Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Please dissolve. Please mix. Please work, she prayed silently.
The pills bobbed on the surface for a second before sinking beneath the burgundy liquid.
“Why did you do that?” Thune bellowed, shouting at Burn. “How dare you make a mess in our playroom? Bad piggy-wig! Bad!”
“I won’t let you make me hurt her again!” Burn shouted, his deep voice raw with fury—and something else.
Guilt, Noelle thought. He’s still feeling guilty.
Her throat tightened at the sound of the Dark Twin’s anguish and self-loathing.
Burn meant it—he still felt awful about last night, even though it hadn’t been his fault.
“You’re going to clean that up on your hands and knees!” the middle head raged. “But first you’re going to pay!”
He pressed a button on the remote clutched in one thick-fingered hand and Burn dropped like a stone.
His massive frame hit the ground with a thud and he writhed there, fists clenched, jaw locked tight. His face contorted in agony. Red fire flared in his midnight eyes.
“You… fucker…” he gasped, convulsing. “You’ll… be… sorry!”
“The only one who’s going to be sorry is you!” Thune roared, spittle flying from all three mouths.
Noelle flinched and pressed herself against the wall, hands over her mouth.
“Stop. Stop hurting him. Please stop,” she begged. “He didn’t mean to—please!”
At last, the middle head pulled his thick thumb off the button. Burn sagged to the stone floor, panting and shaking, his jaw still set like iron.
“Go and get the cleaner bot!” Thune snapped, turning to her suddenly. He pointed a meaty finger at her chest. “Hurry, piggy-wig! We can’t have fun until everything is all cleaned up.”
“I’ll get it!” Noelle gasped, and fled.
Her feet pounded up the stairs two at a time, heart slamming in her chest.
The hallway upstairs was marginally less smelly but no less oppressive. The walls seemed to lean in around her, thick with tension and the electric buzz of hidden danger.
She reached the end of the hall and found the cleaner bot tucked under a small side table, humming softly in sleep mode. It looked like a robotic turtle with glowing blue wheels and she supposed it was this world’s version of a roomba—only it was twice as big.
Noelle bent to grab it, struggling to lift the surprisingly heavy machine.
Come on, come on, come on…
At last she managed to pick it up and stagger down the hall with it. The thick carpet made moving harder, but Noelle didn’t mind. She took her time returning, stalling for time.
Please let the medicine work, she prayed. Please let it hit him fast. Please let it make him pass out cold.
She had no idea how long the sleeping medication would take—or how it would mix with alcohol. The bottle had only promised an adverse reaction—whatever that meant.
Noelle hoped it was bad—really bad.
At last she reached the door to the basement again and braced the bot against her hip as she started back down the stairs.
The stone steps were cold and rough against her bare feet, each one a descent deeper into the belly of the nightmare. The air grew heavier, thicker, as she moved downward, the oppressive silence of the house giving way to a low, pervasive hum that set her teeth on edge. It was the sound of a dungeon, she thought—a place of misery and despair.
As she descended, the first thing she saw was the red glow of the camera drone, hovering midair like a malevolent insect, its single unblinking eye casting a bloody pall over the scene below. It was the heart of this violation—the silent witness to their shame.
Then she saw them—Burn and Bright.
Her breath caught in her throat in a sharp, painful hitch. Bright was on his knees before Burn.
It wasn't a posture of supplication or prayer—it was one of raw, desperate carnality. Burn stood with his legs braced apart, his powerful frame taut with tension, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief. His hands were fisted at his sides, the knuckles white, but his hips were canted forward in an unmistakable offering.
And Bright…Dios, Bright. His head was bowed, not in shame, but in focus. His broad shoulders were a sculpted curve of muscle, gleaming in the drone's hellish light. His face was buried in the junction of Burn's thighs, his mouth stretched wide around the thick, rigid length of his best friend’s cock.
Noelle could see the strain in Bright's jaw…the way his throat worked as he took Burn deep. She could hear the wet sounds of sucking filling the stagnant air.
The posture was one of complete surrender and total domination. The angle was brutally intimate—a private act twisted into a public spectacle. A low, continuous groan rumbled from Burn's chest, a sound of agonized pleasure—of self-loathing and undeniable ecstasy mingled into one.
The lingering heat in the air was palpable. It was the heat of their bodies…the friction of skin on skin…the fire of the pink drink aphrodisiac still burning in their veins.