by Eva Ashwood
“Jesus.” Gray breaks the seal of our lips, pressing small kisses to my jaw and corners of my mouth as he breathes hard. “What do you want, Sparrow? What do you need?”
If I were more coherent, I might be stunned that Gray “Motherfucking” Eastwood is asking me what I want. That he looks like he’s prepared to give it to me, no matter what it is.
But I’m not really in a place to analyze anything right now. I’m skating on a knife’s edge between pleasure and panic, and I know which side I want to fall toward.
So I turn my head to catch his lips again, then whisper against them, “Make me come. Please.”
“Fuck.”
He grabs my chin, pulling back farther this time to look down at me. His gaze flicks to his two friends again before he hauls me up into his arms. He palms my ass as I wrap my legs around him, then strides toward his bedroom.
Not a word is spoken between the three men, but Declan and Elias are right behind us, and when Gray lays me down on his mattress, they all crawl up onto the bed with me. Then hands are on me again, and now there’s not even a hint of pretense that anything about this is platonic.
Declan’s hands find my breasts, squeezing them together and tweaking my nipples through the fabric of my shirt and bra, and my mouth drops open as I stare up at him.
Fuck, I needed this. I didn’t even know how much until right this minute.
Elias’s hands move over my stomach before delving lower, and Gray skates his palms up my legs. My eyelids are heavy as fuck, weighed down by the sensations coursing through me, and even though I don’t want to look away from the deep brown of Declan’s eyes, I can’t fight it anymore.
Darkness consumes me as my eyelids fall closed.
It’s not the terrifying darkness of an episode or a panic attack though. Instead, I feel like I’m floating, like my body is being carried away by the hungry, demanding hands on me.
And I am being lifted, I realize.
The men are working together to take my clothes off, tugging my shirt over my head and unsnapping my bra, pulling my pants down my legs and slipping off my shoes.
When calloused fingers skim across my lower belly just above the waistband of my underwear, I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Sparrow.”
Gray’s voice calls me up from the depths of the ecstasy I’m floating in, and I blink my eyes open to find him kneeling between my legs. He slips two fingers into my panties, teasing me with their proximity to my pussy, so close to where I need them.
“Is this what you want?”
His voice is heated, loaded with meaning, and my gaze flicks from him to Declan and Elias. The two other men are settled on either side of me, and Declan’s fingers graze the underside of my bare breast.
I’ve never done this before. Never hooked up with three men at once. Never lain naked on a bed with three men staring down at me like they want to devour me.
Goose bumps break out over my skin, and my breath hitches.
This will change everything, a little voice in my head whispers.
I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m beyond caring at this point. Lifting my hips off the bed a little, I urge Gray’s hand lower. “Yes.”
His fingers curl, hooking the fabric of my panties and tugging the soft material down my legs. He tosses them aside, then slides his hands up my legs, spreading my thighs wide. Spreading me wide.
When his hands move up even higher, he runs his fingers through my slick folds, spreading my arousal all over my pussy.
“Oh, God, Blue. Fucking hell.”
Elias sounds a little dazed, and my gaze shifts to him as he moves his hand down the flat expanse of my stomach. His fingers slide through my curls and join Gray in his exploration of my pussy, and the addition of a second man’s touch makes my pulse skyrocket.
I’ve lost track of why I came here. For this moment, the shredded pieces of my art are a distant memory, barely even real.
There’s nothing but Gray’s thick fingers and Elias’s blunt ones gliding over my clit, dipping inside me, teasing my entrance.
“You’re so wet.” Elias clamps his lip between his teeth as he and Gray push their fingers into my tight pussy at the same time. “You like this?”
I nod fervently, then reach up and grab Declan’s hand from my boob, shoving it down to join the others. There’s something so filthy and delicious about feeling all of them touch me like this, and it’s making me strung out with need.
Declan lets out a soft groan, flicking his finger back and forth over my clit and watching the shudder that ripples through my body in response. They’ve each got one hand between my legs and one on some other part of me now, and it feels somehow like all six of their hands are connected, like they’re completing some kind of feedback loop inside my body.
My stomach clenches and contracts as my hips roll upward off the mattress, trying to fuck their hands.
I have no idea if they’ve ever done anything like this before, although I sort of doubt it. But they’re fucking good at it. Their focus is entirely on me as they finger fuck me and work my clit in tandem, switching off seamlessly until I’m a writhing, whimpering mess beneath them.
Gray lowers his head to bite at my inner thigh as Declan and Elias kiss my mouth, my neck, my breasts, and my shoulders. Through it all, their fingers keep moving, hungry and demanding.
“Are you gonna come for us, Sparrow?” Gray growls against my skin, biting my thigh again as he and Declan both shove their fingers inside me, finding a matching rhythm as Elias strokes my clit. “This is what you wanted, right? Then come. Let us see you fucking lose it.”
Before the last word is even out of Gray’s mouth, Elias scrapes his teeth over my nipple.
And I give them what they want.
I take what I want.
My core clenches hard around the blunt intrusion of fingers, and I reach down, clutching at their hands as my hips drive upward, like I’m trying to force them deeper inside me. Elias’s fingers keep working my clit, and I can feel the frantic movement beneath my palm.
A ragged scream pours from my lips as the orgasm finally crests, sending ecstasy radiating through me.
We’re all wet.
Their fingers are soaked, and now mine are wet too. There might even be a fucking puddle beneath me.
But it’s hard for me to care about that when I’m floating again, my body so suffused with pleasure that I feel weightless. I finally release the guys’ hands and drag my own hand back up my stomach, smearing my arousal over my lower belly.
When all three men withdraw their fingers from my pussy and lick them, I almost come again on the spot. My thighs press together instinctively at the sight, tightening around Gray, who’s still kneeling between my legs. He grins as he feels me squeeze him, then drops his head and very deliberately laps up the gleaming trail of wetness I left on my stomach.
My eyelids droop, little sparks shooting through my body even as post-orgasm exhaustion begins to drain the tension from my muscles.
Gray tilts his head a little to look up at me, and something changes in his expression. The playful hunger I saw in his eyes a second ago is gone, replaced by something more somber. More serious.
As Declan and Elias draw back a little, Gray moves up my body until his large frame is hovering over mine. He cups the side of my face with one hand while his other braces on the mattress, his eyes locked on mine.
“You okay?”
I blink up at him, my brows pulling together.
That’s two for two on shit I never thought would happen. Gray Eastwood asking me what I need and Gray Eastwood caring if I’m okay.
I am okay, but I also don’t know how to handle the fact that he’s asking, so I nod quickly, trying to dislodge his hand with the movement.
It works. Or at least, he moves his hand, although maybe it wasn’t because of me.
Both palms come to rest on the mattress beside my head, and he stares down at me, his gaze penetrating.
“None of us touched your paintings, Sparrow. I swear it.”
21
Gray’s blue-green eyes are hooded and dark, and sincerity burns in the depths of his irises.
I refused to believe his words when I was sinking below the heavy waves of a panic attack, but now, with the tension finally draining from my body and my mind regaining a little clarity, it’s hard not to.
I hate that he might be telling the truth.
My life would be easier in some fucked up way if the Sinners had been the ones to destroy my art. It would finally force me to make a clean break from them. It would hammer the final nail into the coffin of whatever strange, chaotic feelings exist between the four of us.
Because I could never forgive them for that.
“I’m serious, Sparrow,” he says softly, trailing a finger over the lines of one of my tattoos as he speaks. “None of us would do that. I’ve seen your pieces, and I know—we know—how much they mean to you. That’s the kind of shit we don’t fuck with.”
I clench my jaw, wanting to draw away from his touch, from the feel of Elias’s large, warm body on one side of me and Declan’s on the other. But I can’t quite force myself to move yet. Whatever my heart may have to say about this bullshit, my body clearly has an addiction, and like any good addict, it binges on them every chance it gets.
But I can’t stay here. This bubble the four of us are in right now isn’t real life, and I can’t let myself forget that.
“Yeah, alright,” I say.
It’s not quite an acceptance and it’s not quite a denial, but it’s the best I can offer. I slide out from under him and slip off the bed before any of them can stop me, gathering my clothes quickly and tugging them on.
I step toward the door, then turn back, trying not to notice how fucking gorgeous they all look. When we first ended up on the bed, I was still deep in the throes of my attack, and I didn’t really get a chance to appreciate all that sculpted, firm muscle. All that man.
Too bad I never will again.
Pinning my focus on Gray’s eyes to stop my gaze from wandering, I lift my chin. “You still have the ID card you stole from me?”
He nods.
“And you swear you didn’t use it to wreck my pieces?” My throat tightens as I force the last words out.
“Yes.”
I swallow, then hold my hand out. “Give it back.”
He climbs off the bed and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling out the little plastic card he took from my back pocket the day they dragged me into the storage closet. Then he crosses the room and places it into my outstretched palm, his hand lingering on mine for a moment.
“Do you want help?” he asks. “Cleaning up?”
The simple question almost breaks me all over again. I’m honestly not sure I can go back to my room and face the scattered pieces of my soul on my own. But I refuse to lean on them for this. If I do, I’m afraid my addiction will turn into something else. Something far more dangerous.
Real, true need.
“No.” My voice is rough, blunt. “I clean up my own messes.”
Gray’s expression shifts a little, something almost like pain or regret flashing through his features. But he doesn’t say anything else, just nods and steps back, leaving me free to go.
I turn toward the door once more, but before I reach it, Elias’s voice stops me.
“Blue?”
I bite my lip, not looking back. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
The tight ache in my chest squeezes, and I can’t tell if it’s pain or relief or… or what.
My throat tightens around a lump, and I try to swallow it down, dipping my head in a nod of acknowledgement before I leave the room. When I step outside the men’s dorm building, the campus is dark and quiet, just a few people walking across the manicured lawns. The cool air feels good on my flushed skin, and I try to gather strength from it as I head slowly back toward my building.
I text Max on the way.
Maybe I’m strong enough to face this without men I don’t even know if I can trust by my side, but I need someone with me.
Max is a blaze of pure fury by the time she meets me outside my dorm. “What the actual fuck, Sophie? You have no idea who did this?”
I shake my head. My certainty that it was the Sinners has bled away, leaving nothing but blank confusion in its wake.
She pulls me into a tight hug, and I go stiff in her embrace for a second. I’m not a fucking hugger, never have been, but the fierceness of her hold eases something inside me. I wrap my arms around her, letting myself draw a deep breath for the first time since I left Gray’s dorm.
“Do you want me to handle it?” she asks. “I can bag everything up before you go in.”
“No.” I shake my head, stepping back from her. “I need to do it. I need to see.”
Her lips pull to the side in a grimace, but she nods understandingly.
It doesn’t take us long to clean up. I force my mind to go blank as we shove pieces of paper and shredded canvas into several big garbage bags. They’re not pieces of me anymore, I remind myself. They’re just hunks of trash now.
Max stays over all night, and we barely sleep, drinking cheap whiskey and bullshitting about absolutely nothing. It helps, even though the eerily blank walls around us feel oppressive and strange.
The last time I fucked Gray, he was the one to pull away after, going cold and distant as if he wanted to pretend it had never happened.
This time, it’s me.
I keep all three of the Sinners at arm’s length over the next week, not searching out Declan in the stairwell or meeting Gray’s gaze when he stares at me from across the dining hall. When Elias catches me after class one day and tries to talk to me, I brush him off.
Whatever he wants to say, I don’t think I’m ready to hear it.
They didn’t wreck my art. I’m almost sure of it. But the missing pieces, the blank spaces on my wall, are fucking with my head. I feel raw, vulnerable, and exposed, like I’ve lost every scrap of the armor I spent years building up around myself.
I still don’t know who did do it. Max confronted Caitlin the day after everything was destroyed, and the two of them almost got into a fucking brawl—but Caitlin insisted she didn’t have any idea what Max was talking about, and her confusion seemed genuine.
So that leaves me with no solid leads. On a campus of a few thousand students, one of them tried to hurt me more than anyone else ever has.
One of them broke into my room.
One of them has a brutal vendetta against me.
My dreams have stopped. My body and mind are edging back into numbness. I try to paint, to replace the pieces that got destroyed, but I can’t do it. I stare for hours at blank canvasses, unable to add a single brushstroke of paint to them.
I’m afraid to put my heart outside my body a second time.
Not after it was nearly destroyed once.
Whatever needed to be let out of me when I painted them, whatever I poured out onto the canvas as a way of processing my emotions, it’s gone now. I feel… incomplete.
Thank fuck for Max. She doesn’t let me retreat entirely into myself, but there’s only so much she can do. I keep studying, and I keep going to class, but everything else becomes a sort of blur. Everywhere I go, my shoulders stay hunched and tense, and my eyes dart around suspiciously. I’ve started to hate this school, to hate everyone in it—to believe the little voice in my head that’s been whispering from the start, you don’t belong here.
On the first Friday of December, there’s a shift in the air as all the students start counting down the days until winter break, laughing and joking and talking about what their plans are. What fancy ski resort they’re going to, or what private tropical beach they’ll be on.
Fuck that.
And fuck them.
When class ends, I don’t even try to go back to my room and paint. I can’t stand the thought of staring at another blank canva
s, trying to find an ounce of creative spark inside my soul.
So I head off campus, escaping the claustrophobic, manicured grounds of Hawthorne. There’s a dive bar that’s about a twenty minute drive from school—it’s a longer walk, but I walk anyway. Max could drive if I invited her, but I need to be alone for a little while, to down a few whiskeys in silence.
The place is eerily reminiscent of The Silent Hour, complete with worn, cracked vinyl on the barstools and half-broken neon beer signs behind the bar. It takes effort not to glance at the door every time it opens, some stupid part of me hoping against all reason and logic that Gray will step inside. That all of the Sinners will.
They don’t, of course, and I rest my elbows on the bar and sip my whiskey until the burn in my throat turns to nothing more than a slight hint of warmth and my limbs feel a little leaden.
A few hours later, I slap a few bills on the bar—courtesy of the stash under my mattress—and head back out into the night.
I don’t feel better, exactly. But at least my heart doesn’t hurt quite as much.
The throbbing ache in my chest builds a little as I near the Hawthorne grounds, as if my body is rebelling at the idea of setting foot back on campus. I can’t blame it. No part of me really wants to, and the only thing that keeps me going back is sheer pig-headed stubbornness.
I’m walking down a side street, the imposing buildings of Hawthorne looming ahead of me, when I catch sight of a figure across the street.
It’s Cliff, and he’s heading in the opposite direction as me, away from campus.
Not in the mood to deal with him right now, I drop my head a little and pick up my pace, striding quickly down the sidewalk. But he notices me anyway, veering off course and crossing the street to meet me.
“Hey, Sophie.” He grins at me, his red hair taking on a dark cast in the dim light. “What are you up to?”
“Just getting a drink,” I say, hoping he’ll get the hint when I keep walking.
He doesn’t.
“Yeah? Where at?” Cliff falls into step beside me, looking down at me with interested eyes.