He had watched. He had stayed. He had held his ground on that bank through every scream, every sob, every wet sound of her being taken apart by six men. And he had not broken. He had not demanded; he had just been there. Present. Burning. Choosing her in a way that felt different from claiming.
"Good," she breathed. The word came out barely a whisper, but it landed between them heavier than her screams had. Her ruined body trembled, suspended in the seed-clouded water, owned and worshipped and utterly fucked out.
Victor's arm tightened around her middle.
Lucan's purr rumbled against her skin.
Exile's amber gaze tracked the point where her fingers met Dimitri's.
Ivan shifted slightly inside her ass a possessive reminder that he was still there, still filling her.
Dimitri's jaw flexed. His fist moved faster. His gaze never wavered from hers.
