Page 137 of Grin and Bear It

Never, I growled down the link, wrapping my arms around him.

But I was forced to look away from his eyes, to tell the others in halting words how I was feeling. All of my experience teaching English and my vocabulary deserted me as soon as I tried, the description imperfect.

But this wasn’t. Each time he moved I felt another spurt of Cole’s cum, something they told me much later was effective in ensuring I would have little bear sons, if I wanted them. I felt an answering wash of pleasure, as if my body wanted to soak up all of his. At some point we were forced to pull apart and that’s when the others moved forward.

I was cleaned up, given water to drink and everyone checked in to see if I was OK. And once I persuaded them I was? Those perfunctory strokes became softer, slower and then more persistent, my lips falling open before I tugged the closest one down onto them, kissing Tyson, then Lin and finally Nash.

“I thank the fucking gods you rang me about your damn taps,” Nash told me. “You woke me up, brought me back to life.”

I paused, staring into his eyes, hoping to communicate just how much he’d done the same for me, before I smiled.

“Did I? Maybe we need some more mouth to mouth, just in case.”

Chapter68

The alarm blared in my ear and I jerked up off the pillow, then instantly regretted it. My head hurt, pain exploding behind my eyes and it beat with the slow pulse of my heart as I blinked against the light.

“Go back to sleep,” someone mumbled, dragging me down under the covers, into the warmth. That now familiar pulse that came from touching them washed through me, but now it was like heat suddenly being applied to frostbitten flesh. It hurt as much as it helped. I fought my way free of them, reeling when I sat up.

Because it hurt when I did so. There was the throb of my head, the ache of my body, both sexual and from trauma, and then there were the psychological wounds. I’d successfully pushed aside all thoughts, memories of the way Steve Gilbert had looked when he showed that photo to the boys, the way my mind had raced, raced now, to make clear what had happened over and over. The painting would’ve been shared over and over via texts that were sniggered over, via Snapchat and other social media. It would’ve gone out, out, out, beyond my school and into the ether, for kids to sneer over.

“Hey…”

Tyson did the right thing, rolling up and putting his arm around me, but I was forced to push it off gently. Too much right now. It was all too much. So I shuffled out of the room, finding the toilet and then chancing the steps, making a slow and laborious progress down to find this.

“Miss… Ellie,” Maddox said, jerking guiltily back from the toaster. “We… ah… made you breakfast.”

“Did you?” My smile felt rusty, weird on my face, but I did it anyway. I dropped down into a chair gratefully, no longer able to sustain my weight. “Thanks, boys.”

A plate was set before me, complete with perfectly toasted bread, bacon that was a bit burned around the edges and several eggs shining in the morning light, then a coffee placed at my right hand.

“Did you want sausages or hash browns?” Knox asked, scratching his head. “We tried to look up a recipe—”

“No, but thanks.”

I was going to struggle to eat this, my stomach tight and sore, but I picked up my knife and fork, ready to try, because the boys wouldn’t eat theirs until I did. I was going to struggle with the coffee, but I had to honour this overture, their attempt to make amends. I chewed a mouthful of egg, bacon and toast, then made an appreciative noise, the two boys nodding, then falling onto their food.

“So what’s this?”

Nash raked his hair back as he walked into the kitchen, the other guys joining him.

“Your breakfast is up there,” Maddox said, stabbing his fork in the direction of the kitchen bench. “We made enough for everyone.”

“Thanks fellas,” Cole said. “Just what the doctor ordered, especially with the day we’ve got ahead of us. You’re about to get a short apprenticeship in the fine art of house painting.”

I watched the boys closely, looking for signs of duress, but they both nodded, polishing off their food with startling efficiency before running off down the hall to grab old clothes to paint in.

“I should help—” I started to say, setting my cutlery down.

“You should rest.” I looked up to find Tyson staring steadily at me. “You’re feeling rough today.”

“That…” I had the attention of every man then, the lure of a cooked breakfast insufficient to distract them. “That happens sometimes.”

“So you should take the day off. I’ll sit with you,” Tyson offered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to. Even if it's just to change the channel when you’re sick of bingeing the same TV series. I’m here, Ellie.”

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