Page 110 of Breaker

His answering groan vibrates through my clit. Another long, deep lap, then his tongue is inside me.

“Eat my cum from her tight pussy,” Striker rasps. “Show our girl how much you love the mess I make of her.”

It’s too much. Too many sensations. Being held down, the essence of me, of Striker’s release, being pulled, licked, consumed makes my head thrash, and I fight Striker’s tight grasp, but he doesn’t let me move. Viper doesn’t relent, even when I fight his hands on my thighs by trying to close my thighs, when I beg him to stop because I’m too sensitive, too overcome with emotions and my body feels too hot and lit up.

“I can’t,” I whimper. “I can’t.”

“Give him another, Princess.”

“I can—“ I scream out another release. Striker holds my hands to the bed as he eats my every whimper with a hungry kiss.

They release me, and my legs fall bonelessly to the bed. Striker gathers me up, pressing kisses to my cheeks as he lifts me. I sag against him as he sets me down. My bare feet hit cold tile. I hear drawers being opened and the rustling of blankets.

My cheeks flame, realizing Viper’s cleaning himself and probably the bed.

Striker lets me go and I hear a door shut. I pull my mask off and catch his smirk, highlighted by the tungsten light of the bathroom vanity.

He cups my cheeks, gold eyes searching my face, running his thumbs over my burning cheeks. “This is quite a blush. If you’re embarrassed, worrying about a mess, then let me say it was absolute filthy.”

I wince.

“You, Princess, are such a dirty little girl, taking two cocks.” His lips press to mine, and I swear to god my heart stops from the way his lips pull into a devilish grin as he backs away. “You’re so perfect. Even if you’re a terrible shot.”

A scoff breaks free, then a laugh, my eyes dropping to his chest, because I am. Really bad.

Striker hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my head back. My eyes meet his and what I see there melts me. Flays me alive.

Mine.

Heis mine.

They aremine.

“I just need more practice,” I whisper, never wanting that look to leave his eyes. Approval. Appreciation. Complete adoration. “I’ll do better.”

“Don’t you worry, Princess, you’re going to be beautifully deadly by the time we’re done with you.”

Chapter 34

Cora

Part of me can’tbelieve he’s left me alone in this warehouse full of their secrets, but he had little choice. I need something besides a torn gown and heels to wear. When Breaker heard my stomach growl, he said he’d be back and to wait down here, on the main floor, while he was gone.

Thirty minutes, he’d said. That’s how long it would take to run to the store.

So that’s how long I have to snoop.

Last night, Breaker showed me their surveillance room, his bedroom, and the spacious open area on the first floor where I currently stand. As soon as I hear the roar of Breaker’s motorcycle fade away, I rush back upstairs to explore the other rooms, heart hammering with nerves. Disappointment crashes through the adrenaline rush when I find they are locked except for a small closet stocked with linens and cleaning supplies and a compact bathroom equipped with an old toilet and rusted sink. When I see the toothpaste, I squeeze some onto my finger and use it to clean my teeth as best I can, rummaging through thecontainers lined up neatly on the metal storage shelves. Inside are random bars of white soap, razors, and shaving cream. No medicines or weird creams for rashes to show they are human and not super soldiers made of just muscles and sex.

When I find nothing of value in the little bathroom, I step back out into the hall. I hold Breaker’s oversized shirt to my nose, breathing in his clean, slightly earthy scent, like almonds and cedar. My gaze darts along the doors lining the wall, moving to the two at the far end. I know trying to pick the locks is a bad idea. First and foremost, I don’t even have anything to use for picking, and second, I have no clue how, so I make my way back downstairs.

And find the kitchen. Or at least a room that looks like one. There’s a refrigerator, a large sink, and a long metal counter. In one corner sits a modern range, looking out of place. I realize that this must have been a cafeteria for the factory workers, and they added the range and fridge when they decided to use this as their base for collecting intel.

Stalk, Cora. They stalked you.

The fridge is empty, like it was cleaned out—probably right before they took us because they knew they wouldn’t return for a while— and the counters and long table with folding chairs are clean.

The whole place is clean, including the large open room with the TV. Besides the rusted metal beams, the painted black metal and concrete walls, and the round rusted holes in the floor from where the factory machinery was bolted down, the place is tidy and homey.

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