25. Vogue

Half an hour later,I stand in the centre of the penthouse living room, arms crossed, as I take in the faces of Callum, Quentin, Harrison, and Thayer.

"We need to have a frank conversation. I'm talking, so you'll listen. Okay? So, here's the deal," I start, tapping my foot impatiently on the polished floor. "The Syndicate's been thrown off its game—big time. We're bleeding influence."

"We?" Calum asks with a wicked smirk.

"I said. I'm talking, you'll listen."

Callum nods, his eyes sharp. "I'm not good at listening," he chuckles. "We need a plan to swing the momentum back our way."

"Exactly." I pace back and forth, my mind racing. "Each faction, gang, whatever they call themselves has its weak spots, right? The Vipers are all brawn, no brains. We need to exploit those weaknesses."

"Solid strategy," Quentin interjects, leaning forward on the couch.

"Right. But it's not just about poking at vulnerabilities," I add, thoughts clicking into place as I see this as a puzzle. "We need to show strength without overplaying our hand. A calculated strike."

Thayer furrows his brow, the cogs turning behind those steel-grey eyes. "It's simple. The assholes who gave up the Vipers are not going to roll over that easy after the big risk they took helping us track you down. We owed them and paid, but now, fuck that. It's fair game."

"But we have to do this without triggering an all-out war," Harrison adds. "The Elites took what we handed them. Taking it back now is a dick move."

"Harry's got a point—we can't afford more chaos," I murmur.

"But," he says, flashing that grin at me. "We can be dicks when we want to be. We just have to be smooth about it."

"Exactly. We need allies among the regular students who have no clue about the real battles being fought around them." The idea takes root, growing stronger with each nod from the guys.

"Now you're thinking like a mafia princess," Callum says.

"Then it's settled," I declare. "We play up our strengths, downplay our recent setback. We make strategic alliances and use our reputation to our advantage."

"Sounds like you've got a plan forming, Vogue," Thayer says, a hint of respect colouring his tone.

"More than forming—it's unfolding, and if there's one thing my mother taught me, it's that when you've got the brains and the guts to fight, you don't back down. You double down."

"That sounds like a declaration," Quentin says, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe it is. I guess I'm all in or all out. Half-assed isn't going to cut it. I just need that last push, and for that, I need to think it through just a bit more because facing my father is the absolute last thing I want to do. But it will be necessary."

"Here's to doubling down then," Quentin says. "But with precision."

"Precision, cunning, and a touch of class. Let's put Crestmont on notice. The Crowned Syndicate isn't just surviving; we're reclaiming the throne."

Each man in the room exchanges looks of approval and understanding. This isn't just about regaining lost ground; it's about setting a new standard. As much as I hate to admit it, this power play, this dance with danger—it's electrifying.

"Get ready because we're about to shake things up. And it starts now. I have no contacts, no power, no nothing, so this is up to you guys to get the wheels in motion. I'm the brains behind this operation," I flash them a smile.

"And the pretty face," Harry pipes up.

My smile widens. "Aww, you're cute. But seriously, I have no leverage or sway. It's up to you guys. Can I leave you to it while I get some rest?"

Not a single one objects, and I'm grateful. I'm tired, and my head is thumping. Turning on my heel, I make my way back to my sumptuous bedroom and crawl into bed, pulling the soft covers over me as I sink into heaven with a moan of pure lust.

The shadows of the room wrap around me like a loving embrace, the silk sheets a gentle caress against my skin. My eyes flutter shut, but sleep doesn't claim me just yet. Instead, my mind races with the magnitude of what we're about to undertake. We're not just playing games of power and manipulation; we're waging a silent war where moves are made in the darkness, and victories are celebrated in hushed tones.

I roll over, fluff the pillow into a more comfortable shape, and try to steady my breathing. I need to be sharp for what's coming. There will be no place for weakness.

Then there's the whole mess of facing my father. The thought alone is a bitter pill lodged in my throat. The man who has given me nothing but a dangerous legacy to deal with. But facing him is inevitable if I want to wield the influence I'm entitled to by birthright.

I sigh into the quiet room and force myself to relax muscle by muscle. Somehow, between thoughts of allies and enemies, I drift off into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake by the door opening softly, scaring the living shit out of me.

I leap up, my heart hammering, but it's just Quen.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to check on you."

"Well, I was asleep, and now I'm awake," I grouse.

He gives me a sad smile. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. Join me?" I crawl back into bed, aware of being only in bra and knickers.

He kicks off his boots and pulls his black tee over his head with one hand. I take in his ripped abs and the scars crisscrossing his skin. He removes his pants, going commando, and with a wicked smile at my wide eyes, he climbs into bed with me.

The feel of his skin against mine sends a shot of electricity through me. His warmth engulfs me as he slides closer, and I can feel the tension in his body, the coiled strength of him. It's intoxicating and terrifying all at once. I run my hand up his muscular arm, bringing my fingers to rest on the snake tattoo on his neck. I can feel his pulse beating rapidly under my fingertips. Throwing caution to the wind, I roll us over, straddling him, pressing him into the mattress as I reach around to unclip my bra. My breasts fall free, and immediately, his hands come up to cup them and tweak my nipples gently.

"Did those assholes touch you?" he growls.

I shake my head. "Not in that way."

He nods, accepting my word for it. His hands trail down my ribs and hook into the sides of my knickers.

Rolling us over with a swift tug, he liberates me from them, leaving my body bared to his heated gaze. My pulse quickens as his eyes darken with raw need. In this moment, I am not just Vogue who's come back from the brink of disaster; I am a woman ignited by the touch of a man who carries his own scars and darkness.

"Quen," I whisper, my voice husky with desire. His name is a plea and a command all rolled into one. He understands, drawing me down for a searing kiss that leaves no room for thought. Our tongues entwine, and I am lost in the sensation, in the urgency that crackles between us.

His hands roam over my skin, igniting fires wherever they touch. They settle on my hips before he flips us back over so I'm on top again. His cock is rock hard underneath my pussy, and I move over him, teasing myself with this length. He groans, pulling me down for a kiss. I rotate my hips as I thrust my tongue into his mouth, and I feel myself getting wetter.

"Fuck," he murmurs against my lips. "I need you, Vogue."

Taking his cock in my hand, I guide him to my entrance and slide down him in one smooth motion, taking in every inch. A low moan escapes my lips as I feel him filling me completely. His hands grip my waist, guiding the rhythm as I start to move. Slow at first, finding our pace; the world narrows down to just the two of us.

I ride him with abandon, throwing my head back as he hits just the right spot inside me.

"Harder, Quen," I demand, and he responds instantly, thrusting up into me with a force that drives a strangled cry from deep within me.

We're both lost in this carnal rhythm. With every move I make, I'm challenging him to keep up, to take what he wants.

His fingers dig into my skin, leaving marks that will linger for days, but I will wear them with pride. The intensity builds like a storm about to break. I lean forward, bracing myself against his chest as he reaches between us and finds my clit.

"Oh God," I gasp out as his thumb starts working against me in tight circles. The pleasure spirals out of control, tingling sensations spreading through me until they blend at my core. "I'm close."

"Come for me," he breathes out, his voice thick with lust.

The edge is there, waiting for me to tumble over it, but his cock feels too good inside me. I don't want this to end.

But I can't hold off, not with the way we're moving together, not with his thumb circling my clit with relentless precision. My orgasm slams into me, hard and fast.

With a cry that might be his name or might just be the sound of my soul cracking open, I soak his cock as the door opens again. With a gasp, I look over my shoulder to see Callum watching us, eyes narrowed, an unreadable expression on his face. He closes the door quietly and approaches the bed as I remain stock-still, panting from the orgasm as Quen pounds into me.

"Ah," I cry out as Callum stops by the bed and lowers his mouth to my nipple. "Wait," I murmur, embarrassed and mortified. I've never had more than one guy in bed with me before, and I'm not about to start now.

Or am I?

Callum stops as he starts to undress, and I just sit there as Quen fucks me like a sex doll, unmoving and unresponsive.

"Fuck," he groans. "Fuck, yeah, don't move, baby girl. Fuck, that's hot."

A surge of something wild runs through me at his words. I'm playing with fire — with two men who are as dangerous as they are seductive.

I give Callum a nod, my silent permission. The air changes; it's charged with a raw energy that binds us together in an unspoken agreement.

Callum sheds the rest of his clothes with a predatory grace, revealing his toned body marked with similar scars that speak of survival and power struggles within their dangerous world.

He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself beside me while Quen continues to thrust. Callum gathers my hair at the nape of my neck and fists it tightly before planting a bruising kiss on my lips.

"Fuck," Quen roars, and his cock explodes cum inside me, jerking wildly as he sees his twin kissing me roughly. Heat floods through me, the sensation of being claimed by both at once so overwhelming I can hardly catch my breath.

Callum's grip on my hair tightens as he pulls away, his breath hot against my cheek as Quen lifts me off his cock and rolls to the side. Callum pushes me back to the bed, covering my body with his, one hand still in my hair, the other going to my pussy to tease my clit into another orgasm, rolling it between his fingers with expertise that has my body tensing all over again.

I'm raw, throbbing from the intensity of my first release, and yet here I am, spiralling towards another peak under Callum's relentless touch. His eyes lock onto mine, dark blue pools of desire that seem to see right through to the very core of me. "You're mine, Vogue," he says, a declaration that sends shivers skittering down my spine.

My breath hitches as he slides into me with one swift motion. He's different from Quen—where his brother is wild and unrestrained, Callum moves with a controlled ferocity that leaves me quaking. Each thrust is measured and calculated to drive me closer to the edge without sending me over.

Quentin isn't content to simply watch. He moves up beside me, his fingers tracing the contours of my face before claiming my mouth in a kiss so deep I feel it in my toes. Callum grunts his approval as he picks up the pace, each powerful drive punctuated by a soft moan from between my lips.

The room is filled with the sounds of ragged breathing and my quiet whimpers, begging them for more. I'm stretched between the twins—a conduit of pleasure shared by them.

Quentin bites down gently on my lower lip as Callum pounds into me, taking me, claiming me in an action that has happened so fast, my head is spinning.

But it feels right.

Quentin doesn't seem angry or jealous; in fact, if anything, he is turned on by this. I wrap my legs around Callum, driving him deeper into my pussy, feeling that hot stretch that tells me I'm completely full, owned by both of them in a way that's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

"Tell us what you want," Callum's voice is a low growl, his hand leaving my clit to grip my hip, anchoring me to him as he continues to thrust with deliberate force.

I'm dizzy with need, the intensity of my desires mingling with the shock of how quickly I've become the pivot point in their dark world. "I want both of you. All of this," I manage to gasp out, surprising even myself with the depth of my longing for something I never knew I could crave.

Quentin smirks against my lips, a silent promise that they're only just beginning. He slips his hand down between our bodies and teases my clit, adding another layer to the sensory overload.

I feel like I'm going to shatter into a million pieces from the overwhelming pleasure, but I'm held together by the sheer force of their wills—by the knowledge that they won't let me break. Not yet.

Callum's pace quickens, and his thrusts become more erratic as he approaches his climax. Quentin's kisses turn more desperate, his touches more insistent as if trying to brand every inch of me with their shared heat.

"I'm close," Callum grunts, and Quentin emits a low groan into my mouth. Their movements synchronise in a powerful rhythm that sends me hurtling towards another orgasm.

As I crest the wave, it crashes over me, consuming everything in its path. My body convulses underneath Callum, spasming in pleasure as Quentin holds my face steady, his kiss swallowing my cries. I ride the aftershocks, feeling every pulse of Callum's cock as he spills inside me, his body rigid above mine. His groan is a primal sound that echoes through the room, mingling with Quentin's soft pants. He is jerking himself off, already so hard, after coming inside me not that long ago. Seeing his brother fucking me is a massive turn-on for him. I guess it's like watching himself fuck me.

Callum rolls off me, and I feel his cum start to drip out from between my thighs. He props himself on one elbow, looking down at me with an expression that's all possessive satisfaction.

Quen lifts up from my mouth and grunts as he unloads onto my breasts, washing away the memory of when I was held captive in one simple move.

We collapse in a heap of tangled limbs and laboured breaths. The room is silent for a long moment, save for our panting.

Quentin brushes a sweaty strand of hair away from my forehead. "You okay?" he murmurs.

I nod, unable to find words. My body feels both spent and charged, like I've been plugged into some endless source of electricity. The knowledge that I'm now irrevocably entangled with these men sinks in. There really is no going back now.

Callum gives me a penetrating stare before he kisses my lips. "Get some sleep, Vogue. This is only the beginning."

"Meaning?" I croak.

"Meaning you belong to all of us, and the other two won't hold back much longer."

My gasp as he climbs off the bed echoes around the room. "What?"

Quen smiles slowly, almost sinisterly. "They will claim you as well, baby girl, and when they do, your body will be overloaded with things you've never felt before. You will crave us all at once, and we'll take you, every cock in your body, as you beg us for more."

My cheeks heat up as my mouth drops open. I have no words, only images of what he is suggesting.

The twins get up and get dressed without another word, leaving me reeling, naked, covered in cum, but suddenly feeling like a goddess among women. A slow smile crosses over my face as I watch them leave, knowing that when I have the capacity to move, I'm going to want to do that all over again.