Page 33 of The Hallows Boys

The cut on my neck aches, the rope on my skin stings, the bump on my head from falling out of the coffin throbs, but it’s nothing compared to the burning in my core and the need in the pit of my stomach.

I’m deranged, turned on and needing three sets of hands on my body after everything they’ve done to me. Ignoring the fact they used my body, then ignored me for days, they’ve now drugged and kidnapped me, sent terror down my spine like I’ve never experienced, and I’m the thirsty girl that wants to beg for more from them.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I that messed up from the last month?

I scream as annoyance and aggravation spread through me, creating a storm that threatens to tear down the room.

“Shhh…” A hand glides through my hair, soothing me like a mother might do to their child after a nightmare. “It’s okay, Sage. I’m right here.”

A weight lifts from my chest at the recognition of the voice – it’s Beckham, sitting with me and caring for me like he did after that night in the cemetery.

He runs his fingers through my hair over and over, making shushing noises and whispering sweet nothings into the space, making me swallow down a whimper. “Beckham?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

My body relaxes a little more, the warmness of his voice and touch stubbing out the embers of fear and anger inside of me. He’s gentle with me as he continues to smooth his palm down my hair, and even though my limbs are still bound and I’m face down on what I imagine is a very dirty mattress, I feel safe.

Once my breathing has returned to normal, and my body has stopped shaking, he pulls away from me, leaving me feeling cold and exposed again.

“No!” I shout in protest, but he doesn’t respond. I feel him lift up off the bed, and the thought of him leaving me completely has my blood running cold as I start to feel scared again. But he sits down as quick as he got up, his clothes rustling.

“Fuck,” Beckham whispers, his tone laced with pleasure.

My stomach falls, making the blood rush in my body. My eyes flare, even though I can’t see anything, when I hear what sounds to be a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Beckham groans, heavy and long, and my veins vibrate with pleasure.

“Beckham?” I whisper, aching for more.

I hear lips smack, slurping noises following as the bed shifts under Beckham’s weight. The sounds continue, and when I hear someone gag, my entire body lights up with fireworks.

“Fuck, yes, swallow my dick,” Beckham moans, making my clit pulse. I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of heat rushes over me.

I try to picture in my mind what might be happening next to me. Who is touching him? Is it Vinny, or Kaiden? I let myself fantasize, imagining Kaiden with Beckham’s dick down his throat, his thick lips spread so tight around his flesh as he sucks that they start to go white at the edges. His eyes, dark and watering as he gags, staring at me while his friend fucks his face ruthlessly and without abandon.

Beckham moans loudly, breaking through my fantasy and putting me back in the dark room with them. I bite down on my bottom lip when I hear someone gagging, the bed shifting as Beckham flexes his hips.

“Oh God, please.” I let myself moan out loud as I squeeze my thighs together so tight that I feel a tiny amount of pressure on my clit.

I imagine Vinny next, with drool trailing down his chin as he widens his mouth for Beckham’s cock. His chiseled jaw with a light bit of stubble, flexing and tightening as he pleasures his friend.

I want to scream,begthem to let me play too. Let me touch them, feel them, taste them.

“Beckham?” I whisper, and he grunts in response, the bed shaking as he bucks his hips.

Wetness spreads between my legs, sliding through the lips of my pussy, so I squeeze them together harder and start gyrating my hips the best I can.

I want to claw my skin off, rip at the strands of my hair, scratch myself until I bleed just so I can feel something. I want to rip at my clothes, shredding them to bits until there’s no barrier between my flesh and the cold air. But I fucking can’t – I can’t do anything while I’m tied up and bound.

Beckham groans deep in his throat just before I hear the pop of someone’s lips as they slide off of his dick. He couldn’t have come already – he wouldn’t. He can’t. I need him to fuck me, to touch me, to fill me so deep with his cock that I scream. He has to save his seed for me. They have to let me play the game with them.

“Beckham?” I yell, my entire body shaking with need and tension. He stands up without answering me, the mattress lifting as he leaves.

“No, no, no,” I chant, praying or begging or pleading with them or God or fucking Satan.Give me release. Touch me. Taste me. Fuck me.

I feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces from the tension building inside of me, my core burning so hot that I want to rip the clothes from my body. I try to take a breath, but it travels down my windpipe like jagged knives and razor blades, making my throat tremble as I gasp.

One slow breath in, one slow breath out. I focus on the rise and fall of my chest as my lungs fill and empty, trying to get my blood to slow again. I feel like I could have a heart attack from the pleasure that’s sittingjustout of reach.

Once air is gliding in and out of my lungs smoothly again, I shift my focus from breathing back to my ears. I listen in the dark room to try and figure out what they’re doing now, where they are.

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