Cursed Angels

He doesn’t move anything else. His body turns rigid, but I can feel his heartbeat thudding against my back. His thick cock pressing against my ass unbidden. It’s always been like this between us, this magnetic pull. A sexual force that always connected us.

“Hunter.” My tone is filled with wariness, warning that this isn’t a good idea. In hindsight, it never was. I should never have fallen into bed with him, but nothing could’ve stopped us. We needed an escape, and we found it in each other.

He was my salvation.

But I was his curse.

“I can’t help it, Buttercup.”

“I know,” I murmur, reaching for him, my hand squeezing the throbbing hardness of him, causing him to let out a feral growl against my skin. His hips buck into me, his body needing release as his fingers taunt my nipples that have hardened to peaks behind the soft material of my tank top and bra.

We continue the torture.

We don’t hear the click before it’s too late.

I glance up to find Archer in the doorway. As much as I want to, I can’t stop. He watches as Hunter’s body and mine meld even through our clothes. Archer lifts his hand to his belt buckle and tugs it free.

“You here for the show?” Hunter grunts, but Archer merely smiles. I know the gun Hunter normally keeps close must be within reaching distance, but he doesn’t make a move for it.

“Why are you here? You walked away,” I accuse him.

Archer stalks toward us. My body rigid when he stops inches from where I’m positioned on Hunter’s lap. Gripping my hair, Archer pulls me to sitting, and I’m practically clawing at him, but he only grins. “You want us both? Want to play house here with him and spread your legs for me?”

I don’t respond because his words are harsh, but he doesn’t stop.

“Let’s see how well you remember me today, baby girl,” he smirks. A glint of the blade he’s holding moves with such precision I can’t move away fast enough, and he slices through the material of my top.

“You fucking hurt her—”

“I love her.” Archer’s voice is laced with need and confusion. He blinks twice before gripping his hair, tugging the strands as if there’s something hurting him from the inside out. “No. No.” He shakes his head, but when his eyes open again, I see the agony glaring back at me. His gaze is on me, and that’s when his eyes land on the ink just above my heart.

A crown with the script My King written below it.

Hunter’s seen it far too many times, but when Archer’s dark gaze burns through it, he blinks four times. I count because it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion. And then he meets my gaze.

“You’re taking us both, right now,” he growls.

Hunter seems to be in on it because they’re both pulling at my clothes, tearing material from me, ripping zippers and buttons until I’m naked. Hunter holds me hovering over his lap while Archer dips two fingers into me.

“Get her ready for my cock,” Hunter grunts from behind me, and the stranger before me wets two fingers with his saliva and pushes them into my ass. The tight ring of muscle protesting as he scissors me open.

My head falls back as Hunter’s hungry mouth latches onto my neck, biting hard, bruising me, only making me wetter for both men.

“This is what you wanted. Isn’t it?” Archer questions as he pulls his fingers from me, allowing his accomplice to slowly sink my body down on the thick cock waiting for me.

My heels are on either side of his legs, spread open for Archer to nestle himself between my thighs. He slaps my almost smooth, slick lips with his erection, and then thrusts into me. The thickness of both men entering me causes me to moan, needy and loud, like the whore that Dr. Monroe always called me. Even though I had never been with anyone before, she was adamant I was fucking all the boys at The Factory.

Our bodies move in sync, like a melody of filth and desire, sex and lust, and I’m clawing at Archer’s shoulders in my attempt to hold onto something, any semblance of who I am as they take me. Fucking me harder, faster, rougher. Archer’s hand grips my throat, causing my eyes to snap to his.

“Samara, my sweet little doll,” he murmurs, and the recognition once again flits through his gaze. He does remember me. In that moment, he sees me.

Both men piston into my body, thrusting wildly as my release beckons.

“Come for us, Buttercup. Drench our fucking cocks.” Hunter tugs my nipples harshly, causing tears to sting my eyes, and I come. My body finds pleasure and euphoria, and my eyes roll back, my toes curl, and my nails draw blood from Archer’s body as I cry out in pleasure.