Page 6 of The Devils of Saint City

Fuck.

My clit throbs as I hastily let him go. “Are we done?”

“Nah.” He spins around with his cock still out before slowly putting it away. “Reach inside the front of your panties and then let us see your fingers.”

“Excuse me?” I look between them, begging one of them to take it back. They won’t get what they want here. They disgust me.

When they both step closer to me, I reluctantly slide my hand inside my shorts and freeze when I feel how fucking wet I am.

Something about my face has them grinning predatorily and stepping in more. “Let us see, pet.”

It’s weirdly the nicest tone Asher has ever used with me, but it’ll likely be the last time it ever happens. This will be nothing but fuel on the fire.

I pull them out and wiggle my wet fingers. “It’s not you, it’s me. The sound of my own voice turns me on.”

“Yeah, sure it does.” Ash leaves the bathroom first, calling back to let me know we’ll be doing this more often, and Manson agrees with a pleased smile.

“See how much smoother everything goes when you’re good for us?”

See how much more willing I am when you’re nice about it?

“Whatever. Do what you want. Just understand to the depths of you that it’s all superficial. My obedience, my submission? It’s survival, nothing more. You’ll get what you want, but it’ll forever come with an asterisk. Goodnight, Manson.”

I brush past him, stopping in front of a livid-looking Asher. “Goodnight, big brother. Don’t forget to lock your doors. I didn’t get a chance to install mine today.”

Neither of them even breathe as I walk into my room and close the door, finally getting some space from them — but now all three of my triggers are happening at once. I’m stressed out about being so close to a man who tried to kill me, turned on whether I want to be or not, and my room is still several degrees hotter than the rest of the house.

I have a bad, bad feeling about what’s gonna happen next.

3

To save us all the trouble, I just don’t sleep. I don’t think I could if I tried, anyway. My nervous system is shot and I can’t stop thinking that I made a terrible mistake by coming here.

That was only day one, and look how it turned out? Miserable and embarrassing, just like I knew it would. It just took a much weirder turn than I expected.

And now beginning day two on no sleep, I don’t have high hopes that it’ll be any better. They’re already waiting for me when I open my door.

They’re sitting together on the couch in lounge pants that do nothing to hide their natural bulges, and the comfortable looking loose-fitted shirts they’re wearing somehow make them more attractive. I don’t get it.

“Damn, you look like shit,” Ash says with a chuckle. “You stayed up, huh?”

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. My customers love it when my voice is scratchy like this anyway.” I move into the kitchen to make coffee and wait for the inevitable command to get them some too.

“Peppermint mocha for us,” Manson tosses out. “I like mine a little sweeter than Ash does, but not too much.”

“It’s fucking August,” I mumble. “And I don’t even know how to make a mocha.”

Sighing, Ash stands up to join me in the kitchen to pull out the Peppermint Mocha flavored creamer from the fridge, then sets it on the counter next to their mugs. “It’s the best one, doesn’t matter the time of year.”

I can’t tell if he’s trying to make me feel dumb or if he’s actually defensive over their creamer choice, but either way, I want him to fuck off. “Oh. You meant regular coffee with whitegirl flavored creamer. Got it.” I pull it closer to me and tap my fingers on the counter as the coffee brews, but he’s still not moving. “Do you want sugar too?” I ask slowly. “Ice? What?”

“I want you to lose the fucking attitude, grouchy. How the hell do you take your coffee? Black like your soul?”

He steps in closer, so close his chest is almost brushing my arm. I can still smell his cologne. “Black, because I’m sweet enough without any extra sugar.”

He laughs darkly and lowers his face to my level. “You touch yourself last night?”

“No,” I say honestly. “Did you? Or did you let Manson do it for you?”

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