Page 111 of Jagged Souls
She cries out in pleasure, pushing back onto his cock. She can feel each spurt of his cum and rocks her hips, milking him for more.
My best friend is Dayne Killeen-McCarthy.
His hands tighten on her hips as he waits for his knot to go down. She spasms against the bed, her orgasm still going. It runs through her body with an intensity that leaves her a writhing hot mess. She’s never come so hard.
She’s never hated herself more.
I have a sister called Lou.
He pulls out of her, his knot gone. She wiggles her ass, wanting, needing another cock inside her.
Over and over, numerous werewolves rape her.
I will survive this.
But how can she claim it’s rape when she’s coming all over their cocks?
When the V wears off, I wish it didn’t.
My body is “mine” again, and I fucking hate it. I want to tear my flesh off my bones. I want to set fire to all the parts they touched. I want to hurt Varius like they’ve hurt me. He caused this. He took my magic and made me helpless.
He’s the only reason you still have your hands.
He took my eyes.
Did he?
I bite back a scream. I don’t want to listen to the damn voice in my head. I want to yell at it. I want to throw things at it. I want to rip it from my skull and skewer it on a knife. It’s supposed to be on my side. It’s theonlything left on my side!
Tears build in my throat, but I force them down. I don’t want to cry, and gods fucking dammit, I’m going to doonefucking thing thatIwant to do even if it fucking kills me.
And right now, I want to tear these damn sheets off the bed.
I roll onto my side, hating the feel of the wetness sliding around on my legs. I grab a handful of dry sheet and angrily wipe myself down. My broken arm has been healed, but it gives me little pleasure to know Eduardo fucking touched me at some point while I was spaced out.
“That’s pointless,” a man says – the same guy who cursed after he missed pouring the V down my throat.
My teeth grind together. “Guess you never wipe your ass then, huh? Just going to shit again.”
My stomach growls, the hunger sharp and cruel. My nose twitches at the smell of something spicy and meaty nearby. Doing my best to not look interested in whatever he has, I climb off the bed, then turn around and start tugging at the sheets.
“Touche,” he says, his voice moving around to the other side of the bed. There’s a light clatter. A plate being put onto a side table, perhaps?
I still for a fraction of a second, my stomach controlling my movements. Then I’m jerking on the sheet again, more annoyed than before. I want to yell at him to get out of here, but if I do and he doesn’t, then he’ll remind me that I’m at everyone else’s mercy, and just for one pathetic moment, I want to pretend that I’m not.
“Eat,” he says. “It’s jambalaya.”
“I don’t want it,” I snap just to be difficult.
“Too fucking bad. Antonio told me to make sure you eat, so either you get your ass over here and eat, or I’ll pin you down and shove it in your mouth.”
“You’ll lose your fingers,” I growl.
“And you’ll lose your tongue.”
I clench my teeth tight.
Stiff and unyielding.
