I gave him two steady pumps, reminding him with every stroke who really held the strings.
His throat bobbed. I saw it—the quick swallow, the twitch of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple jumped as control warred with hunger.
And then his mask returned, colder than death, sharper than sin.
“On your knees,” Kingsley ordered, voice a blade slicing through the roar of the springs.
The air crackled. Steam twisted around the sun. I gasped as the bond flared, heavy with resistance and submission tangled together.
But one by one, my mates obeyed. Kyle cursed, splashing to the shallow ledge and dropping to his knees on the wet stone. Keegan followed, rolling his eyes like the cocky bastard he was but kneeling all the same. Kendrick went last, muttering under his breath, but he folded, jaw sharp,
