Page 90 of Broken By Silence
Archer leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then let us take care of you. Let us make you forget everything but us. Let Crew make you feel good.”
All I can do is nod.
That’s all the permission Crew needs. I don’t even hear him move. He moves like a shadow, but now he’s right in front of me, on his knees. His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, pushing the short silk robe I’m wearing out of his way. The cool air of the room kisses my bare ass.
“Just focus on this,” Crew murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “Just focus on how my mouth makes you feel.”
He doesn’t give me time to overthink it—what this means.
He simply pulls me back against him, his strong arms wrapping around my thighs to hold me steady, and heburieshis face between my legs.
A sharp gasp punches out of me. My head falls back against Archer’s chest as Crew’s tongue finds my center. He doesn’t start soft or exploratory—he goes in like a man starved of his favourite drug, a flat, firm stroke right through my slit that has my knees buckling. He keeps going like he’s afraid I might change my mind.
Archer holds me upright, his hands moving from my shoulders to cradle my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples and rolling them into hard, aching points. “That’s it, baby. Just feel it,” he growls in my ear.
Oscar watches us, a dark, pleased smile playing on his lips as he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves like this is a job he’s ready to get started on. His eyes are hot on me, missing nothing.
But my wide eyes are fixed on the mirror, on the reflection of Crew devouring me. The sight of it is so lewd, so much that it should embarrass me… but all it does is send another jolt of pure heat straight to my core. His tongue is relentless. It flicks and circles my clit with a precision that steals the air from my lungs. Every lick is a promise, every suck a vow to erase the memory of any other touch he ever gave me. He laps at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste, and a broken, needy sound rips from my throat.
The fear, the anxiety—it’s all being washed away in a rising tide of sensation. The pain in my neck is a distant echo, replaced by the building, coiling tension low in my belly. My fingers dig intoArcher’s arms as he pinches my nipples, the sharp pleasure-pain a perfect counterpoint to Crew’s merciless mouth.
I can hear how wet I am, the slick, filthy sounds of his worship filling the quiet room. I can see the dark intensity in Elijah’s eyes as he watches, his chest rising and falling fast. I see Roman’s white-knuckled grip on the armchair.
Crew slides two fingers inside me, curling them, and my vision whites out for a second.
Oh god.
He finds that spot inside me instantly, rubbing it in a steady, punishing rhythm that makes my entire body clench. His tongue never stops its work on my clit, the dual assault shattering the last of my control and the last of my ability to keep him away.
I’m not thinking about Lorenzo anymore. I’m not thinking about the bruises. I’m only thinking about the pressure building inside of me, a wave getting ready to crash. My breaths are ragged sobs now, each one punctuated by a thrust of Crew’s fingers.
“Look at them, Lottie,” Archer commands, his voice rough. “Look at them watching you come apart.”
My eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed, drag over to the mirror, to Elijah and Roman.
Their want is a physical thing, a heat I can feel across the room. They’re trapped there, forced to witness this, to see how well I’m being taken care of without them.
The thought, the image, the incredible feel of Crew’s mouth—it all collides.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train. It’s brutal and overwhelming, a raw scream tearing from my throat as my body convulses against Crew’s face. He holds me through it, his fingers pumping, his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave until I’m boneless, held up only by Archer’s strong arms.
Crew finally gentles his touch, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on my inner thigh before leaning back on his heels. He looks up at me, his chin glistening, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
I’m panting, trying to remember how to form words. Archer nuzzles into my hair. “Better?”
A weak, breathy laugh escapes me.“A little.”
Oscar finally moves, stepping forward, his eyes burning with a new intent.“Good.”
My heart isa frantic drum against my ribs, but now the rhythm is one of raw want, not fear. Oscar’s eyes never leave mine, possessive and sharp.“Do you still want them to stay? They need to see. Need to understand what they’re waiting for… What they still have to earn.”
My eyes flick to Elijah and Roman, still bound to their chairs. Elijah’s jaw is clenched so tight I think it might break, his knuckles white where they grip the armrests. His gaze is a physical weight, full of a desperate hunger that borders on pain.
Roman is a state of pure, frustrated need, his eyes dark and burning, drinking in every detail of my naked, flushed skin. Every clench of his jaw seems to make the snakes that run down his face move as if they are real. A shiver runs through me, a complex cocktail of power and vulnerability.
They’re being punished, and a part of me loves it.
I nod while signing.“Yes.”
