Page 16 of Bound By Ruin

Because ifI’mthe one to put her back together, what pieces are left for my brothers?

I grit my teeth as I jerk the tail end of my belt through the loop and unsnap the buckle. If I can’t have her, then at least I can havethis—the scraps that I’ve stolen from under their noses. This room wasn’t meant to have access to more than the club’s lower level security feed, but I rigged it to reach every corner of the upper floors, too. There’s a camera in each of my brother’s bedrooms, their living room; hell, even thebathrooms.Rage was thorough with its installation, and it feels foolish to waste technology.

I might as well use it.

Rage greets her in the living room, barely listening to her speak before he tosses the hunting knives in her hands to the floor and lifts her into his arms, carrying her bridal style into his bedroom. He sets her down on her feet and begins undressing her from head to toe, peeling off her clothes and kissing each new inch of skin revealed.

That could have been me ten minutes ago.

While my brother lifts her again and transports her into his shower, I tug my pants below my hips, letting them clatter to the floor from the weight of my weapons’ holsters. I don’t give a damn about them when Celia is naked right in front of me, her skin still flushed from our encounter in this very room. I breathe in deep and imagine that I can smell her desire, feel the weight of her body on mine as shove my boxers out of the way to grip my cock, pretending that the heat of my palm is hers instead.

The steam in Rage’s bathroom obscures some of the image, but I watch closely through the glass shower wall as he steps in behind her. Rather than touch her, he reaches over her head for a bottle of body wash, lathers his hands, and begins caressing her body.

Someone else steps into the room with a grumbled shout, and I watch as a naked Rebel forces himself inside the shower with the two of them, quickly taking up the space at Celia’s backside. He grabs a different bottle and squeezes soap into his hands, then scrubs Celia’s scalp.

This isn’t what I wanted to see.

With a hiss, I grip my shaft hard, willing my erection to subside, but it’s no use. I glance at the weapons on the wall, noting the few that were knocked askew when I shoved Celia against them, and one deep breath is all it takes for me to refocus on what could have been, right here in this very room.

Instead of my brothers spreading kisses down her spine and over her hips, it could have been me. I listen to the steady drum of water hitting the tile floor and imagine that I’m in there with them, breathing in as much steam, washing away the nightmare of the past twenty-four hours.

Celia’s voice fills the room as she moans, a high-pitched whine that nestles deep in my groin. My balls ache with a need for release, and I refocus on the monitor. With a few quick keystrokes and mouse clicks, I zoom in and enhance the image, getting a clear view of Rage kneeling between Celia’s thighs, with one of her legs draped over his shoulder to spread her wide open for him. She clutches the back of his head while hers falls back onto Rebel’s shoulder, and our middle brother is quick to devour her mouth.

Bitter jealousy roars to life inside my heart. Growling, I thrust harder into my palm, knowing that the sub-par friction is nothing compared to the smooth silk of Celia’s skin—or better yet, the golden honey dripping down her thighs. I imagine how molten her core is and how easily it would be to slide inside, to lose myself in the bliss of her body. Were I a different man, I might take it for myself without any thought to her own desires, but I’m not a monster.

I’m just a man unable to deny his baser impulses.

They work together to get her off, and then Rage slots himself between her thighs and slams home, making her cries echo throughout the room as he buries himself deep inside of her. Rebel seems fine with taking the brunt of her weight as they lift her off the floor, leaving her at their complete mercy.

Or lack thereof.

Rage pounds into her pussy with a vengeance that fills the air with the wet slap of their skin, his hands holding her hips in place, while Rebel busies himself with her breasts, her neck, the hollow of her throat and all the dirty things he moans into her ear.

I can hear them too, andfuck, if it doesn’t spur me on.

“You’re so wet for us, baby,” he breathes, slipping a hand over her stomach to reach for her clit. She gasps once he finds it, her body convulsing as both men teach her new heights to pleasure. Her moans turn into repeated cries thatzingdown my spine and directly into my balls, drawing them up as my release edges closer.

She isn’t wet for them, I tell myself.She’s wet for me.

Her wide, hazel eyes dilated beautifully once I had her pinned against the rack, my erection undeniable between us. During our training sessions, I’ve played with different positions—drawing my knee up between her thighs to grind my shaft against her ass, or flipping her onto her back just to watch her writhe and struggle beneath me, the feel of her hot breath on my neck as she fights to break free, panting and groaning and making me so fucking hard for her.

I could cut glass with my fucking dick every time I toss her around.

The first burst of my release is proof that I’m no saint. It jets out in a weak dribble that is quickly overcome by wave after wave of sticky cum, overflowing across my knuckles as I pump harder, faster, painting the brushed silver countertop in thick, pearly streaks.

As I cinch my forefinger and thumb beneath the tip and draw out every single drop, regret washes over me.

She deserves every ounce of my cum inside her womb.

I collapse onto the rubber mat on the floor and wipe the cum coating my hand onto my pant leg, grimacing as I notice a stream of white drip down the edge of the counter and onto the floor. I listen to every breath, every moan, every word shared between Celia, Rage, and Rebel, and wonder how they do it.

How do they share someone so completely without losing their minds? How do they know who is her favorite—or do they even care? If she spends the night in Rage’s bed, do the others not long for the weight of her head on their pillows instead? Or will they merge these little moments of their lives until they’re sharingeverything—not just the woman, but showers like this one, and breakfasts and dinners and dates in the city, evenings spent lounging on the sofa or wrapped in each other’s arms.

Is that what it means to be devoted to someone so completely that you’ll sacrifice independence just to be with them? To make them happy?

The three of them exit the shower and dry each other off. Rebel towels Celia’s hair dry while she gently pats Rage’s back dry, then both Rage and Celia turn around to help Rebel replace his soiled bandages with new ones.

I shift my attention to an adjacent monitor, the one inside Ruin’s bedroom. Although his room is normally dark, this time he’s left the light on. He’s sitting up in an unmade bed and lifting a joint to his lips, staring at the blank wall with a faraway look in his eyes as he breathes in deep, then exhales a thick cloud of smoke. Beside him, a thick chain is strung across the ceiling, with dozens of different types and sizes of rope draped over it, each one with various knots and ties looped through them. A closet door sits open with clothes overflowing into a messy pile trailing from the floor to the bed, and the bathroom door beside it bleeds dim light into the room. There’s little else—no pictures on the walls or memorabilia on bookshelves. There aren’t any shelves at all.

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