Page 6 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

SKYE

TWISTED INTO SUBMISSION

The lumberjack looming over me is huge compared to Carter. Over the past few years, I became used to my ex’s lean body and accustomed to his size and weight.

This man is nothing like Carter.

West’s chest is so broad, it obliterates everything behind him from my view. The swirling ink over his pecs, shoulders, and arms is so intense that barely any skin is visible. His belly is tight and firm, with a dusting of hair that runs down, down, down to the jut of a cock so big, I can’t even fathom how he’ll get it inside me.

But it’s his face that I can’t take my eyes off. Shorn dark hair peppered with silver makes him seem severe, and his eyes are dark and hard. Weathered, tanned skin stretches over a rugged masculine bone structure that shouldn’t appeal to me, but it does. His lips are soft and glistening from the pleasure he gave to me. It’s stupid, but I want him to kiss me with that mouth.

This man is a stranger.

A stranger who wants to do things to me that only a lover should do.

Except the man who said he loved me proved to me time and time again that he didn’t, and now the space between my thighs feels used up and disconnected from my mind and my body. Or rather, it did until West made stars flash behind my eyelids and heat swamp my brain until I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t remember where I was.

He made me orgasm like it was as simple as flicking a light switch from off to on.

At my confession, he froze over me with wide eyes like I took a skewer and pushed it slowly into his heart.

Next to me, Finn’s attention flicks between me and his friend, and Jack makes a low, growling, impatient sound.

For a moment, it’s like my soul leaves my body, and I’m looking down at myself in this strange room that’s more homely than the home I ran from. I’m surrounded by strange men who I dread less than the man who promised me the Earth and then forced me to stare into the depths of hell. Separated from myself like this, I can endure the violation of the cock poised to enter me. I can keep the breaths entering my lungs and hold the beat of my heart back from racing away.

Seconds tick by, and West seems torn. Then Jack mutters something about needing to step in to show West how it’s done, and that’s what brings West back into the room.

I’m wet between my legs, but the press of West’s thick cock is still a violation that burns. He presses deep but moves slowly, proving himself more considerate than I expected, pulling back, and pushing forward, advancing inch by inch until I’m aching inside. Our bodies linked, I stare at his throat, where a tattooedspear points from his chest to his ear. I watch the thin skin flutter with his blood, the pulse faster than it should be.

He moves like the ocean, fucking into me in waves, his eyes fixed on my face. His hands, still braced around my wrists, are harsh, but his hips are liquid, swirling against me until I feel like I might break apart and be washed away, never to be found again.

“Fuck,” he cries out, speeding as I come again like a whip cracking against ravaged flesh. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m a body that’s become separated from the mind that occupies it. I’m skin and bone and soft flesh torn open by this man who now owns me from my toes to the tips of my long, tangled hair.

Carter used to like to fuck me in front of a mirror, watching himself steal pleasure from my body. I didn’t pretend to enjoy it and it never seemed to bother him. West looks directly into my eyes when he spills inside me, swelling and seizing, groaning with a release he seems to believe is not quite real. When he’s done, he staggers back like he’s been shot, releasing my wrists, bracing himself on legs that seem uncertain, his trunk of a chest heaving.

Finn, who’s closest, bends over me, his blue eyes like the sky I used to stare into as a child when I’d spun myself into dizziness and fallen to the ground.

I’m dizzy now, too.

His sweet blond curls flop over his forehead, angelic almost.

“Skye.”

I blink, wondering if it’s a question or just an expression of some emotion he can’t express.

When he bends to press his lips onto mine, I freeze, but his mouth is soft, and he takes the time to make the kiss teasing rather than invasive.

I spin like I’m drunk, telling myself to endure but finding myself slipping into pleasure that I don’t know whether to greet or resist.

Finn’s fingers fumble with the remaining buttons of my new shirt until they’re released, and my breasts are bared to the room. His mouth moves to suck my nipples into stiff, wet points, sending electric sparking between my thighs. His hands discover all the softness I have, kneading and kneading as though I’m made of dough, and he wants to shape me into something that will please him. He hauls me onto his lap like I weigh nothing, pressing my body against the rock-hard plains of his chest. He smells of fir trees and cinnamon, of wood chips and winter, and he buries his face in my neck, inhaling my scent and moaning at the discovery.

It’s easy to slide down onto his waiting cock. West has already spread me like butter and I’m dripping his cum. I don’t need to move because Finn’s bossy hands direct my movements, taking what he needs. Greedy fingers grab my ass, pulling me against the ridge of his pubic bone as he thrusts up into me like a jackhammer.

In his arms, I’m a wisp of a person. Insubstantial but necessary, out of control but bringing about the tumble of these men into utter weakness.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Finn gasps, and then his mouth finds mine, and his tongue slides inside, and I spin again.

This shouldn’t feel good.

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