Page 40 of Monsters in My Bed
He smiles, and I sense contentment shine through him at my easy acquiesce. “Who wants to join me in torturing our mate?”
I try to sit up, surprised at his words, but Seriq continues to pin me down. “You’re sharing?”
“I got what I wanted. Besides, it’s so much more fun trying to stuff as many cocks into your holes while you cry out in pleasure.”
“Ugh…” I trail off, my mind in the gutter with the erotic image of all my guys trying to fuck me at once. “Does this mean therapy is over?”
Mark grunts. “Yep. And I prescribe everyone a round of orgasms. Doctor’s orders.”
I laugh. “That’s so cheesy!”
He arches a brow. “So you don't want orgasms?”
“Not what I said!”
In a fluid motion, he shifts into his hulking Vasura. “You heard her, guys. Edge her until the very end.”
My eyes round while my body pulses. Poor Roxy. It might be hours before we get to her, but I know she adores having Asha and Elic around to play with Torjin just as I relish playing with my mates.
Who would’ve thought my happily ever meant loving the monsters under my bed.
twenty
SERA
I’dalwayshatedthecolor pink.
However, as I grew up and opened my eyes to societal expectations, I realized it wasn’t the color I hated. It was everything that accompanied the stereotype of a female saying they liked pink.
That it made us girly, housemakers, and one day mothers. It was “femininity” personified in a color, and I fucking hated it.
I hated being boxed into an image that didn’t fit me.
I hated being told that I would be an incredible mother and wife one day, even though I was as single as it got.
Couldn’t I be more than that?
Or was I not enough as I was right now?
As I stared at the big red circle on the white page of my wall calendar, I was reminded there was something I hated more than all of that.
I hated my life being controlled by the government. I hated feeling like I had to suppress my anger, that I wasn’t allowed to show displeasure with how my life was governed. The older I grew, the more I resented this censorship we lived with daily.
Deep down, I knew the persona I let everyone see was a subdued, meek version of how I felt inside. We couldn’t afford to have an ember of fire within us, lest it turn into the light that sparked a mutiny.
The ring of red around the date two days from now symbolized my freedom from that. A genuine smile lifted the corners of my lips—an expression I hadn’t made in far too long—as I stared at my birthday. I was really looking forward to letting this five-thousand pound boulder that weighed so heavily on me roll away into the abyss, never to be seen again.
Ever since I turned eighteen, I spent each day in fear that it would be my last. Each morning since, I woke up and crossed off the day prior, thankful that I was one day closer to becoming twenty-five.
And here I was, just forty-eight hours from the shackles falling off and society being unable to control me any longer.
Forty-eight hours until my life was my own.
Forty-eight hours until I would no longer be eligible to be offered up as a sacrifice to uphold the treaty between The Above and The Below.
Tearing my eyes away from the calendar, I padded towards the fridge and grabbed a water bottle before sinking into my beige couch. Cracking the top open, I let the cold liquid pour down my throat as I considered what we really knew about the treaty.
As I swallowed, I realized we truly didn’t know jackshit. The thought made me chuckle because that’s really all I could do. We were like lambs to the slaughter, never questioning, just obeying. It was pathetically sad, the life we lived.
