Ruined By My Husband's Brothers (3)

Gabriella 

The silence of the penthouse was suffocating after the door clicked shut behind Derek and his "princess." 

I paced the length of the living room, my heels clicking against the cold marble, a stark contrast to the chaos running through my head. I felt like a bird whose cage had finally been kicked open, but the sky outside was dark and terrifying.

I stared at the phone in my hand, my thumb hovering over Brent’s contact. This was the point of no return. One tap, and I wasn't just a victim anymore; I was a traitor. An adulterer. 

I hit the button. It rang twice before he picked up.

"Gabriella?" His voice was steady, like a low-frequency hum that vibrated right through my chest.

I swallowed hard, the resolve burning in my gut warring with the tremor in my vocal cords. "I'm... I’m ready."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated on the other end. It wasn't mocking; it was predatory. Then, the line went dead.

I spent the next few hours in a fever dream. 

I showered and scrubbed until I was pink and raw. 

I dressed for them wearing a simple black silk dress that clung to my curves like a second skin, the fabric so thin I would be better off wearing nothing. I wore no bra, no panties. I wanted to feel exposed. I needed to feel what I was doing.

By noon, they still hadn't arrived and now the silence was my enemy. 

I spiraled. 

What if they set me up? What if this is a test? What if Derek finds out and kills me?

I looked at the vast, empty penthouse; the furniture he chose, the life he dictated and the fear turned back into a sharp, jagged edge of spite.

I guessed this was it then. 

But at exactly 8 PM, I heard a knock.

I opened the door, and the air seemed to vanish from my lungs. Brent, Arden and Elden stood there, a wall of identical masculine perfection, each distinguished only by the energy they projected.

Brent stepped in first. He was the anchor. He pulled me into a gentle hug, but it wasn't a comfort—it was a claim. His arms were heavy, his scent of cedar and expensive leather filling my senses. 

"Hey," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soft command. "We're here."

Arden followed, his platinum hair shimmering under the foyer lights. He grinned, a wicked, sharp-toothed thing. He brushed past me, his hand lingering on the curve of my hip, his touch like a spark to dry kindling. 

"Look at you, all dressed up for us. Nervous, princesa?"

Elden was the last to enter. He didn't touch me. He just stood there, his grayish-green eyes tracking the frantic pulse in my neck. 

The light caught the silver stud in his tongue as he spoke, his voice cold and terrifyingly calm. 

"This is your night," he said. "But you'll have to earn it. We don't give away what’s ours for free."

We moved to the living room. They didn't sit with me; they surrounded me instead. Brent was a warm, solid weight beside me; Arden perched on the armrest, his fingers playing with a lock of my hair; Elden took the chair directly across, his legs spread, watching me like a scientist watching a specimen.

"I thought you guys weren't going to show up," I whispered, my voice hitching.

They chuckled—a dark, synchronized sound.

"We had to work," Elden uttered, his gaze stripping me of every defense. I looked away, unable to meet that intensity. It felt like he was looking right through my silk dress and into the desperate, masochistic parts of my soul.

"Let's start slow," Brent stated softly. His hand came to rest on my knee, the heat of his palm seeping through the silk. "You tell us when to stop. But we both know you don’t want us to stop, do you, Gabriella?"

"No," I breathed.

Brent leaned in, his lips brushing mine. It wasn't the frantic, selfish kisses Derek gave. 

No this was deep, slow and possessive. 

"You're safe now," he murmured. His hand slid up my leg, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

Safe. I’d never felt safe. I’d felt managed. I’d felt controlled. But here, under Brent’s firm hand, I felt the walls of my repression start to crumble.

"Look at her shaking already," Arden teased, his hand moving from my hair to my shoulder, his thumb digging into the muscle. "Mi vida, you're trembling. Is it the thought of us using you that does it? Does it turn you on to think about how easily we could break you?"

"Stop it," I whimpered, but my legs fell further apart of their own accord.

Betrayers. 

"Oh, but I won't," Arden whispered into my ear, his tongue flicking the lobe. "I'm going to name every filthy thing I'll do to you. I’m going to pin you down and lick you until you’re sobbing for mercy. I’m going to make you ride my face while Elden watches your pussy stretch for him. You’re our little toy now, Gabby. Say it."

"I'm... your toy," I choked out.

Elden’s voice cut through the air like a whip. "Stand up."

I obeyed instantly. 

My legs were like jelly. Elden rose and walked toward me, his movements precise and predatory. He hooked a finger under my chin, forcing my head back. 

"You want revenge? Then beg for it. Start with your first orgasm. I want to hear you beg for it like the desperate bitch you’ve been pretending you aren't."

Humiliation wasn't a kink I thought I had, but the words sent a surge of heat straight to my core. "Please," I whispered. "I need... I need to come. Please make me come."

"Not good enough," Elden hissed, his thumb sliding into my mouth, forcing me to suck on it. "Be specific. Admit how dirty you want it. Tell me you want your husband's brothers to ruin you."

"I want it dirty," I sobbed, the words tasting like copper and sin. "I want your fingers inside me... I want to be used until I can't think of his name anymore. Please, Elden. Use me."

He smirked, a cruel, beautiful expression. 

He guided me back to the couch and knelt between my legs.