Victor bared his teeth, unrepentant. "You can watch," he said, voice rolling through her ribs like a thunderclap. "You can cum on her, you can make her beg, but you don't touch."
All four groaned, not even pretending at restraint.
Voss, always the tactician, just watched, eyes dark and unreadable, hand slow and measured as he gripped himself.
Ivan exhaled, the sound guttural. "Fuck little girl you look so good."
The air in the room thickened, heavy with musk and salt and the metallic tang of sweat. Felicity could barely breathe, the sound of her own keening moans floating up and out, echoing in the space between bodies. She felt every set of eyes on her, cataloguing her every shiver, every helpless buck of her hips. She felt beautiful spoiled, worshiped, ruined, all at once.
