Page 20 of Auctioned to her Stepbrothers

I don't want to believe that it's possible.

As Kylian nuzzles my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, he whispers, "Fight me," and I do. My hand cracks against his face, the sound as violent as a gunshot in the quiet of the room. Nate rests his weight on my bound leg, pinning it to the bed with force as Lyle holds my wrists and stretches them above my head. They grip so tightly like they want me to be sure of their power and all I can move is my head. "No," I moan, shaking my head from side to side, my eyes wide and fearful, but inside my mind is sayingyes… do it… claim me… own me… break me… ruin me.

Take whatever you need, and I'll pretend to hate it if that's what you desire.

When Kylian runs the rough of his tongue over my swollen clit, I cry out and flail. It's too much. Too good and too terrible. But the more I cry, the more he does it, relentless in the pursuit of my undoing. And in a moment of pure clarity, I realize something so agonizing a tear slips from my eye and runs unseen into my hair.

They need this; the feeling of power and control. It's a way to take back what they lost, a twisted balm for all the damage inflicted by a man who didn't love his sons the way they deserved.

"You taste like surrender," Kylian whispers darkly against my thigh. "Sweet like total submission." His mouth moves closer to my pussy again, and I squirm against the hands that restrain me. "You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?"

He says it with a note of derision in his voice, as though my willingness to play my part in this game is about weakness. He believes I'm not strong enough to stand up for myself. He sees the worst of himself and his brothers in me.

But he's wrong. Handing over the power and control to them is as much about a release for me as it is for them. I'm strong enough to give them whatever they need. I'm resilient enough to play my part, knowing how much this heals them, however messed up it might be.

Nate is watching Kylian with wary eyes. For so long, he was shielded by his brother, but now I see that the tables have turned. Nate is the protector because Kylian is too wounded to hold himself together and maintain control. Lyle's eyes never seem to leave my face, taking on an almost hypnotic gaze asthough with every passing moment, his belief that I'm really Honor, really the girl he loved when he was a child, slips further from his grasp.

They've changed so much, but I have too.

I saw strength in my mom that I've tried to emulate. I saw resistance and fight in her that now bubbles inside me.

These men will have these days with me. They'll feel as though they stole, took, plundered, and maybe it'll be enough to help them past their urges. Maybe they won't need this again because the idea that they might chase this kind of control over other people is like a tsunami of sadness to me.

I remember a day from our past when my mom was still their housekeeper; before Richard Aston swept her off her feet with a showy proposal. The four of us kids lay in our sprawling backyard like a giant starfish with our heads together in the center and our legs pointing out into the world. My hair was tangled in with theirs, and the sun was so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open for more than a second at a time. We talked about stupid things like who is the strongest superhero and what superpower we'd choose if we had the opportunity. I said I wanted to fly like a bird. Lyle wanted to climb like Spiderman. Nate wanted to be strong like the Incredible Hulk. Kylian took the longest time to tell us his choice, and when he did, I reached out my hand and took his.

I want to be able to turn invisible, was what he said. Even at the time, with youth dulling my perception, I knew why.

Would he choose invisibility still?

Or would he choose to be an antihero, capable of taking over the world?

"Honor," he says abruptly, bringing me back into the room. "Turn her over," he orders his brothers.

They unstrap my bindings and roll me unceremoniously, and Kylian wastes no time nudging my thighs apart. His cock is already hard again, which shouldn't be possible so fast. He grips my hair, spreading his hot, heavy body over mine. Nate and Lyle hold my hands to the side, spreading me like an X on the bed—a mark made when a name cannot be written.

When Kylian thrusts into my body again, there's a bite of pain that makes me cry out before the slickness of pleasure follows in its wake. He ruts into me like a jackhammer, emotionless and robotic. I imagine his eyes closed to the reality of the room, trapping him in his own world as he strives to exorcise his demons.

"Fight me," he says again, and I struggle, even though the odds of me freeing myself are impossible. With every jerky movement I make, Kylian sinks deeper into possession, and my heart breaks a little more. His fingers bite into my flesh, hard enough to bruise, and even though the pursuit of his own pleasure is ruthless, his hand snakes beneath my hips, the tip of his fingers finding my clit with perfect pressure to release a light-fracturing orgasm that threatens to turn me inside out, as he is overcome with pleasure too.

Between our bodies, we're slippery with sweat, and Kylian's chest heaves as he tries to get his breath back. I expect him to pull out and walk over to fix himself a drink. I brace for thewithdrawal of his thick cock and the spill of his release from inside me, but it doesn't come. Instead, he stays buried deep, canting his hips slowly, the heat and tightness of me around him too good to leave behind. Then, he presses a soft kiss between my shoulder blades, and my heart stops.

The silence in the room is like the empty echo of a water-filled cave. Kylian stiffens as though he realized what he was doing too late to stop it.

A single kiss. Who knew something so small could be so sharp, bright, and tender?

Who could guess that the simple press of lips on damp skin could shatter me?

More tears leak from my eyes, this time into the pillow. Nate and Lyle relax their grip as Kylian scrambles from the bed, leaving me hollow and empty in his wake.

Lyle's hand strokes over my back, his hand moving my hair from my face. Our eyes meet at the moment he realizes I'm crying, and he swears under his breath. I know he wants to say or do something more than he does, but he's as tangled in this situation as the rest of us. Nate's hand brushes quickly over my back as the alcohol Kylian is pouring hits the bottom of the glass.

Lyle climbs onto the bed, easing me onto my back. He nuzzles his cheek against mine, wiping away my tears with the scuff on his cheek.

We were the same height when we were kids and used to rub our noses together and giggle at the tingly feeling. As Mom was planning her wedding, I remember thinking about marryingLyle when we were grown. I picked flowers in the garden and tied them with a ribbon as a pretend bouquet. The urge to grab Lyle's face and hold it tight while I ask him if he remembers and if he could be that sweet boy again is so strong, but I resist because I know the answer.

Too much time has passed.

Too much water has flown under the bridge.

---