He glared at the man, but it only made Lars’s grin widen.
“Sure you don’t wanna—” Lars began.
He cut off when Finn ducked, reached under Cora’s sex, and grabbed hold of his dick in a fist. Then he squeezed hard enough to wipe that smile right off Lars’s face.
“Okay,” Lars said, a little breathless. “Jesus.”
He released him, and Lars let out a sigh of relief. Then he turned his eyes to Cora, and gave her a faint smile of his own. Her lips trembled around the gag biting into the corners of her mouth.
She twisted her hands against Finn, and he tightened his grip a little. Her lashes quivered but she kept her eyes on him. Bright and wide…and terrified.
35
Vicious and intoxicating
Jesus Christ, Milo had almost made him come, grabbing him like that. But that’s how he was; like a volcano that would erupt without warning. Lars tugged down the band of his sweats and took out his cock. It still thrummed from the violent squeeze Milo had given him. The tip was damp. He swiped his thumb over it, spreading some of that lube over his shaft. Not that he needed it; bunny was practically dripping onto the rug.
“Keep her open,” Lars said.
Milo released the grip he’d had on his dick and yanked Cora’s leg even wider open. Then he ran his broad hand over the length of her slit as if to test how ready she was for Lars. The sound of approval he made in the back of his throat was a signal if there ever was one.
Lars dipped his hips and let his dick slide along Cora’s slit. It came all the way to her clit when he thrust forward, and she shuddered hard against him. He moved back, coating his length with her juices, and then slid forward again.
He
knew he was driving both of them crazy, but that was the fucking point, right? He throbbed so hard, he was surprised he wasn’t coming already.
Milo put his hand out, cupping the underside of Lars’s cock. Forcing it harder into Cora’s slit. Lars groaned, and bit into Cora’s shoulder. She cried out, but softly, as if so transfixed by his dick that she barely registered that pain. He’d promised he’d fuck her real gentle like, but the rest of her body wasn’t subject to the same terms.
He felt like leaving bite marks all over that coffee-colored skin of hers. The difference in skin tone between their two bodies made him want to pound her even harder.
Fuck it, he couldn’t hold out anymore.
“I could fuck her in the ass,” Lars said to Milo, meeting the man’s eyes over Cora’s shoulder. “Leave her cunt to you.”
Milo shivered, and then shook his head. “No,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Like this.”
Milo wrapped his fist around Lars’s dick. The fucker squeezed him again, so hard it hurt. He winced, fought back his climax, and groaned deep in his throat as Milo guided him to Cora’s dripping slit. He rubbed Lars’s dick hard against her opening. Once, twice. And on the third pass, gently fed his cock inside her.
She was so wet and tight, he gasped like a fucking girl when he slid all the way in. So did she. And she shuddered and gripped him like a fist, milking him. He hurriedly pulled out so he wouldn’t come, but Milo’s hand was only inches away—stroking the girl’s clit, it seemed— and he simply grabbed Lars’s dick and guided him right the fuck back inside her.
It was torture.
“I’m going to come,” Lars said through his teeth, furious at Milo, furious at this insanely hot piece of ass that moaned and writhed on the end of his dick.
“Then come,” Milo snarled.
Lars looked up. The man had that dangerous gleam in his eyes again. The one he’d had when he’d rammed him up against the wall and almost knocked a fist into his jaw.
