Chapter 2: The Devil's Bargain
The wind finally hit a lull, leaving a silence so profound that Emmy could hear the blood rushing in her own ears. Rex’s deep, sleeping breaths were a warm rhythm against her neck. Walter’s tense stillness was a wall of heat in front of her. And between them, her own body hummed with a truth she could no longer pray away.
Rex stirred first. A subtle shift, then a deeper one. His hand, still on her stomach, slid upwards, fingertips brushing the underside of her breast. A sleep-heavy touch that made her breath catch. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing a soft, drowsy kiss there. Then his mouth travelled, slow and seeking, until it found her nipple. He suckled, gently at first, then with a firm, insistent pull that sent a bolt of wet heat straight down between her legs.
She couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped her lips. It was too much, too good after the hours of cold and terrible tension.
That sound woke him fully. She felt the change in him—the sleep fell away, replaced by a sharp, focused awareness. “Emmy,” he whispered, his voice thick. His hips pressed forward, the hard, familiar length of him grinding against the seam of her buttocks. “Christ, I need you. Right now.”
“Rex, wait,” she breathed, her eyes darting towards Walter’s unmoving form. “Your dad—”
“Is asleep. It’s just us.” His hand slid down her belly, fingers pushing through her curls, finding her slick and ready. He growled approval into her skin. “See? Just us.”
He didn’t wait. He shifted her onto her back, his body coming over hers in the dark, a shadow blocking the faint window light. He kissed her, deep and claiming, and in one smooth, urgent motion, he was inside her. A full, stretching penetration that drew a choked gasp from her throat. She arched against him, her hands flying to his back, nails digging into the hard muscle. It was a primal, desperate coupling, stolen and silent but for their ragged breaths and the wet, rhythmic sound of their joining. She bit her lip to stifle her cries, her every sense screamingly alert to the third person in the bed.
But Walter was a light sleeper. Always had been.
A floorboard creaked? The wind resumed? It didn’t matter. The bed shifted, a new weight moving. Rex, buried deep inside her, froze.
“What in God’s name.”
Walter’s voice. Not sleepy. Clear, low, and laced with a shock that turned instantly to something else.
Rex slowly pulled out, the noise obscenely loud. He didn’t sound ashamed. He sounded out of breath, defiant. “We’re cold, dad.”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me.” Walter was sitting up. Emmy could see the darker outline of him against the gloom, the quilt falling to his waist. She pulled the covers to her chin, her face burning.
Rex sat back on his heels. He reached for Emmy, his hands firm on her hips. “C’mere.” He pulled her onto his lap, her back to his chest, so she was facing Walter. She was still impaled on him, the new angle making her gasp. Rex’s arms locked around her waist, holding her there. The confrontation was naked, literal.
The three of them sat in a terrible, breathless tableau. The only movement was the slow pulse of Rex inside her.
Then Rex’s mouth was at her ear. His voice was casual, conversational, as if suggesting they pass the salt. “Look at him, Emmy. He’s dying for it. You remember how he felt.” His hands slid up to cradle her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples. “Be a good girl. Give him a taste. You know you want to.”
Her eyes had adjusted. She could see Walter’s face now, the hard set of his jaw, the wild, conflicted glint in his eyes. And lower, jutting from the thatch of dark hair, the thick, heavy evidence of his wanting. The good genes. More than a memory now. A demand.
A whimper crawled up her throat. She tried to fight it, to summon a scripture, a hymn, anything. But her body was a traitor, pulsing around Rex, a fresh wave of warmth soaking where they were joined. Her head gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
“See?” Rex said, and there was a thread of triumph in it. He gave her a little bounce on his lap, making her cry out softly. “Go on.”
Emmy leaned forward, propelled by Rex’s hands, by her own starving curiosity. The space between her and Walter closed. The scent of him—sleep, musk, pure male desire—filled her nose. She hesitated, her lips an inch from the hot, silken tip.
Walter didn’t move. He just watched her, his breathing shallow.
She closed the distance. Her tongue touched him, a tentative lick at the bead of moisture there. Salt and skin. A sound ripped from Walter’s chest, a choked-off groan. That sound unleashed her. She took him into her mouth, as much as she could, which wasn't nearly all. Her lips stretched wide. It was awkward, messy, with Rex moving underneath her, setting a slow, grinding rhythm that pushed her forward and back on Walter’s length.
It was so nasty. The thought sliced through the fog of her pleasure, bright and sharp. It was depraved. And it was the most alive she had ever felt.
She found a rhythm, a counterpoint to Rex’s thrusts. Bobbing her head, using her tongue, her cheeks hollowing. Walter’s hands came up, not to push her away, but to fist in her hair. His grip wasn't gentle. It was guiding, possessive. He let her work for a minute, shallow pumps into the wet heat of her mouth, each one drawing a muffled groan from her.
“Switch,” Rex grunted, his own control fraying. He lifted her off him, the sudden emptiness a shock, and laid her on her back. He looked at his father, a wild, challenging look in the dark. “Your turn.”
Walter didn’t need a second invitation. The conflict was gone, burned away by a hunger older than guilt. He moved over her, his weight different, heavier, more deliberate than Rex’s. He didn’t kiss her. He looked her in the eyes as he shoved her thighs apart and drove into her with one brutal, complete stroke.
Emmy screamed. It was too much, a brutal, stretching fullness that bordered on pain. Rex was there instantly, kneeling by her head, his fingers in her hair, smoothing it back. “Shhh, baby, take it. You can take it.” He offered himself to her lips, and she took him into her mouth, needing the anchor, the distraction from the overwhelming invasion below.
Walter set a pace that was nothing like Rex’s passionate rocking. This was punitive, deep, and mechanical. Each thrust jarred her whole body, pushed a shocked sound from her throat around Rex’s flesh. The bed slammed against the log wall in a steady, pounding beat that matched the storm’s resurgence.
Rex watched, his expression rapt, his hips pushing gently into her mouth. “Look at her, dad. Look at her take it.”
Walter’s eyes, black in the shadows, dropped to where their bodies joined. His jaw tightened. His thrusts became harder, deeper, as if trying to disappear inside her. One of his hands clamped on her hip, holding her down, the other braced by her head. His rhythm broke, grew erratic, and with a final, guttural roar that drowned out the wind, he emptied into her, his body shuddering with a violence that left her blank and trembling.
He collapsed beside her, his sweat-slick skin hot against her arm. The room was filled with the sound of three people gasping for air.
Rex slid from her mouth, kneeling beside her head, stroking her hair. He was still painfully hard. “My turn again,” he whispered, his voice raw. He moved to position himself between her legs, still wet from his father.