“Tell me to stop if you’re too weak-kneed to fight me off,” he says, his lips curling in disgust even now, as he wrecks my core with each ruthless blow. “If I make your legs so weak you can’t walk, you can still talk. So tell me you don’t want your brother’s cock buried so deep inside you that you can’t breathe. Tell me you don’t want him to cum balls deep in your pretty little kitty.”
But I can’t tell him to stop, either. There’s no fight in me, only surrender. I am his to do with as he will. Anything he wants, I will give it to him, because he wantsme. He thinks I’m pretty. Maybe, someday, he could even love me.
I shake my head, and Saint leans down, flattening his tongue against my jawline. He rakes it up my face, over my temple, my eye. I gasp out, trying to blink as he sucks at my eye, gathering my tears. Then he draws back, grips my jaw, and forces my mouth open. Leaning down, he lets my tears dribble into my mouth with his spit. I gag, and he draws his hips back and slams into me so hard the sheet pops off the corner of the mattress and the bed slams against the wall.
I let out a choked sob of pain, and he throws his head back and releases a tortured groan as his hips grind into mine, his length expanding inside me until I cry out, my voice garbled by the tight grip of his fingers on my jaw, hard enough I know I’ll have bruises to match the ones he left of my body. His fingers move to my throat, and he grinds and grinds, and I feel him spilling into me, spurting, throbbing. Blackness dots my vision as his fingers clench, his cock jerking inside me. My insides tighten with pain, and then flutters race along his length as my walls spasm, milking the cream from his tip, thirstily drinking it into my core.
Triumph swells inside me.
I did it. I made him lose control. I made him show me how much he wants me.
He rolls sideways, turning me onto my side and slapping my ass. “Not bad, sis,” he says. “Ronique’s tighter, but then, she’s not getting railed by three different guys every day.”
Despite her proclamation, Ronique is still here, and hearing Saint compare us when she’s in the room makes me want to kill them both. Him for torturing me, and her for staying, for craving the torture like I do, and for letting him use her to hurt me.
Rage billows through me, the uncontrollable kind, the one that scares me. The one that made me learn to fight, and sign up for the Slaughterpen, to get it all out because otherwiseI wasn’t sure who it would destroy, but I had a suspicion it was me.
My legs tremble as I sit up and roll off the bed, onto my feet. A hot gush of Saint’s seed floods out of me, wetting the heavy gusset of my panties, already filled with the seed of my three boys.
The fact that he taunts me about that, that he acts like it’s disgusting when he’s one of them, makes me see red. I love them. There is nothing shameful about that. But the way Saint talks to me makes the shame I feared all my life bloom again each time I think I’ve overcome it, so I can never truly be rid of it. I can hardly speak I’m so furious at him and his hypocrisy and his smug smile and his face that is so gorgeous it conquers me every time, without him having to lift a finger.
“I hate you,” I manage, shoving my feet into my shoes.
“About damn time,” Saint says, smirking at me from where he lays back on the bed, naked in all his glory, with his wild hair spilling around him and his tattooed, muscular arm tucked behind his head. “Don’t worry, little sister. There are positions to make even the loosest pussy feel tighter. Do some research. You’ll do next time she’s not around.”
“I will never be her backup,” I swear, my voice shaking with rage.
I can’t look at Ronique.
I stomp to the door, then take one last look over my shoulder. Saint hasn’t covered himself. He wants me to see how little he cares. His cock is full and thick, still halfway hard, with our combined release glistening in trails along its impressive length. He watches me, smug amusement on his face, like he got me to do exactly what he wanted.
I didn’t prove he wanted me. I proved how much I wanted him, practically forced myself on him, like the desperate whore he says I am. I proved that true as well. After all, here I am,already fucked full of the cum of three men, climbing onto him and forcing him to add more, showing him that no matter how much they give me, I can’t get enough. I will never be full enough, no matter how full they fill me. I will always be starving for what I lost, desperate for something I can never get back, something I never had.
Saint knew that long before I did, and he let me show him—and Ronique. That’s the most humiliating part. That she’s seen me like this. Not only my guys know, but now all my friends will too, and maybe the rest of campus. For all I know, she took pictures to show the world, just like the guys have. After all, isn’t that the best way to destroy a girl like me? Not lie about her or slander her name. Simply tell the truth.
I stumble out into the cool, damp night, my eyes blurring with tears, my heart in pieces. One arm clutches my middle, as if I can hold myself together, contain all the pain Saint pounded into me.
“Hey, you going to just ignore us like that?” calls a voice.
A second later, a man falls into step beside me, and another steps to my other side.
“That wasn’t very nice,” says a slithery voice behind me.
I jump a mile, whipping my head around to see another man, this one taller and thinner, with a goatee that reminds me of the bowler in this movie calledThe Big Lebowskithat the Quint was obsessed with back in the day. Except this guy has a hard glint in his eyes, something malicious and ominous.
I turn back to face the path, my heart hammering.
“We were waiting for you,” says the guy who hadn’t spoken yet, a stocky guy in his mid-twenties with blood crusting his nostrils.
“Why?” I blurt out.
“Our boss wants a word,” he says.
I swallow hard, considering whether I could take these three guys. I’m not used to fighting men, since Dynamo did me the disservice of only allowing me to fight women in the pit. Something about protecting me. Now, it’s a disadvantage. At least I’ve had a few opportunities on campus, thanks to the Sinners.
“Who’s your boss?” I ask.
“Why don’t you let him introduce himself?” asks the goateed man.
