by Naomi Martin
Taking my hand, he leads me over to the bed. As noodle-legged and disoriented as I am at the moment, I need to feel him inside of me again. Gray pushes me down on the bed and, as he climbs on top of me, I part my thighs for him. He braces himself above me on his thick, corded arms, his eyes shining with an intense light of desire.
Without a word, Gray rolls his hips and plunges into me again, pushing until he’s fully sheathed within me. I grimace as he stretches me, that slight stab of pain cutting through my haze. But he slowly starts to move his hips, the shaft of his rod sliding along my slick inner walls, and the pleasure intensifies. He growls as he thrusts hard, our bodies crashing together almost violently.
His mouth finds my breast, licking and sucking on my stiff nipple. It sends a line of bright white light pleasure straight from my breast to my molten core, the pleasure I feel with Gray moving inside of me sending shockwaves to every corner of my body.
Locking my ankles behind his back, I dig my nails into his forearms, my body moving with his thunderous thrusts. I let out a stuttering gasp and feel Gray tensing and tightening. The veins in his neck stand out and I can tell he’s trying to hold himself back, not wanting to release just yet.
With my hand on the back of his neck, I pull him down into a kiss every bit as violent as the way he’s fucking me. Our tongues dash together and our teeth click, and when he pulls back, we share a slight laugh. But when he drives himself back into my core, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of me, my laughter turns into a near shriek. He covers my mouth with his, swallowing my cry.
I feel Gray’s cock swelling inside of me and his quickened, rasping breath tells me he’s close. That he’s not going to be able to hold out much longer. And the more he moves within me, the closer to the brink he pushes me, as well. He looks down into my eyes, his gaze smoldering and intense as our bodies move and writhe in unison. The connection I feel to him, both physically and emotionally, has never been stronger, and it makes my heart swell.
I squeeze his thick staff with my inner muscles, making it even tighter around him. He loses his rhythm, but a low growl passes his lips and I feel him begin to throb inside of me. Gray throws his head back and moans loudly as he bursts, shooting thick, warm cum into me. The feeling of his sticky seed filling me up pushes me over the edge and I cry out.
Together, we ride out the waves of pleasure. We both tremble as I squeeze him, milking every last drop out of his cock. Gray leans down and kisses me. It’s gentle and sweet, his lips conveying every ounce of the emotion he feels for me. I press my mouth to his even harder, making sure he can feel exactly what I feel for him, too.
It takes a few minutes, but I’m slowly able to catch my breath and my vision stops wavering. The lightheadedness I felt fades and I’m left with a goofy half-smile on my face. Gray looks down at me and grins, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
“That was incredible,” he says.
“Yeah, it was okay,” I reply with a smile. “I guess.”
He pins me to the bed with the weight of his body and tickles me. “Just okay, huh?”
I squeal and laugh, batting at him to get him to stop. But then his softening cock slips out of me and I feel the rush of fluid spill out with it. Still laughing, he rolls off of me, flopping onto his back on my narrow bed. Pulling myself onto my side, I lay my head on his chest and listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat, tracing circles on his flat, taut belly with my fingertips.
We lay together in silence for a long while, each of us seeming to relish the warm glow that envelops us. My mind is awash in feelings and sensation but still can’t seem to help but remind me of the fact that I’ve now slept with all of my boys. And each of them makes love in a way that’s as different as their personalities.
Each of them brings me something unique, both in life and in bed. And I love it. I love how different they are and how differently they express themselves physically. Call me a slut if you will—I’m sure many would—but I love being with all of them. And if I get the chance, I’ll sleep with all of them again.
But then an unwanted thought slips into my mind. When the time comes, how can I choose between them? Who do I want to be with and who can I afford to cut out? I can’t be with all of them—can I? I don’t know if it’s something I can do, let alone any of them. Especially knowing that Elliot and Gray, at least, don’t like sharing.
Which makes me wonder if I’m being fair to them right now. I mean, in this prison, it’s one thing. I guess we’re doing what we want and getting by as best we can. But if we do have the chance to get out of this hellhole, what then?
As the ideas swirl through my mind, Gray plants a kiss on the top of my head and I’m able to banish those thoughts and put my focus all on Gray.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Oh, good.” He grins. “I was afraid I left you incapable of speech.”
“Well, somebody sure thinks highly of himself.”
“Somebody has to.”
“And you do a very good job of that.”
“Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” he laughs.
“I suppose so.”
He strokes my hair and I plant a small kiss on his chest. And together, we lay in silence for a while. But it’s getting close to lockdown time, so Gray reluctantly slips out of bed and gets dressed. He leans down and gives me another kiss.
“See you for breakfast?” he asks.
“I’ll check my social calendar,” I reply. “But I might be able to squeeze you in.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, yeah, pencil me in.”
“I’ll have my people call your people.”
“Do that.” He grins. “Goodnight, Raven.”
“Goodnight, Gray.”
He turns and leaves my cell. A few minutes later, the alarm sounds and the doors lock for the night. Laying back on the bed, I smile and stretch, reveling the feel of the small aches and pains that grip my body. But as I stare up at the ceiling, I feel something in me shift. Something changes. I sit up quickly as I feel a strange warmth spreading through my belly. It’s my power; I recognize that churning inside of me. But it somehow feels… different.
“What the hell?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Raven
I’ve spent most of a sleepless night trying to figure out what’s happening to me. Though my eyes are bloodshot and grainy, I still feel wired, like electricity is coursing through my veins. Something inside of me is changing, but I don’t know what it is and it’s scaring the hell out of me.
“Calm down, Raven,” I tell myself. “Calm down. Think about this.”
I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing, doing what I can to stay calm and keep my wits about me like I was taught to do. I can’t let my fear take over. I need to figure this out.
Finally, I manage to calm my mind enough to think.
After I slept with each of the boys, I felt a surge within me, like they had unlocked a door inside of me that had been holding back more power. But after I slept with Gray last night, I felt somehow complete. Whole. And I feel more powerful than I ever dreamed I could be. The collar keeps me from touching that full ball of power inside of me, let alone using it all. But I have a sense that I can do even more now than I could even last night.
The loud buzz that precedes my door being unlocked is so sudden, I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s early yet—not time for the doors to be opened. In fact, when I cut a glance at the clock, I see that it’s just past four in the morning.
The door opens and I jump to my feet. It’s still dark in the common room—dawn is still a couple of hours off—so all I can see is a silhouette. But it’s large. And it’s familiar. Clint steps into my cell, a sneer on his face and a light of lust in his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing in my cell?” I hiss. “Who let you in here?”
“We’re real tired of watchin’ you prance
around here like a peacock,” Clint says. “Walkin’ around here like your shit smells like roses.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stops just inside the doorway and crosses his arms over his ample midsection, looking me up and down. It sends chills rushing through me and makes my heart thunder hard in my chest.
“You’re all alone, little girl,” he says. “Ain’t got your boyfriends here to help you. Ain’t that a pity?”
“Clint, you need to leave my cell right now,” I hiss.
His chuckle is low and ominous, and I watch him slide his tongue over his lips in such a lewd way, it makes me shudder.
“Not before you learn a lesson,” he says, and he holds up the key to my cell door, which Sherman had obviously slipped him. “The man says you need to be broken in. Need to learn some fuckin’ respect.”
The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands on end, while the power churning in my belly seems to harden and grow thicker. I feel it sliding slowly though my veins and across my skin, wrapping me in tendrils of fire and electricity. And the more the power flows through my veins, filling all the cells in my body, the more natural it seems to become.
It’s changing me. I can feel it. The power is cocooning me, turning me into something else. And as it seeps into me, the power fills me with a sudden rush of confidence—even a sense of cruelty as I look at Clint. My heart slows and I feel as calm as I ever have. And as I look at him, I feel an almost predatory grin touch my lips.
“You need to leave, Clint,” I tell him, my voice low and smoky.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m not responsible for what happens.”
He laughs, obviously not picking up on the changes happening within me. Obviously not feeling the power that’s rising inside of me. I don’t understand it, but I like the way it’s making me feel.
“You sure got a high opinion of yourself, little girl,” Clint says. “Yeah, I’m gonna enjoy fuckin’ that attitude right out of you. I’m gonna leave you in a scared, crying little puddle on the floor, bitch.”
“Try it.”
He flashes me a feral grin and loosens the tie on his trousers. “Don’t mind if I do,” he sneers. “Been wantin’ a piece of you for a while now.”
As he steps forward, I instinctively draw my power into me, and it’s so strong and intense that it makes my entire body flutter, and I nearly orgasm from it. I actually laugh, which makes Clint falter for a moment before he steps closer. He moves to grab me, but I reach out with my power first to bind his hands together with a strong band of it.
His eyes grow wide as he looks down, trying desperately to pull his hands apart. I use another thread of power to gag him, and I laugh as his muffled cries fill the room. Gone is the smarmy confidence and swagger he came in here with. Gone is the surety that I’d drop my panties and let him have his way with me, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And gone is that arrogant little smirk. Now, Clint looks at me with wide eyes, his skin blanching and fear shining brightly in his eyes.
“Who’s the bitch now?” I hiss.
He struggles and writhes within the bands of power I’ve wrapped around him, but he can’t move. His muffled cries grow louder, more insistent. I picture sliding a plastic bag down over his head, and suddenly, he can’t breathe. It’s as if there is actually a plastic bag pulled taut over his head.
“Fascinating,” I say.
I see a dark spot grow on the crotch of his trousers as he wets himself and I grimace in disgust. I channel a few threads of power and watch as the urine in his pants floats up, the golden droplets shimmering even in the dim light of my cell. Clint’s eyes are so wide, they look like they might just pop out of his skull.
I use a small amount of power to force his mouth open, then move that floating puddle of piss to pour it straight into his mouth. He sputters and gasps and I laugh, using another touch of power to force his mouth closed, making him swallow it down.
“You didn’t think I was going to let you piss all over my floor, did you?” I laugh.
He struggles hard against the bonds of my power, but he can’t break it. His muffled cries are weakening and I see tears welling in his eyes, making them shimmer. I’ve never done drugs before, but there’s no way they can compete with the high I’m on right now. Euphoric is the only word I can use to describe it. It’s amazing.
Of course, as I look at Clint, I’m hit with the sobering realization that I don’t know what to do with him. I can only play with him like this for so long before I have to let him go. And if I let him go, he’ll go straight to Sherman and tell him that I can use my power. Which, in turn, will get back to Fry and Keene immediately. And that would be very bad. It might even be enough for Keene to side with Fry’s opinion that it’s better that I’m destroyed.
I feel powerful as hell right now, but I know I’m not immortal. I’m not indestructible. If you cut me, I still bleed. If you put a bullet in my brain, I still die.
“What in the hell am I going to do with you?” I ask, turning my eyes back to Clint. “I can’t let you go without risking exposing myself.”
He shakes his head violently, as if trying to assure me that he won’t say anything. I scoff.
“Right. Because I totally trust you to keep my secret.”
He nods, and his muffled words are probably his assurances that I can trust him. I turn my eyes back to him and glare.
“You came in here to rape me,” I growl. “That sort of makes the idea that I can trust you laughable.”
But it leaves me with my dilemma: what do I do with him? As I stand there pondering, a voice that’s low and cold—yet still definitely mine—speaks from the dark recesses of my mind. And it tells me I have no choice but to kill him. If I want to preserve my secret, which I desperately need to do, there is no other way than to silence the only person who knows about it. The only person that could rat me out.
It’s a thought that makes me ill. I can’t believe I’d even have such a thought. Yes, I’ve killed before, but only in cases where it’s been life or death. Me or them.
Isn’t that what this is? You or him?
“But it’s not like he’s got a loaded gun pointed at me,” I say to the voice.
Doesn’t he? You know he’ll run straight to Sherman. Isn’t it the same thing?
“Is it?”
I only realize I’m having this conversation with what I’ve quickly come to think of as my shadow-self when I see Clint’s wide eyes. He’s looking at me like I’ve gone completely mad and, as he listens to me talking to myself, his fear has blossomed into outright terror.
Which of course, begs the question—am I mad? Is my shadow-self nothing more than an extension of madness? Or is it a healthy outlet for exploring that which I don’t yet understand about what’s going on inside of me?
“I’m going with the latter,” I say.
Good choice.
Giggling, I look over at Clint, still not sure what I’m going to do. I’m not a cold-blooded killer. The thought of ending his life sends a ripple of fear and regret washing through me. But he is a clear and present danger, in a lot of ways. If I don’t go through with this, it will come back to me. And I will come to regret it.
As if he sees the decision I’ve come to splashed across my face, he struggles and mumbles harder, louder. I wrap another band of power around his mouth to silence him. Then, I dash over to the door and pull it open, looking around the common area. It’s deserted, as far as I can tell. I channel a bit more of my power and feel the collar starting to grow dangerously warm. If I use much more, I’m risking being zapped.
But then an idea occurs to me. I have no idea where it came from—and no idea if it will actually work—but I have to try. I grit my teeth as I lay my fingertips on the collar and close my eyes. Focusing hard on the metal, on the images of the runes carved into it, I picture the energy slowly seeping out of the collar, trickling harmlessly back into my body. And as I do, I feel the metal collar star
t to cool. The power spills out of it, back into my body.
I feel a rush of giddiness and nearly burst into laughter, but I clap my hand over my mouth to keep it from popping out. When I turn back to Clint, a trickle of cruel pleasure winds its way through me. I use my power to flip him around so he’s facing me and narrow my eyes.
“Time for you to learn a lesson, Clint,” I say softly. “Time for you to learn a little respect.”
I grab him in a thread of power and lift him off his feet. He struggles and jerks but can’t break the bonds. I float him out of my cell and raise him up. And up. I keep lifting him until he’s higher than even the third tier of the prison. And when he’s hanging suspended just below the opening above, I turn my hands, manipulating him so that he’s face-down.
A twinge of regret makes my heart flutter, but I’m quickly filled with the cold certainty that this is the only way. I can’t be exposed. Not yet. Not until I figure out how to use my power to get me and the boys out of here. Not until I come up with a plan. These tricks I’m doing now are all well and good, but they’re basic energy manipulations I learned early on.
Breaking the warding in this prison and blowing a hole in it large enough for us to escape is going to take a lot more understanding. A lot more planning. I can’t do it half-assed, not when the lives of the three men I care about are on the line. And to that end, to keep my secret and stay alive, Clint is a necessary sacrifice. He put himself in this position. He did this to himself. Not me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Raising my arm, I then bring it down in a hard, slashing gesture. Clint rockets down from above and hits the hard floor of the common room with a loud, wet, crunching sound. His head is smashed in and he’s still. Silent. And, as I watch the dark crimson pool spreading out around him, I feel a wave of nausea crash down over me. I taste bile in the back of my throat.
“I killed him,” I whisper.
You did what you had to do.