Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
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 marrying Lyle 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.
Too many years have hardened their hearts.
Water can wear cracks in even the hardest rock, a little voice in my head reminds me. The Grand Canyon was once just a high desert plateau, and something as soft as water carved it like a hot knife through butter.
Lyle kisses down my body, lips tugging at the tips of my ravaged nipples, mouth hot and wet and open as he tongues my navel. In a moment when no one else is paying attention, I slide my fingers into his thick, dark hair, caressing the back of his neck with featherlight strokes that make him still. If one moment of tenderness from Kylian can break through something in me, maybe many stolen moments of gentleness can do the same with them.
But this is just a contract, I think. When the week is done, they'll discard me and move on to the next virgin, the next woman they can take and break.
They're not looking for love, and neither am I.
This isn't a fairytale where the broken tyrant becomes the soft-hearted hero. I'm not a princess who needs rescuing. I'm forging my own way and doing what needs to be achieved to improve my situation.
And yet the urge to do whatever it takes to help them find their own truth is overwhelming.
Lyle moves inside me, his jaw ticking with concentration, his eyes fixed on a point above my head. Nate takes my hands again, but he doesn't need to restrain me. My compliance is natural to me, and my willingness to acquiesce to their desires is an integral part of who I am with these men.
The grind of his hips is too much against my sensitized flesh, but I focus on the power coiled tightly in his body, the sheer strength, and overpowering dominance in every shift of his hips. I open like a flower in the sunshine, releasing in rippling contractions that milk him to a bitter climax. Like his brother, he seems lost when he's done, his body relaxing and his face resting against my neck. Warm breath gusts hot against my skin as he softens inside me. "Honor?" he whispers, and it sounds like a question.
"To the moon and back," I whisper, and he freezes like iced water dripped on the base of his spine.
"Are you gonna lie there all night like a beached whale?" Nate asks harshly, and when I turn to look at him, Kylian is watching us with narrowed eyes.
And so the game begins again.
It's harder to touch Nate in a way that will reach him, with Lyle holding my hands above my head and Kylian fastening ropes around my ankles to bind me to the bed again. Nate spends time trailing his fingers over and staring at the place he was first to breach, the place now filled with his brothers' seed. He puts his hand over my mouth when he penetrates me, and I know he fears that I'll say something to him that will make what he's doing that much tougher. I bite at his fingers because that's what he wants me to do. I twist my face away from him, making it harder for him to restrain me. I tug at Lyle's hands, which are slippery with our combined sweat, and at the immovable binds on my ankles. I give them all a good show, and I enjoy every minute of pretending that I don't consent to my treatment, even as I fly free with the freedom of release.
But inside, a little seed of hope is unfurling its sweet first leaf. Because when Nate comes, and he lets go of all his power, remaining over me vulnerable and spent, I whisper, "I still sleep with Bunny on my pillow," and he stares with wide deep-blue eyes like I reached into his chest and pulled out his still-beating heart.