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“You need to shower. You fucking smell of our cum. It’s disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose to punctuate every dark word, which is a lie. She smells fucking divine, even if our cum is dried on her skin.
She could have showered already if she wanted to, which begs the question why she hasn’t. I walk into the adjoining bathroom, checking that all the towels are still dry, and that there’s no water pooling on the floor in the shower cubicle just to make sure. Nope, everything’s dry.
As I return to the bedroom, she tosses her head, sending her strands dancing around her shoulders as she looks at me, her body quivering with barely restrained anger. “I need my own soaps,” she snaps, her voice cutting through the thick air between us. “Special ones. For the ba—Fet.”
“Fuck the baby,” Mickey growls, and I shoot him a warning glance. We both know that if there’s a kid in the picture, everything changes. But right now, we can’t afford to show any weakness.
Her lips part, and she looks like she might argue again, but something in my gaze must tell her it’s futile. She glares at us, the kind of glare that would have lesser men stepping back. But we’re not lesser men. We’re Sabertooths, used to playing rough and dirty.
“Fine,” she spits out, her bubbly, outgoing demeanor nowhere to be found. “But this doesn’t change anything.”
“Never said it did,” I reply, my voice as cold as the ice I defend every game night.
We trail behind as she stalks off toward the bathroom, her average frame somehow managing to look regal even in defeat. When she reaches the cubicle she turns around, gives us an unimpressed stare before she gets in and attempts to shut the door. But Mick’s faster, and he grips it, holding it open.
“No point in getting shy now, sweetheart,” he drawls, malice dripping from each word.
“Stop!” Her voice echoes against the marble. “You can’t—”
Mickey chuckles darkly. “This is Soren’s house, so we can do whatever the hell we want. Since we’ve already seen…” His eyes skim every inch of her body. “… and tasted…” He licks his lips. “… every part of your body, there’s no point in hiding from us.”
As the water hisses to life, steam rising like mist over a frozen pond, I move closer, wanting to watch her under the spray. Droplets cling to her skin, cascading down the curves we’ve come to know so well, even as she tries to shield herself with trembling arms. My cock jerks in response, begging to be set free, to be touched.
The heat isn’t just from the shower—it’s pooling in my gut, tightening my muscles. Beside me, Mickey’s breathing grows shallow, and I know without looking that he’s as affected as I am. The air is thick with humidity, clinging to us like a second skin.
My hand moves almost of its own accord, grasping myself through my jeans. The rough fabric chafes, but it’s nothing compared to the friction I crave. Mickey’s not holding back either. He’s got his hand down his pants, working himself with an urgency that borders on desperation.
I can feel the heat pulsating off of her skin, a tantalizing aroma that grows more potent every second. My cock grows, swells. “Get down on your knees,” I command, practically shoving her onto the floor. My voice is lined with a venomous sort of lust. It’s not just an instruction; it’s a declaration of her place in this moment. She hesitates, just a fraction, but it’s enough to stoke the flames of my temper again. “Be a good whore,” I sneer, the insult hanging heavy in the air between us.
Undoing my pants, I push them down and cup myself. I groan while stroking my hard shaft through the fabric of my boxer briefs. “You’re going to show us how sorry you are,” I growl, the words a dark invitation—no, a challenge—to her capitulation. “Remind us what that pretty mouth can do.”
While I pull my cock out of the hole rather than removing the briefs, I watch her, eyes narrowed, as emotions flit across her face—the fear, the resignation. The anticipation crackles between us, electric and raw.
My cock jerks, I love watching the fight on her face. I know she isn’t here because she wants to be. No, these are the actions of someone cornered by circumstance and coerced by fear. And you know what, that’s good enough for me.
Her breath hitches, and I can almost taste the dread mingling with the heated air. My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight in anticipation.
“You said you wanted to make amends,” Mickey spits, watching her closely as he fumbles with his belt. The clink of metal sounds too loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Did she say that? I don’t remember, or maybe I simply didn’t hear.
Gail’s answer is a whimper, vulnerable and broken. She nods, just once, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. There’s a tremor in her hands as they rest upon her thighs, and I’m torn between satisfaction and a deep, gnawing disgust—for her, for me, for this whole messed up situation.
“Time to prove it,” I growl when Mickey has his dick out, stroking it in long, firm motions. “To both of us,” I say, my voice a low command that brooks no debate.
The air is electric as Gail looks up from where she kneels; her gaze flickering between us. Her eyes, wide and wet, reflect a myriad of emotions—fear, resignation, determination. She nods once, resigned to her fate, to our demands.
Her hands are hesitant at first, as if unsure which one of us to touch first. But then, almost as if driven by an innate survival instinct, she moves her hand toward Mickey’s waiting dick. His face scrunches up in revulsion as he slaps her hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spits. Though he sounds angry, I know my friend well enough to know its distrust coating his words. “You haven’t earned the privilege of touching my cock.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. “You think it’s a privilege?” she snarls. “More like a fucking job. That’s why I got paid for it.”
Laughter bubbles in my throat, but I manage to swallow it. Jesus, Gail knows how to fight back, even when she’s the one on her knees.
I don’t stop her when she reaches for my cock, I welcome her hand wrapping around my throbbing length. “Show me how sorry you are,” I growl. Watching her face contort with anxious desire fuels me further. “Give it what it needs,” I demand huskily.
Our bodies are inches apart now; close enough that when she swallows nervously, I can feel her hot breath fan against the crown where pre-cum glistens.
