Page 26 of Save Me
Cal watches with a predatory stillness. “Are you sure she gets it, Quen?” His voice is deceptively calm, but there’s an edge to it that suggests he’d jump in at a moment’s notice if I faltered.
“She gets it,” I reply without looking at him. My focus is on Vogue, on reasserting the twisted dynamic we’ve built amidst chaos and carnage.
Her eyes are glassy with tears that don’t fall—pride or fear, who fucking knows anymore? But her body betrays her; it arches into mine despite how fucked up this all is.
Having been worked up by her hot, dirty mouth, I come quickly, unloading into her pussy with an orgasm that won’t quit.
Pulling out, Cal replaces me. There’s no gentleness when he settles between Vogue’s thighs. There’s only ownership—an unspoken claim that we all know rests on dangerous ground. We tread the line between possession and obsession, the latter always threatening to swallow us whole.
We’re not gentle with her. This isn’t about love—not in this moment. It’s about penance—hers for straying too close to the fire and getting burned, ours for letting her get close enough to need saving in the first place.
Cal fucks her hard, fast. It’s over within minutes. He grunts loudly, his cum mingling with mine deep inside our girl. Harry takes his place, quickly thrusting his cock into her, taking what he needs from her as we watch this degradation of Vogue Jameson. He doesn’t last much longer than Cal or I did. When he’s finished with her, he steps back, and Thayer moves into place. He is still raw from all of this, from seeing her in that flat. He lifts her up and turns her around, forcing her to her hands and knees on the couch. He slaps her ass hard, and she cries out.
“Never do that again, baby girl,” he almost purrs, and it stirs my cock back into action.
Good, because this is far from over.
9
VOGUE
Thayer isn’tgentle with me. With all this fucked-up tension hanging in the air, he’s like a storm waiting to break. I try not to flinch as his hand comes down again, a stinging reminder of my fuck-up. Each slap echoes around the room, ricocheting through my skull, mingling with memories of Westfield and that seedy flat and killing Leonard. His blood is still on my hands, dried and flaking off as Thayer doles out a punishment that is just. He has taken this harder than the others, even though they all have walls, his were fragile. Begging almost to be pulled down, and I did, and then I hurt him without meaning to.
“Say you’re sorry,” Thayer growls behind me, his voice thick with something dark and heavy.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, my voice a broken whisper.
He shoves his fingers inside my pussy and crooks them, making me moan, but he withdraws, making me pant for more.
But what he does next shocks me.
He runs his wet fingers over my asshole before inserting his finger, stretching me, prepping me. I’ve never done anal before. The clients had asked me multiple times in the past and I always refused.
I stiffen up in response to the invasion in my virgin hole.
“Thayer,” I rasp, hoarse with alarm.
“Shut up and take my cock in your ass like a good little pet, baby girl.”
He rams his cock inside me, and I whimper as the pain burns. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back.
“I’m riding your ass hard, baby girl. Don’t you want me to enjoy fucking you?”
“Fuck,” I sob as his words hit me hard this time. “Thayer.”
But there’s this fucked-up part in my soul that doesn’t ask him to stop. It’s painful and perfect, and I fucking hate that I love it.
He doesn’t slow down, his cock thrusting into me with brutal precision. Every thrust is a claim, every grunt from his lips a silent promise that things will be different after tonight. That if we survive this shitstorm, we’ll come out the other side stronger—or more fucked up. It’s a toss-up at this point.
I feel his fingers digging into my hips, sure to leave bruises that will match the ones on my soul. “You belong to us,” he repeats. “To me. I marked you. That means you come to me if you have a problem. Do you understand me, baby girl?”
My answer is choked when it eventually spills from my lips. “Yes.”
His rhythm doesn’t relent, and I’m lost in the disconnectedness of pleasure and punishment. Each thrust is a reminder of my place in this twisted world we’ve woven together. It’s sick, and it’s twisted, but as Thayer pounds into my ass, there’s a fucked-up sense of homecoming—that I belong here with these men who are just as damaged as me.
It’sright.
The room is silent except for the sounds of my choked sobs that turn into moans and Thayer’s visceral grunts. We each wear our pain for the others to see and it feels like we’re sheddinglayers, exposing the raw wounds beneath. Maybe we’ll heal; maybe we’ll bleed out. Fuck knows, but that’s the savage beauty of it.
