All Chapters of Claimed by the Circle: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Ten days left, and the house felt too small for the amount of want inside it. Liam came home early. He didn’t announce why. He just walked through the door, set his keys down, and looked at me like a man who had already lost the argument with himself. For a long moment neither of us spoke. The black card was still on the nightstand. The photograph of the estate was still saved on my phone. The clock was still running. “I called them,” he said finally. My stomach dropped. “Who?” “The regulars. Eight of them. Tonight. Here.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were not. “I need to see it again. I need to watch you take it and then watch you come back to me. One more time before you decide.” Heat punched through me so hard my knees went weak. The Queen lifted her head like a cat smelling blood. They arrived after dark. Eight men. Familiar bodies. Familiar hunger. Viktor was among them, of course—tall, controlled, already half-hard when he stepped into the living room and looked at

Nine days left, and the universe apparently decided that text messages were no longer enough. I was still sore when the doorbell rang at 4:17 p.m. Liam had gone to pick up food. My body carried the evidence of the last twenty-four hours in every step—cunt tender and swollen, ass aching in that deep, used way, thighs faintly sticky no matter how many times I showered. I had thrown on one of his shirts and nothing else. The fabric smelled like him. It didn’t help. I opened the door without checking the peephole. The man standing on the porch was not a delivery driver. He was in his late forties, impeccably dressed in a dark coat that looked like it cost more than our rent, silver at the temples, expression politely unreadable. For a second I thought he was lost. Then he looked directly at my bare legs and the shirt that barely covered the tops of my thighs, and something like recognition flickered in his eyes. “Ava,” he said. Not a question. My stomach dropped. “Who are you?” “A

Liam was still inside me when the tall one spoke again. “You don’t have to decide with words,” he said. His voice was calm, almost conversational, as if he weren’t looking at a woman dripping cum onto expensive fabric while her boyfriend remained buried to the hilt. “Stay the night. Let the house show you what the contract actually feels like. In the morning you can leave… or you can sign.” Liam’s hips gave a single, involuntary twitch. I felt him thicken again inside my used cunt. His forehead stayed pressed to my shoulder. For a long second I thought he would drag me out of there by the wrist. Instead he pulled out slowly. The wet sound was obscene. A thick mixture of his cum and the other six men’s immediately leaked out of me and ran down the cleft of my ass. He watched it happen, jaw tight, then looked at me. “Your call,” he said, voice rough. “But if we stay, I stay in the room. Every second.” The Queen was already nodding. I heard myself say, “We’ll stay.” They didn’t gi

They let me rest for forty-three minutes. I know because I watched the clock on the wall while lying on my stomach across the ruined sheets, legs loosely open, cheek pressed to the mattress. Every heartbeat sent a dull, wet throb through my cunt and ass. Cum was still seeping out of me in slow, thick dribbles. I could feel it cooling on my inner thighs, sticky and heavy. The air in the suite smelled like sex—salt, skin, the faint metallic edge of too many orgasms. My own breathing sounded loud in my ears. Liam sat on the edge of the bed with one hand resting on the small of my back. His thumb moved in absent, possessive strokes over the smear of cum Sebastian had left there. He hadn’t spoken since the last shift. His silence had weight. Sebastian returned first. He had showered. His hair was damp. He wore only black trousers, undone at the top. Behind him came Calder and three of the others, also cleaned up, eyes already dark again with renewed hunger. The atmosphere shifted the m

They gave me three hours of actual sleep. I don’t remember falling into it. One moment I was lying on my side in the ruined sheets with Liam’s hand spread over my lower belly, feeling the slow leak of everything still inside me; the next, gray morning light was pressing against the glass wall and someone was gently washing me with a warm cloth. Not Liam. One of the estate staff—quiet, professional, gloved—cleaned between my legs with careful, impersonal strokes while I lay there half-conscious and open. The cloth came away streaked. Fresh towels were placed under my hips. Water was held to my lips. Something cool and electrolyte-sweet was pressed into my hand. My body felt heavy, used, and already faintly aching for more. Liam never left the chair. When I finally turned my head and met his eyes, the look in them was darker than the night before. Possession. Fear. Hunger. All of it stacked on top of each other. “They’re ready when you are,” he said. The main hall had been transf