Lucas’s hard cock pressed against me through his jeans. Liquid fire rushed through my veins, igniting every nerve, fear and excitement overtaking me. I kicked and struggled as if my life depended on it, as if I actually hoped for an escape.

But there was no escape. I really had asked for this.

Good girls didn’t get railed on the kitchen floor while they screamed how much they hated the men fucking them, but there I was.

“You sick bastards!” God, it felt good to scream, but I was already so out of breath. They were stronger than me, controlling me like I was nothing. Lucas tugged at my oversized shirt, rough fingers brushing over the nape of my neck before the fabric tore. He ripped through my t-shirt with his bare hands, then traced his fingers along my spine before he unclasped my bra.

“Stop!” I kicked my feet, hands scrambling against the floor. “Get the fuck off me!”

But I knew he wouldn’t. I didn’t want him to.

He tossed my clothes away, leaving only my panties, then he roughly squeezed my ass, fingernails digging into my skin.

“Cut them off her,” Manson said. There was a familiar sound, a click of metal. I sharply sucked in a breath, stiffening when something cold and hard tapped against my leg. It slid under the side of my panties, and Lucas tugged, slicing the knife easily through my underwear. He did the same thing on the other side and pulled the ruined fabric off me, leaving me entirely naked.

For a moment, one that seemed suspended in another reality, Lucas leaned down close to my ear. “Are we doing this, Jess? Still think you’re ready to play?”

I let my muscles relax for those brief few seconds as I said, “We’re doing it. Don’t fucking stop.”

Then the moment shattered, and Lucas chuckled low and dark in my ear. Manson removed his foot from my head, but it came with a command. “Get her up.”

Lucas hauled me to my feet, his fingers gripping my hair. Manson pulled a chair out from the table, scraping it harshly across the floor, and Lucas shoved me into it.

The moment my ass hit the chair, Manson caught me by the throat. I gripped his wrist, digging my nails into the scratches I’d given him. But my grip loosened as Lucas handed the knife back to him, and Manson brought the weapon close to my face.

“I can scratch too, angel,” he said. “But my scratches will hurt a lot more than yours.”