Dean’s hand slides up my thigh and grips my bare ass, his opposite hand still leaving whispers and apologies along my wrist.

Around, around, and around.

And then he peaks, trying to mask his groan of pleasure as he buries his face into the curve of my neck. Dean clings to me through the aftershocks, holding me like a cherished lover. But I’m not. I am merely a pawn in Earl’s game. We are both pawns.

Dean inhales a deep sigh, almost choking on the weight of the breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeats it over and over, devastation flooding him. Remorse has replaced the euphoria, and my own envy has faded. I can feel his hot tears fall against my collarbone.

Earl reminds us of where we are and why we’re here—as if we could possibly forget. “That was fucking beautiful. I came so hard I saw stars,” he growls, his husky laugh making me want to vomit.

Dean is still inside me, softening, yet incapable of leaving me just yet. Maybe he’s still pretending.

I don’t blame him.

“Time’s up, lover boy,” Earl snaps.

The repugnant scent of Earl’s body odor invades me, and I finally open my eyes to see him approaching us with his weapon. Dean slips out of me, but his left hand is still on my wrist, and his right has glided from my ass and landed on my hip. He’s still holding me, soaking me up for as long as he can. I feel him lift his head from my shoulder, but I twist my body to the side, unable to look him in the eyes. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“This isn’t a romantic morning after, you dumb fuck. Get the fuck over to your corner before I blow you away.”

Earl’s voice sears me, and I’m left empty and hollow. But nothing leaves a void more than Dean releasing my wrist and stepping away from me. His touch lingers on my skin, and I can still feel him tracing my artery, leaving more of himself behind than he’ll ever know. My wrist tingles and hums in the wake of his absence.

When I finally brave a look in Dean’s direction, his pants are newly secured around his waist and Earl is fastening his chains.

We have returned to our former positions.

But as sticky warmth drips down my thighs and Dean’s tears mingle with the sweat on my skin, I know we are not the same.

We will never be the same again.

Chapter Seven

“Dean.”

His name on my tongue echoes loud and grating throughout the quiet room, and yet, Dean pretends he doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t move or blink or flinch. He just sits there, slumped against his pole, facing as far away from me as he can.

“Dean,” I repeat.

Nothing.

I sigh with my chin to my chest, my eyes closing. It’s probably been an hour since… well, since it happened. He retreated back to his dark corner, then retreated into himself.