Page 28 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“Do I taste good?” Vincent teases, but I don’t care.

I lean forward taking as much of him as I can into my mouth and sucking hard. “Fucking hell, Princess.” Vincent groans.

Cast kisses up the curve of my neck, sliding two fingers inside me, while the heel of his palm presses into my swollen clit. I slide Vincent deeper into my mouth, his cock is wider than Cast’s with a slight curve, but I don’t stop until he is all the way down my throat.

“Princess, you're taking me so well.” Vincent praises, a groan that isn’t his or Cast rolls over me.

Cast finger fucks me faster, whispering in my ear. “Cariña, you are such a good slut for us, even Damien had to join.”

I slide Vincent a little out of my mouth and peak at Damien, who’s eyes are trained on me as he fucks his hand in long, deep strokes that makes me whimper around Vincent’s cock.

Vincent swells in my mouth, his hand roughly gripping the back of my hair. “I’m so close, baby.”

I moan, my own orgasm cresting.

“You're going to keep your eyes on Damien.” Cast directs. “And you are going to swallow Vincent whole, understand me?”

I nod my head, the flurry of need and pleasure and the almost blackened gaze of Damien drowns me as I rock on Cast’s hands. This is all too much. It feels so fucking good.

Vincent cums first: his cum shooting down my throat as his grip on my hair tightens almost painfully so, and I moan out my approval, swallowing him in three gulps. Cast doesn’t stop, holding my forearm as he forces me to bounce on his fingers, and Vincent wipes the corner of my lips, my eyes trained on Damien who looks at me like I am his life line.

“Fuck,” Damien groans, his cum spilling into his hand.

“Look at that cariña,” Cast smiles against my ear. “ You made a mess of Damien. You like that he just came from watching you get finger fucked and swallowing his best friend.”

“Yes, sir!” I pant, throwing my head back, the sight of these two men coming undone for me has me racing to the edge.

“You’re going to come, little devil?” Vincent whispers, pulling my gaze to his. His mischievous smile makes me quiver, and a yearning to be all bad for him vibrates under my skin.

“Yes sir,” I moan, right when I am there. When I can see the horizon and feel the flickers of a flame beneath my skin, Cast slaps my pussy hard. I buck forward, groaning at the sting on my swollen, very sensitive clit.

Cast growls. “Naughty girls, who strip in the middle of the cafeteria don’t cum.”

9

WILLOW

Guess which one of these is worse: Sacrificing four months of my life to three attractive guys in the hopes of saving my family? Not ideal. But signing away my body to these boys who tease me for hours and then tell me not to touch myself? One hundred and ten percent worse.

To add insult to injury, one of them insisted on picking me up for school today, but I refused to wear the yellow, backless sundress with the chunky brown heels that are basically the best thing in my closet now.

Instead, I chose to wear my signature denim flared jeans, tight crop top with My Chemical Romance logo, and new platform black Converse shoes as one big ass fuck you. Or as a please fuck me, either works.

“Vincent will be pissed cariña.” Cast chuckles, but I fold my arms across my chest, cross my legs and stare out of the window.

“Vincent can go fuck himself.” I murmur.

Cast looks at me with a glittering look in his eye, that almost fooled me into thinking that he’s teasing me. “Vincent has been fucking himself to you since freshman year.”

“Excuse me?” I cough, because there is no fucking way that Vincent has had a crush on me, or lust for me since freshman year. Cast is lying, but a better question is why would he lie?

“You heard me.” He rolls his eyes, and with one hand on the steering wheel, he allows his hand to squeeze my thigh. My swollen clit pulses, and I have to bite my lip painfully to stop the moan from leaving my lips.

“Why do we have to keep telling you to stop biting your lip, cariña?” Cast clicks his tongue, his hand grazes my inner thigh and I suck in a breath through my nose at the sensation.

“It’s a nervous tick,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I slide my bottom lip free from my teeth. My legs shift instinctively, pulling closer together in search of a reprieve, but his hand tightens on my thigh with bruising strength. His fingers dig between my legs, and the pressure sends a jolt through me. My heart thunders in my chest, so loud I’m sure he can hear it—feel it.

“I make you nervous,” he says, his lips curling into a slow, deliberate smirk. His tongue drags over his bottom lip like a predator savoring the sight of its most tantalizing prey.

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