I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining them standing over me — Jason and Vincent, Manson and Lucas, too. Surrounding me, making me feel small. A shiver prickled over my skin as I tried to remember exactly how their hands had felt, brushing over my thighs, slipping between my legs.

I was never going to manage to sleep like this. An uncomfortably warm, restless feeling pulsed low in my abdomen.

I was too tired to reach under the bed for my vibrator. I slid my hand into my panties, determined to make it quick. I didn’t need to fantasize, right? But as the touch of my fingers fed the warmth inside me, building it to a blaze, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering.

Manson had once told me that Vincent liked restraints. So when I imagined him touching me, I thought of handcuffs — cold metal clinging to my wrists and ankles. I imagined Vincent laughing at me, teasing me, my degradation making him smile.

I shuddered.

I could think of literally anyone else. A celebrity. Maybe that hot girl I’d seen at the coffee shop the other day, or the guy I’d fucked around with at a club last year. Anyone other than them. But no matter who I pictured, their faces morphed, their voices changed, their actions and mannerisms were undeniable.

My brain refused to settle for anyone else as my pleasure deepened and my breaths came a little faster.

I envisioned Vincent chaining me to the bed while Jason circled me. Jason’s gaze felt like it could rip me apart, like he saw too much. As if he knew my vulnerabilities and could pluck them all out with expert precision.

He always wore rings. Thick silver rings and black-painted nails. I imagined those nails disappearing inside me, fingers thrusting into me. I remembered the taste of his cock and the sight of him standing over me.

My fingers tightened on the sheets.

Manson had loved watching them. It had been obvious that being a voyeur turned him on. In my imagination, he was still watching. Circling. Barely visible in the dark around my bed.

“The more you fight, the worse it’ll be.”

The words slithered around my stomach. Fighting was useless anyway, there was no way I could overcome them. Vincent would bind me too tightly to ever get away.

But I wanted more. More pleasure, more stimulation…more fear. I wanted to feel the thrill of being bound and helpless. I wanted to completely lose control.

“The dirty little slut likes it, doesn’t she?” I imagined Lucas’s voice saying the words, deep and rough. He’d always been so damn unpredictable. Angry, heartless — he fucking hated my guts, but that made it even better.

I moved my fingers faster, trying to resist holding my breath. I envisioned Manson standing over me, that crooked smile on his face. God, he would love to watch me squirm as the others used me. I was a toy to be used, merely holes to be filled. The thought made me tingle from head to toe.