The Six: Genesis | A Reverse Harem Novel

Fifty-Six

I am a willing prisoner—participant—in their debauchery.

Begging and begging for more of what only they can provide. There is no sweetness in their caress. No.

It, along with their kindness, is long gone. The only thing we have left is the need to fuck. Ferocity takes hold as their control wanes, and I'm simply hanging in their embrace.

Charlie's right hand swirls in my hair, angling my head back as Chris' lefthand cuffs my neck. I'm a marionette—a puppet—in the grips of my puppeteers. And I revel in it.

The bed creaks and protests, barely keeping me upright as they fuck me into oblivion. My chains, laying off to the side abandoned, rattle and shriek. With a groan, they sink further into me.

Lust twists our link, wringing it dry. Mouth agape and eyes rolling back in my head, I let them direct my movements without complaint. I'm nearly there, gasping and groaning as I'm filled from both sides.

There's desperation in Charlie's thrusts and his other hand is restless on my hip. He keeps me in rhythm with a single hand, making sure I take Chris to the hilt, and when I rise, I do the same for him.

Back and forth.

Up and down.

In and out.

A curse escapes Chris' mouth, and he fucks me harder, dropping his free hand to the base of my stomach. I don't fight his fingers as they confidently thrum my clit in measured circles. It's a taunt—a dare—to see if I can handle it.

Goosebumps feather along my arms and legs. Shivering, I work my hips harder, meeting them halfway.

I won't come. I won't. Not until they're both begging me to fall apart. Not until they can't stand me clenching around them anymore. Not until they understand I'm as in control as they are.

Charlie pushes me forward, dropping the hand out of my hair to place it in the center of my back. Like a good girl, I arch for him and offer exactly what he wants. A view of me from behind, hoping for more.

Each thrust leaves me panting and my legs shaking. They fuck in tandem. Pounding into me until our pelvises meet and reversing course to where only the tip brushes inside.

It's slow, calculated, and frustrating, but I can't fight Charlie's or Chris' strength.

Sweat trickles down my temple and back as the temperature rises. Their grips intensify, restlessly kneading my skin wherever they can. Chris keeps his hand around my throat, restricting the blood flow, and my head spins.

Charlie's voice washes over me. It's faint—a whisper—quick and short. I don't stop rutting my hips, swirling hard enough to draw a dark groan from Chris' mouth.

3...

4...

5...

Is Charlie... counting? He makes it all the way to eight before skipping to 12. Another curse leaves his mouth and he starts again.

"I'm never going to let you go." Charlie breaks his counting, mouth at my ear. "Never."

"What makes you think I'd let you if you tried?"

He throws his head back and laughs. "Fair point, princess."

Roughly, Chris seizes my hip, pinning me to him. Their pace increases, bordering on punishing. They're still the puppet masters and I, the puppet, am trapped in their embrace.

Over and over, they fuck me.

Deep and unforgiving, their thrusts pierce deep within me. Heat settles in my stomach and blazes outward through my limbs. In its wake, tension coils.