Chapter 2: Caught in the Act
The water was a scalding curtain, washing away the cheap cocktail smell from her date but doing nothing for the memory of Ant’s voice through the wall. Good girl, take it. Nomi’s fingers moved in frantic, slippery circles, her forehead pressed against the cool tile as she replayed the sounds. Jazzy’s cry. Ant’s low growl. Her own pathetic, silent need, a physical ache between her legs that the bland Alex could never have understood.
She was close, so close, her breath coming in ragged gasps lost in the steam. The fantasy crystallized, vivid and cruel: Ant’s hand, not hers, his calloused fingers parting her, his voice in her ear telling her she was a greedy little thing for touching herself to their sounds.
The bathroom door creaked.
Her eyes flew open. The silhouette in the steam was broad-shouldered, unmistakable. Ant leaned against the doorframe, a towel slung low on his hips, watching her. His gaze was a physical touch, traveling from her wide eyes down to her hand, still pressed between her thighs under the stream.
“Fuck,” he breathed, not a question, not an apology. A statement.
Nomi froze, mortification a cold wave against the hot water. She tried to cover herself, but her limbs were lead.
He moved with a predator’s quiet grace. He stepped into the shower, the water plastering his dark hair to his forehead, beading on the tattoos that coiled around his shoulders. He didn’t speak. He simply took her wrist, his grip firm, and moved her hand away. His thumb found her clit in one brutal, knowing circle.
A sharp cry tore from her throat, part shock, part devastating relief.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his other hand circling her throat, not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. “You were thinking about us, weren’t you? Listening to me fuck my girl and getting yourself off like a little ghost.”
She couldn’t nod, couldn’t speak. Her whole world had narrowed to the pressure of his thumb, the heat of his body, the dark approval in his eyes.
“Ant?” Jazzy’s voice came from the bedroom, lazy and satiated. “You getting a towel or building one?”
“Come here,” Ant called back, his eyes never leaving Nomi’s. “Bring a big one.”
Nomi whimpered, trying to shrink back, but the tile was at her back and Ant was a wall of heat in front of her. Jazzy appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a silk robe, her eyes widening then softening with a understanding that somehow made it worse. Or better. Nomi couldn’t tell.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jazzy said, her voice a balm and a brand. She didn’t sound surprised.
“She was all worked up from her sad little date,” Ant said, his thumb still moving, slow and torturous. “Trying to finish the job. Didn’t do it right, though.”
Jazzy stepped into the humidity, ignoring the spray. She reached past Ant, turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening, filled only with the drip of the faucet and Nomi’s ragged breathing.
“Let’s get you dry,” Jazzy said, but it wasn’t gentle. It was an order.
They moved her like she was a doll, Ant’s grip unrelenting. Jazzy toweled her roughly, the fabric catching on her nipples, between her legs, a sensation that was more abrasive than caring. They didn’t take her to her sparse, unpacked room. They led her, naked and dripping, into the dim cave of their bedroom. It smelled of sex, of their sweat and shared pleasure, a scent that invaded Nomi’s senses.
Ant pushed her onto the rumpled sheets. The cotton was cool against her back, a contrast to the fever burning her up from the inside.
Jazzy shed her robe, climbing onto the bed beside her. She cupped Nomi’s face. “You wanted this,” she stated, her thumb tracing Nomi’s lower lip. “You’ve been wanting it. Those big, quiet eyes watching us all week.”
“I… I didn’t…” Nomi’s protest was a weak whisper.
“You did,” Ant said, his voice a low rumble as he loomed over her. He wasn’t asking for permission. This was beyond that. He knelt between her legs, his hands pushing her thighs apart with an efficiency that stole her breath. “Look at you. Soaked and not from the shower.”
He bent his head, and his tongue was on her, hot and flat and demanding. Nomi arched off the bed, a shattered sound escaping her. It was nothing like her own clumsy touches. This was expertise, an assault of sensation—broad strokes, focused flicks, the rough scrape of his stubble against her inner thighs. He licked into her, deep, tasting her, groaning like she was a meal he’d been starving for.
“Fuck, she’s sweet,” he growled against her, the vibration making her toes curl.
Jazzy was kissing her then, swallowing Nomi’s broken moans. Jazzy’s mouth was soft, her tongue exploring, her hands skating up Nomi’s ribs to cradle her breasts. She pinched a nipple, rolling it, and the dual sensation—Ant’s mouth below, Jazzy’s above—unraveled Nomi completely. She was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming.
“Please,” she begged into Jazzy’s mouth, not knowing what she was asking for.
Ant understood. He pulled back, his chin glistening. He positioned himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against her entrance. He was huge, and she was trembling, terrified, desperately aroused.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Nomi tore her eyes from Jazzy’s dark gaze to find Ant’s. They were black with hunger, possessive and utterly focused.
“This is mine now,” he said, and he pushed inside.
The stretch was a burning, blinding fullness. She cried out, a sharp, pained sound, her nails digging into Jazzy’s back. Ant didn’t stop. He sheathed himself to the hilt in one relentless thrust, burying himself in her tight, clutching heat. He held there, his body trembling with the effort of control, letting her adjust to the brutal invasion.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight. Never been fucked like this, have you?”
She shook her head, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. It was too much. It was everything.
Jazzy whispered in her ear, “Breathe, Nom. Just breathe. He feels good, doesn’t he? So deep.”
And he did. The pain was melting, transforming into a pervasive, aching fullness that began to spark with something else. Ant began to move, slow, deep pulls that dragged against every sensitive nerve. Each thrust jolted through her, a crude, perfect rhythm.
“That’s it,” Jazzy coaxed, her hand slipping down between their bodies. Her fingers found Nomi’s clit, circling in time with Ant’s strokes. “Come on. Come for us. Let him feel you.”
The coil inside Nomi snapped. Pleasure detonated, a white-hot wave that crashed through her with violent, shuddering force. Her back arched, a silent scream on her lips as her body clamped down around Ant, milking him.
The sensation broke his control. With a raw, guttural curse, he drove into her harder, faster, his rhythm fracturing into something purely animal. “Take it,” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Take all of it, you greedy girl.”
He slammed home one final time, and she felt the hot, pulsing rush of him filling her up. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a solid, anchoring shock, his breath hot and ragged against her neck.
In the heavy, sweaty silence, the only sounds were their panting breaths and the distant hum of the city. Jazzy curled against Nomi’s side, her hand stroking soothing patterns on her stomach. Ant didn’t pull out. He remained buried inside her, a possessive, spent weight.
Nomi’s mind was a blank, whited-out static. Every boundary she’d ever had was gone, shattered by their combined will. She was marked, claimed, and trembling between them.
Ant finally lifted his head. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“No more sad dates,” he said, his voice rough but final. “You’re ours now.”
The statement hung in the air, a law laid down. Nomi, overwhelmed and thoroughly ruined, could only stare up at him. The part of her that had always been quiet, that had always obeyed, recognized it as the truth. The rest of her, the part that had just been utterly remade, trembled in terrifying, exhilarating agreement.