Sera’s POV
The youngest unties me from the ceiling.
My arms drop like dead weight, and the blood rushing back into my hands burns worse than the rope did.
My legs buckle, and he catches me before I crumple to the floor, one arm around my waist, holding me against his chest while three men’s c*m drips down my thighs onto the carpet.
He carries me to the bed and lays me down. My back hits the sheets, and every bruise and rope burn and handprint on my body lights up at once.
I stare at the ceiling, panting, shaking, waiting for whatever comes next.
He stands at the edge of the bed and takes his shirt off. His body is lean and cut, unlike the others, who were muscular, and his eyes haven’t moved from my face.
“You’re shaking,” he says. His voice is steadier, and that steadiness makes
