Ruined(8)

“I told you there was a certain place I wanted to come,” Jett murmurs behind me. His heated skin pressing against my own. “Let me in.” He rubs his still erect cock between my cheeks as Kayne spreads them open.

“Let us both in.” They simultaneously move to enter me. Kayne first, sliding into my pussy easily, while Jett works his way into my already exploited buttonhole. My womb knots like a twisted rope as I’m filled again, my body bowed in the new position.

“Come with us, Ellie.” Kayne threads his fingers in my hair and grabs hold, keeping my face an inch away from his. He licks and bites on my bottom lip as the two of them let loose, fucking me hard, pursuing their own pleasure. “Come on, baby, come.” Kayne thrusts at the same time as Jett and my body locks up.

“No,” I plead. I don’t think I can survive another earth-shattering quake like the one before.

“Yes.”

“I can’t.” I strain as their cocks swell inside me, close to the brink.

“You can, and you will, because we say so.”

“No.” I nearly cry as one of them rubs my clit, adamantly, unforgivingly.

“Yes.” Jett pulls my head back and kisses me, plunging his tongue into my mouth the same way he’s plunging his cock into my ass.

“Come.” My clit is rubbed harder, my nipples are teased and I’m filled to the brim as I dance the darkest rhythm of my life. Then it happens, an orgasm snowballs inside me, growing larger and larger with every strike and stroke and pinch until there’s no stopping it. Until the demands on my body win out and my core catches fire and burns me alive.

I scream into Jett’s mouth as I’m thoroughly fucked. Fucked until I go slack and the two men controlling me come. Come in my bruised, sore, supremely satisfied body.

Holy mother of God.

The last thing I remember is being cocooned in a blanket of warmth, heavy breathing, and soft lingering kisses, right before I pass out cold.



I WAKE UP TO THE sound of laughter echoing faintly through the house and the smell of coffee. I sit up in bed, my aching body protesting as I stretch my arms and legs. I’m still chained to the headboard; there are bruises on my hips and a bite mark on my shoulder. I look like a wreck, but I feel completely blissful. I unbuckle my collar and slink out of bed. Holy shit, I’m sore from tip to tip between my legs. I hobble into the bathroom to brush my teeth then throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I’m just at the top of the stairs when Kayne comes bounding up. When my eyes meet his, I suddenly blush, unexpectedly self-conscious.

“Hey.” He cups my face and gives me a kiss.

“Hey,” I respond shyly. Why am I uncomfortable? This is my husband.

“Why are you so red?” he asks curiously.

Because you shared me with your best friend last night and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Or how you feel about it.

I shrug in response. “Do you still love me?” I wonder out loud.

“Ellie?” Kayne is thoroughly amused. “Why would you ask something so ridiculous?”

“Because of last night?”

“You think I’m mad?”

I shrug again, attempting to be cute and, well, tempting.

“Do I sound mad?”

I shake my head.

“Do I look mad?”

I shake my head once more. He actually looks refreshed and very happy.

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I can’t help but ask. I have to know.

Kayne looks at me impishly. “Let’s just say I was hoping you were still sleeping so I could wake you up with my tongue.” He takes my hand and puts it between his legs so I feel his stiff erection.

“You liked it that much?”

Kayne nods, his eyes on fire. “I think the four of us have turned a corner in our sexual relationship.”

My jaw drops. “Are you being serious? You’d do it again?”

“Again and so much more.”

“More?” I repeat.

“Mmm hmm.” He drops a kiss on my lips. “We can talk about more, later. London and Jett are getting ready to leave. Come say good-bye.” He leads me down the stairs into the kitchen. That same sense of self-consciousness resurfaces when I come face to face with Jett. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Well, Sleeping Beauty finally decided to wake up,” he comments as he takes a sip of coffee.

I regard him silently as heat creeps up over my cheeks. All I can picture is him naked, tattooed, and pierced. Not good. I need to get a grip.

I grab a coffee mug and pour myself a cup, finally mustering enough nerve to answer him.

“A girl needs her caffeine fix.”

“That’s not the only fix a girl needs.” Jett pokes fun at me. I could smack him.

I roll my eyes in response instead. “And she got it.”

I throw a glance at London, and she winks. Yes, the four of us have a weird dynamic, but it works.

London’s phone chirps on the counter, and she hurries to check it. “Layla is asking for us, again.”

Jett takes one more large gulp of coffee. “That’s our cue.” He and London stand up. Adult swim is over for them.

Jett and London walk around the breakfast bar to say their goodbyes. London breezily kisses me on the cheek, like nothing unusual occurred at all. Like, I didn’t just sleep with her husband last night.

“Watching you with Jett was one of the hottest things I have ever seen,” she whispers in my ear. “And you know I have seen a lot.”

That she has. Probably more than any one person should see in a lifetime.

“Really?” I respond quietly, almost timid.

She nods, her dark-blue eyes sparkling perversely. London is always the picture of perfection outside the bedroom door. But behind it, her multifaceted persona peeks through. Her fiendish, fearless, provocative side.

When Jett hugs me, several emotions stir simultaneously—excitement, embarrassment, and a calming affection. It’s obvious I wasn’t prepared for the impact of last night, although it seems like I’m the only one who’s rattled.

“You know what, Ellie?” Jett speaks softly as he embraces me.

“What?”

“You really do taste like cupcakes,” he whispers in amusement.

I reply with a small gasp. Kayne must be sharing our secrets. He always tells me I taste like cupcakes.

Jett kisses me on the cheek, a firm, wet, sloppy gesture before he takes London by the hand and leaves.





LONDON AND I HAVE ALTERNATED hosting Thanksgiving for the last four years, and this year it’s my turn. The house smells amazing. I made my mother’s sweet potato pie, my grandmother’s stuffing, and cooked a turkey big enough to feed twelve.

“Kayne!” I yell into the living room. “Can you come in here and help me with this monstrosity of a bird you made me buy!” Yes, the turkey was all him. He wanted leftovers . . . for a month. I swear the man eats like a racehorse. I always joke that I need a part-time job just to pay the grocery bill.

“Coming!” He walks into the kitchen holding Layla under his arm like a football.

“Now how are you supposed to help me when your arms are full?” I joke, tapping Layla’s little nose. She giggles.

“Only one arm is full.” He squeezes her and she squeaks. “I still have this one.” He grabs one of the oven mitts off the counter. “If I can bench press you with one hand, I can pull a thirty-pound turkey out the oven.”

I don’t have a second to respond before London swoops in and slips Layla out from under Kayne’s arm. “I’ll take her. We’ll just stand over here and watch.” She steps back behind the island.

“Fair enough.” Kayne grabs the other oven mitt and pulls the turkey from the oven. It looks so perfect I almost squeal. I don’t know when I became so domestic, but seeing that beautiful brown bird come out of the oven gives me chills.

Kayne carves it and I place it on the set table. Not two seconds after he sits down, Layla is off her chair and climbing onto his lap. London scolds her but she insists, refusing to eat unless she stays put.

“It’s fine,” Kayne smoothes his hand over Layla’s blonde hair. “She can eat wherever she wants.”

Sucker.

“You spoil her,” London scolds him now.

Kayne just shrugs. “My house, my rules.”

I just shake my head, laughing internally. How many times have I heard that?

Everyone begins to make their plates while talking and passing and sampling. This is Becks’ first Thanksgiving, so we all get to experience his first taste of turkey. He doesn’t seem like a fan; he just keeps throwing it on the floor.

Just as we all begin to eat, Jett raises his wine glass. “A toast.”

With the fork a few inches from his mouth, Kayne groans. “Really? Every time?”

I nudge him with my foot under the table, reminding him of his manners. Sometimes he forgets. As much as he looks like a well-groomed adult, he can sometimes act like a surly teenager.

“Go ahead,” I encourage Jett.

“I’ll make this short and sweet.” He glares at Kayne. If there weren’t children at the table, I know what Kayne’s choice response to that look would be. “I just wanted to thank Ellie for this wonderful meal and say I am grateful for all the past holidays we have spent at this table and am looking forward to many more. Cheers.”