Page 49 of Bad for Me

“You will,” Gavin added, and then the two men found a rhythm, in and out, never leaving me empty, sliding against each other inside of me, until I couldn’t bear it any longer and screamed as my orgasm overtook me. I clenched, my entire body seizing with the force of my pleasure as the two men exploded inside me.

I burst into tears, unable to cope with the intensity of the emotions, of my love for these men, my terror for the future, everything that had happened that night.

The two men pulled out of me, but kept me pressed between their bodies, their strength soothing as I cried against Gavin’s chest. They whispered soft praise in my ears as they washed me, their firm touch comforting rather than sexual.

By the time I came back to myself, they’d ensconced me between them in a large bed, continuing their sweet kisses and caresses, reassuring me that I was perfect, beautiful, and brave.

I drifted off to sleep secure in their arms, refusing to think about what the morning would bring.

* * *

“You sure you’reready for this?” Gavin asked.

“I’m sure.”

“Pick up his feet, then,” my stepbrother instructed. Together, we swung the body bag into the back of the pickup truck. The storm had washed away the blood, leaving only the bodies behind.

I slid onto the bench seat, followed by my stepfather, and we took off, Gavin eying me oddly the whole time.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I wanted you so fucking bad, and now I have you, and—” He stopped and glanced at me before returning his attention to the road. “And you’re all in. You?—”

I scoffed. “You were a dick to me. Over and over again.”

“Because I wanted you,” he said.

“Doesn’t make it okay.”

“How about I spend the rest of our lives making it up to you?”

He set his hand on my knee, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“How aboutwespend the rest of our lives making it up to you?” My stepfather said, slipping his fingers between my legs and cupping my denim-clad pussy like he owned it.

I squirmed in the seat. “I’ll think about it.”

My stepfather ground his palm against me, and I whined with need. “No, baby girl. You’re done thinking. You belong to us, and that’s the end of it.”

“Promise?” I asked, embarrassed of how soft and uncertain I sounded.

“Promise.”

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