Page 99 of The Psychopaths

I’m climbing higher and higher, getting closer and closer to the finish line. Aries can sense it, and his hand moves from my hair down to my throat, circling it like a necklace. He squeezes just enough, the pressure blending with pleasure, while his cock rips me apart, forcing my body to accept him.

I’m being claimed, marked, ruined—and some dark part of me revels in it.

“You’re. Mine,” he snarls in my face, his eyes dark, his features tight.

I barely recognize him as the man who I’ve slowly fallen in love with over the past couple of years.

“Please,” I gasp, needing just a little bit more.

The moment shatters with explosive violence when Aries is forcibly removed from my body by Arson, who tackles him, a murderous rage in his eyes. Their bodies collide in a cosmic way, rolling across the wet floor.

“You’re a fucking animal,” Arson snarls, his fist connecting with Aries’s jaw.

“And you’re just a pretty replacement,” Aries spits back, blood spraying from his split lip.

“I should kill you,” Arson says, lunging at his brother.

Run. Get help.

The thought penetrates the fog of arousal briefly, only to be swept away by another wave of need. I’m back to feeling hollow again, aching with need in the absence of Aries’s cock. I press my thighs together, seeking friction, relief, anything to ease the burning hunger. I was so close, so fucking close. Through the red haze of desire, I’m left helpless to watch them fight—two versions of the same face, one marked by years of captivity, the other by years of institutional control. And me, spread open and wanting between them, unable to tell which I crave more. Arson gains the upper hand with a vicious elbow to Aries’s temple, sending his brother crashing into the wall. The impact is enough to momentarily stun Aries, leaving him slumped against the concrete.

“Enough games,” Arson snarls, wiping blood from his mouth as he stalks back toward me. His eyes rake over my sprawledform—legs still spread, pussy glistening with arousal and tinged with blood from Aries’s rough claim.

Instead of disgust, his expression darkens with renewed hunger.

“He hurt you,” Arson observes, dropping to his knees between my thighs. His fingers trace the smear of blood on my inner thigh, coming away stained crimson. “Always the animal. No control.”

I should feel shame at being examined so clinically, but the chemicals still racing through my system transform everything into heightened sensation. His touch sends shivers across my skin, my hips lifting involuntarily toward his hand.

“Please,” I whimper, beyond pride or reason. “Need... need...”

“Need what?” Arson’s voice drops lower, thumb circling my clit with precise pressure that makes me cry out. “Need to be filled again? Need to be fucked properly?”

“Yes,” I gasp, arching as he slides two fingers inside me, testing my readiness.

“Still so tight,” he murmurs, working me open with deliberate movements so different from Aries’s frantic claiming. “Even after he tried to ruin you.”

He positions himself at my entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging where I’m swollen and sensitive. Unlike Aries, he eases forward slowly, watching my face as he claims me inch by careful inch.

“That’s it,” he encourages as my body yields to him. “Take all of me.”

The stretch burns slightly, my tissues still tender from Aries’s brutal entry, but Arson’s controlled pace allows me to adjust. He fills me completely, bottoming out with a groan that vibrates through his chest.

“You are mine.” He echoes his brother’s claim, but where Aries was desperate, Arson is matter-of-fact. A statement of ownership.

He begins to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, hitting places inside me that make my vision blur. My legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, my body responding despite the lingering pain.

“Look,” he commands, one hand reaching between us to where we’re joined. His fingers come away with a mixture of blood and arousal. “Virgin blood. Mine to take. Mine to claim.”

The sight should horrify me, but in my altered state, it feels like a primitive marking. My walls clench around him at the thought, drawing a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“That’s it,” he encourages, pace increasing. “Take what he couldn’t give you. Take what only I can.”

His thrusts grow harder, deeper, the controlled rhythm faltering as pleasure builds. I’m stretched around him, filled completely, the pain and pleasure inseparable as he reclaims what his brother tried to take.

A roar of vicious fury is the only warning we get that Aries isn’t done yet, and seconds later, he slams into Arson. The impact sends Arson to his knees, and he loses his grip on me. Pain ricochets up my spine when I land against the concrete.

Aries is more strategic and less wild this time. He drives his knee into Arson’s stomach, following it with a vicious uppercut that snaps his brother’s head back. The wet slap of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the corridor as they trade blows.

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