Dahlia’s POV
Even with my mind fogged by the heat of their touch, I could still tell them apart—whose mouth, whose hands, whose torment. Logan was at my ear, his teeth grazing the delicate shell, tongue trailing just enough to make me shiver violently. His breath was molten, whispering filth and promises I both craved and feared. Every kiss along my jaw and neck left behind a searing mark, as if he were branding me, claiming me.
His fingers gripped my breast with possession, not care. He wasn’t teasing to be gentle—he was drawing out my agony because he enjoyed it. Expert fingertips brushed over my n****e again and again, each pass sending another wave of heat between my legs. I wanted to scream, to beg, to curse him—but that would only feed their hunger.
And Liam... Liam was worse.
He
