I slowly lowered my chest to Ashley’s, tucking my bound hands beneath our chins. Priest followed me down, his weight pressing against my back.

“You’ve put me through hell, sweetheart.” His hand slid beneath the shirt covering backside and moved around near his groin, presumably lining himself up with my body. Then he rested his mouth against my cheek and spoke so quietly I barely heard it. “It’s been two years since I’ve fucked you, Mrs. Farrell.”

My heart stopped, and my gaze flew to Ashley.

His eyes widened. His chiseled nostrils pulsed, and his entire body flexed beneath me. Then he slid his hands away from my cunt.

“Scream,” Priest whispered and thrust his hips.

Every muscle between my legs clenched, bracing for the burning, stretching agony of a dry invasion. His pelvis rammed into my backside. He groaned with wicked pleasure, and I felt… Nothing.

No intrusion.

No forceful stabbing.

No penetration.

Was he even hard?

Realization punched me in the gut, and I screamed, cursing my delayed reaction. The sound muffled through the gag and shattered the air. He thrust again, and I drew out my cries, sobbing and stiffening as if I were dying of trauma.

He never intended to rape me. Of course, he didn’t. The shadowed corner, the positioning of our bodies, the placement of Ashley’s hands—all of it had a purpose. To what end, I didn’t know. Perhaps he was buying time.

Ashley furiously growled his misery, his eyes wild with madness. But he knew it was all a ruse. His hands fisted between my legs, awkwardly and undeniably, in contact with Priest’s cock.

Priest proved to be a remarkable actor. He groaned lewd promises of torture for the room to hear and worked his hips like a savage in the throes of rapturous violence. With his fingers curled around my hips, he kept his groin tight against my backside and roughened the sounds of his breaths.

My shirt covered my thighs, and he still wore his breeches. No one was the wiser from any angle they viewed us.

And view us, they did. The revelry of whistles and stomping grew louder, every man in the cottage saluting Priest’s conquest with shouts of encouragement. The ogre wasn’t even training the gun on me anymore, his attention absorbed by his friends as they bantered back and forth.

Amid the noise, Priest leaned down against my back and gripped Ashley’s hair.

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” He pressed closer, making sure Ashley could read his lips. “She’s mine, Cutler.” He thrust, jarring me against Ashley. “My wife.”

I sobbed harder, forcing the sounds and faking the tears. But the pain was real. I knew what it felt like to be betrayed and didn’t wish that on Ashley. I never wanted him to learn about my marriage like this.