26. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Emery

My eyelids are weighed down by one hundred metric tons of . . . something.

It hurts to think.

Well, not hurts, exactly, but thoughts are hard.

Like my brain is floating through a pink cotton candy sky as it chases between thoughts, trying to string some sort of coherence together. But every time I manage to catch a thought, it disintegrates into pink glitter.

The murmuring around me isn't in focus and sounds more like a hum, blocked out by the cotton candy clouds.

Thinking of hurting—internally, I snicker at myself, because an actual snicker is too much energy—my whole body hurts like I've done ten rounds with my last fucker of a foster father.

No, wait.

I press my thighs together, and a deep-seated ache throbs in my pussy and upper thighs. He never caused that kind of pain. Just a broken arm and a messed-up face.

The warm pillow I'm lying on rumbles, and I can clearly make out its words.

"I agree with Darcy."

I frown. Why is my pillow agreeing with Darcy? And who is Darcy, anyway? Do I know a Darcy?

My arms feel heavy as I try to maneuver them beneath me so that I can push myself up, but they don't want to cooperate.

Two bands of steel tighten around my middle, restricting my motions.

Another memory of being restrained by satin ribbons flashes into my mind, and everything comes back to me.

Four men. Daddies. Sex, so much sex.

Holy fuck. I did it.

I really fucking did it.

I'm ten thousand dollars richer.

Ten thousand motherfucking dollars.

It's over.

Done.

They are done.

Done with me.

A tsunami of despair crashes over my head, stealing my breath and locking up my throat. The glowy, floaty feeling draws away like a bubble bath down a drain, and I can't catch my breath.

They're done with me.

It's over.

A snarky voice in the back of my head is sneering at me.

Why the fuck are you being so goddamn emotional? This is exactly what you wanted. For them to fuck and run. They can drop the cash on their way out the door.

Tears burn the back of my throat, and nausea threatens to overtake me.

I open my mouth to tell them, but I still don't know their fucking names.

Whimpering, I force my eyes open and address them by the only name I have for them. "Daddy?"

The pillow-turned-man jostles me until we can make eye contact. Hazel eyes framed by frowning features stare down at me, and I whimper again, slinking farther back into his arms. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.

Oh, god. I'm going to cry.

In front of them.

Hunter's eyebrows raise in concern, and one of the steel bands uncurls from around me. He runs his fingertips across my forehead so lightly that I barely feel it. Not once does he break eye contact with me as he slowly traces a line through my hair to the back of my ear, where he tucks the strands he has gathered.

"Shh, Emmy, you're okay." His voice is quiet and smooth, like honey left to sit in the sun. "Would you like some water?

Movement in my periphery steals my attention away from Hunter.

Daddy is standing there in his underwear, bare chest on display. I didn't have much of a chance to get a good look at any of them, but for an old guy, this one is in good shape. He has a hint of a six pack, and his pecs are defined.

When I do nothing but stare and blink at him, he slowly approaches the bed and sits on the edge, hiding his body from me as he offers me the glass. "Baby, you need to rehydrate. We don't want you to experience a drop. Will you let us take care of you one more time?"

Instantly, I clench my thighs together, because, fuck, I don't think I can let them have me again, even if I wanted to. Which I totally don't. Tonight was a one-time thing. One night. No repeats.

Daddy chuckles and reaches forward with his free hand, tugging at the blankets near my waist. "No, not like that. Will you let us help you get cleaned up and settled? Were you planning on spending the night here or going home?"

Once he has the blanket loosened enough, he slips his hand beneath the soft fabric. Daddy's fingers graze along my forearm until he finds my hand, slowly pulling it out of the warm cocoon, then pressing the cool glass into my palm.

I shake my head. "Going home."

Smiling, he tips his head toward my glass. "Drink."

Instantly, I comply and take a sip before trying to sit up a little straighter. Hunter flexes beneath me, and then I am being lifted until I am sitting upright on his lap, the skin of my back against the skin of his chest, and somehow the blanket continues to shield my body from them.

"Well?"

My gaze darts back up to Daddy, who seems to be holding in a laugh. "Huh?"

His lips twist in a grin. "Will you let us help you clean up? Can we take care of you until you feel like yourself again?"

Oh, right, that.

There is a coughed laugh from the other side of the room, and I snap my head in that direction. Viper's fist is covering his mouth, but there are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He lowers his hand, and for the first time, I see his amazing smile.

He could be in a dental ad for perfectly white teeth.

I sigh and snuggle back into Hunter, glass clutched between my hands.

Wait, there was a question.

I narrow my eyes, and then it comes to me. I nod. "Yes."

I frown down at the glass. Why does my brain feel so disconnected from my body?

"Come on, princess. Let's get you in the shower," Angel says as he offers me his hand.

I continue to hold my glass with one hand and slip the other into his palm. Hunter's arms tighten around me, like he doesn't want to let me go, but then he relents and Angel gives my hand a tug.

My legs are tangled in the blanket, but Daddy helps get me unwrapped. The cool air of the room feels amazing against my heated skin. With heavy limbs, I try to sit up and swing my legs to the side of the mattress, but my entire body protests, like I imagine it would the day after an especially strenuous gym session.

It doesn't help that Hunter's body is hard and unyielding underneath me, and I kind of don't want to get off.

"Here, let me take that. Then Darcy can help you into the shower."

The cup is removed from my hand, but I pay absolutely zero attention to that. No, my entire focus is on the gorgeous man with the brown strands of hair escaping his bun and floating around his face.

One side of his lips tip up into a half smile as he reaches for my free hand and pulls me from my perch on Hunter. "Nice to meet you, Emmy."

Angel is Darcy.

I study him in a way I'm positive is rude, but I can't help it. I love my name for him, but I have to admit that Darcy suits him. The dark blue eyes, with straight severe eyebrows, softened by the neatly trimmed beard that frames his lips and jaw—totally a Darcy.

But I'm still going to call him Angel—in my head, at least.

As soon as my toes touch the carpet, I'm hauled upright. It's one hundred percent one of those cliche moments from a movie when the hero helps the girl, and when she stumbles into his chest, they do that cheesy stare-into-each-other's-eyes thing.

But it's totally not cheesy. My hand lands on his bare chest, and the full length of my body is pressed to his, skin on skin. Slowly, so freaking slowly, I tilt my head back until we make eye contact, and I could drown in the blue that surrounds his pupils.

If my entire body didn't ache like a ninety-year-old's, I'd totally be asking for a repeat of the last few hours.

Wait, how long has it been?

Are they all satisfied?

Was it enough?

My brow furrows and I lower my gaze.

Was I enough?

"Hey, where'd you go just now?" Fingers grip my chin and tilt my head back up so that I'm forced to make eye contact with Darcy again.

Hot, gross emotions swirl in my chest and clog up my throat. I bite my lip and give a tiny shake of my head. He frowns, eyes roaming over my features before he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

An honest-to-god forehead kiss.

Tears threaten.

Distantly, I can hear a voice screaming inside of my head to pull myself together. That this is a transaction. He is only being sweet to me right now because he and his three friends just used and abused my body however they fucking wanted.

But I don't listen to the voice. I pick it up, wrap it in a canvas sheet, and stuff it in a box that I shelve in the furthest reaches of my mind.

This might be the only time I get to experience these feelings, and I want to feel all of them. Even if they don't make sense.

Darcy wraps an arm around my shoulders, then steps backward, turning to face the entry to the en-suite. I'd used it to get ready—not that I'd had a whole lot to do.

It is the nicest room I have ever been in. Period.

The shower is that walk-in style with no door, and the showerhead hangs from the ceiling. The tiles are all white and go to the ceiling, only broken up by the mirror that takes up over half of one of the walls. The sink is a raised porcelain bowl with an open waterfall spout.

Like . . . damn. The apartment I share with Oakley has a fairly nice bathroom. Everything works as expected and nothing leaks. No cracked tiles or broken mirrors. I thought that was nice. But this shits all over that.

The tiles are cold beneath my feet as Darcy walks me toward the toilet, where he guides me to sitting on the lid, which is blissfully cool against my overused pussy. He keeps hold of my hand while he leans around the glass wall of the shower and fiddles with the tap to get the water running.

Once he's happy, he turns back to me and smiles before pulling me up to standing and leading me into the steam-filling shower. He positions me out of the water and quickly steps under the cascading stream.

He pulls the band from his hair as he steps backward under the water. Instantly, his wavy brown hair plasters itself to his head. Darcy holds his hand out for me, and when I place mine in his, he tugs me just the tiniest bit closer, before twirling me around like a dancer until my back is to him.

"We should probably wash your hair, but I don't think the others would be pleased with me for stealing so much of their time with you." He scoops his hands between my neck and hair, slowly gathering all of it into one hand. My eyes flutter shut as he continues working the heavy weight up my head until he can twist all of it into a messy bun, using his hair tie to hold it in place.

He peppers kisses down my neck, and I tip my head to the side to give him more access. The kisses aren't the kind to set my blood on fire. No. These are the kind to help me pull myself back together, piece by piece. Like there is comfort to be had in this tiny glass room with the sound of water reverberating off the tiles.

Darcy wraps his strong arms around me, one along my waist and the other along my collarbone. I shift my head to the side and use the crook of his elbow as a pillow. He steps us backward, shielding me from most of the water falling.

"You doing okay, princess?"

Humming, I open my eyes and tip my head until I can see him. "I'm still kind of floaty. But it s'okay. I like it."

And, apparently, I have no filter.

He grins and traces a finger across my forehead, dragging some wet wisps of hair away from my skin. "I'm glad you like it. You were perfect tonight. Everything we could have ever wanted."

I know the grin on my face is dopey, but there's nothing I can do about it. It's like my brain refuses to tell my face not to smile. Why the fuck do I care that he thinks I was perfect? I absolutely do not have a warm gooey sensation in my chest.

And I am absolutely not dying to beg him to keep me.

No. Fuck, no.

"Let's get you cleaned up. Then we can talk."

Talk? What's there to talk about?

My heart hardens in my chest.

Is this when they tell me I didn't satisfy all of their needs, and they won't be paying the full gift?