His c**k rammed into me from behind, hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs.
The men watched.
I could feel their stares like hands, crawling over my flushed skin, soaking in every sound that tore from my mouth with each brutal thrust.
Silas didn’t ease up. He didn’t speak. He just used me, the way you’d f**k a warm, willing hole. His fingers bruised my hips, yanking me back against him over and over.
I moaned, cried, gasped—but not once did I say stop.
Because I didn’t want to.
Because somewhere between the pain and humiliation, I found something terrifyingly addictive.
I liked it.
“Look at them,” Silas growled, leaning forward. His hand curled into my hair and yanked my head up. “Let them see your pretty f****d-out face.”
My eyes fluttered open—tears clinging to the corn
