Third Debt (Indebted #4)(77)

“If you want to get through tonight without being f*cked in every hole you own, then do it!”

Images of Cut pounding into me, of Daniel strangling me, and the horrific violation of being a Hawk plaything gave me enough obedience to give up my courage and beseech. “Please! No, you’re hurting me!”

“Good.” He bit my ear, pinning me harder against him. “Again, louder this time.”

“Noooo!” I gave into the sobs waiting just beneath my ribcage. “Don’t. I’ll do whatever you want. Just, don’t—no!”

He groaned, rocking harder against me. “Shit, that’s too good. Now I’m hard as f*ck.”

He rolled his hips, rubbing his erection, making the bed rock.

“Again.” He thrust, groaning theatrically. “More. Pretend I’ve entered you and it hurts.”

I couldn’t speak through my tears.

His fingers stroked me faster, making my body twitch and tense. His hips worked harder, bruising my back. His voice licked my ear. “I’m not going to f*ck you, Nila. But it needs to look like I am.”

Suddenly—it all made sense.

That’s why he put the cover over us. That’s why he wanted me to move and squirm and scream, so our movements would look like he f*cked me.

Oh, my God.

The sheer relief made me cry harder. And with relief came the performance of a lifetime. My fingers stretched behind me, rubbing his chiselled belly in acknowledgement. The trust that’d tried to grow in the past sprouted into a beautiful flower. I gave myself over to this second-born Hawk, who was a true ally and friend.

“No!” I bellowed. “God, no!”

I arched my back, deliberately pressing into his cock.

He growled, his hands latching around my hips, half to hold me in place and half to drag me back to meet him thrust for thrust.

We lost ourselves as we became what others would see.

“Fuck, you feel good, little bitch!” he yelled, his volume way louder than required.

Cameras. Microphones. Recording devices that would capture this degrading act. It was all for the people watching.

My heart burned. Is Jethro watching?

The anger I felt toward him only spurred me on.

Kes wrapped his hand around my nape, holding me away from him while his other hand found my clit again. “Fuck, yes. Take it. Fuck, you’re tight.”

He paused, waiting like any good actor for his fellow screen star to read her script.

“Ahh! No more. Please, no more!”

“You’ll take it until I say f*cking otherwise, bitch.”

We both groaned as he thrust so hard the boundary between faking and reality became blurred.

My legs scissored as he rolled me from my side to halfway on my belly. His next thrust slipped, sliding between my legs and pressing against my clit.

We both jolted.

“Fuck me,” he hissed. His muscles trembled.

I froze.

We were so close to breaking every rule between loyalty and decency.

He bit my ear. “Don’t stop. Pretend, I’m ripping you in two. Scream harder. Just—don’t stop making them believe.”

My body hummed, growing wetter and heavier. I didn’t know if it was the pantomime or relief, but my nipples tingled and sensation came back with full force. “Stop! No. It’s too much. Nooooo!”

He pressed his forehead against my skull. “You’re driving me insane, Nila.” Louder, he growled, “Little bitch. I’ll teach you a lesson about your place. I’ll show you what tonight is all about.”

I let go of dignity and bawled. My cheeks rivered with tears; the blindfold was drenched. I stopped trying to talk in sentences and settled for monosyllables instead. “No!”

Thrust.

“Stop.”

Rock.

“I’m begging—”

He groaned, bending my body until I slotted perfectly in his strong embrace.

I couldn’t ignore his hardness or the way his muscles vibrated with need. In that moment, he was a saint. A man with a tied-up woman rubbing against his body and not using her. My trust layered with respect. He was good. He was kind. He was true.

We both panted as we turned frantic. There was no rhythm anymore—only debasing fake-f*cking, rustling sheets, and creaking springs. As much as I despised what tonight represented, I couldn’t help the tiny flutter of desire unfurling thanks to his never-ending coaxing fingers.

Unfounded hurt crept over me.

Jethro hadn’t tried to stop this. He’d run.

But Kestrel had stepped up to protect me. He put his own life on the line.

That’s more than Jethro’s ever done.

My heart twisted in a resentful agonising braid. I didn’t want to sleep with Kes. But in a way…I was almost offended that he had the self-restraint to keep me safe even from him.

I was baffled.

I was endlessly grateful.

He was turned on. He’d admitted he’d wanted me since setting eyes on me…yet he made no move to dip his fingers inside me or try to work his cock anywhere but between my thighs.

The bed rocked with every thrust. My back arched as his fingers turned harder and demanding. For non-sex, it gave the ultimate impression of being ridden and used.

Sickness rolled inside to think of Jethro watching this.