And I just have to learn to live with that.

“Processing?” Aaron suggests, and I nod, glancing briefly over at him. That’s a good word, processing. I like it.

“Processing,” I agree, feeling the sexual euphoria from outside dulling at the edges. It’s helpful, all those endorphins and shit, but it isn’t enough to erase the pain in my heart. Nothing ever will. I’m just going to have to let time work her magic, dulling my emotional wound at the edges until it’s nothing but a shiny, white scar that I can rub my fingers across. “But I’ll be okay. Don’t sit around and worry. Go get some of that fancy cafeteria food you like so much.”

“It ain’t bad,” Hael agrees, pausing when Vic gives him a look. Obviously, even with my suggestion, they’re not going anywhere. They’d rather chain themselves to my ankles. The thought makes me smile.

“Or order some pizzas,” I call out, trying for normalcy and seeing that it’s resting at the edges of my fingertips. All I have to do is lean forward and grab at it. “We can smoke and watch South Park when it gets here.”

“Roger that,” Hael calls out with a cheerful grin. Aaron watches me walk down the hall, but he leaves me alone as I slip into the bathroom to shower, cleaning Cal’s cum from my ass. I don’t cry again, but I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

Once I’m done, and my hair hangs in wet stringy tendrils around my face, I make my way into the bedroom with my towel wrapped around me to find Cal and Oscar lounging on the bed like they’re waiting for me.

I ignore them as I dig through the dresser for pj’s, but like, it’s nearly impossible to resist the dual power of their stares. Eventually, I turn around, a flimsy silk nightie in my hand that I just know I shouldn’t wear but probably will anyway. If I put this on, I’ll be ravaged in it, no doubt.

“We thought you might enjoy having something to take your mind off of Pamela,” Oscar suggests in a voice so mild that it couldn’t be anything but terrifying. Carefully, slowly, I turn around to look at him, dressed in a pair of gray sweats and nothing else. Ink crawls over his body like a plague, tainting every square inch of flesh. The metal swords pierced through his nipples catch the faint light from the single bedside lamp as he sits up. “You asked me to teach you a bit of my knot mastery, correct?”

I just stare at him, but even though I want to be miserable and wallow in my hate and frustration, my interest is piqued.

“You want to teach me right now?” I query, glancing over at Cal and trying to figure out if he’s in here by accident or design. Those blue eyes of his blaze bright, and he tosses me a cocky smile.

“You can practice on me,” he confirms, nodding his head and then pulling his hoodie off. His shirt gets caught along with it, but Cal doesn’t seem to mind, tossing both items onto the floor. His pink nipples are rock-solid, and even though he just came in me not a half hour ago, he’s ready again. I can see the proof of that as he strips off his shorts, leaving himself entirely naked.

Cal crooks a smile at me, but Oscar snaps his fingers and I give him a skeptical look.

“Let me teach you the lark’s head knot,” Oscar drawls, giving me a look right back. “Could come in useful in a survival situation, too.”

“Oh, I see,” I start with a roll of my eyes as I climb onto the bed, still wearing my towel. “You’re only teaching me this because of a possible survival situation?”

Oscar’s mouth quirks at the edge as he takes a length of silky bloodred rope in his hands.

“No, I’m also telling you in case we need to tie up these other boys to get some fucking peace.” Oscar snaps that last word out between his teeth, making it sharp, almost painful to listen to. Now that I see him like this, gray eyes blazing, I can remember the feel of his hands around my throat. And fuck it felt good. And fuck if I don’t agree with his decision to remain a virgin until me.

He really, truly, possibly could’ve hurt someone. But he’ll never hurt me. That much I know for a fucking fact.

“Now, watch me,” Oscar begins, his voice changing from that of a thespian psychopath to a stern teacher. His glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them back up with a single finger before eyeing me over the rims. I do my absolute best not to smile. “There are a few basic knots in shibari. Let’s start with the lark’s head knot. It isn’t used for bondage directly, but it’s usually the first step in other ties.” He makes a loop with the rope, folds it in half, and then slips two fingers into each of the smaller loops that movement creates. I blink a few times, but he does it again, easily. And then again.

Oscar hands the rope over to me.

“Try it,” he commands, so I do. It isn’t as hard as I first thought. After a few tries, I get it. While I’m in the process of doing that, Callum is stroking himself with long, easy movements of his fist. The way his blue eyes go hooded, the way his pink lips part, it’s almost too much.

I shift a bit as I hand the rope back, and the towel falls off, plopping to the floor as Oscar goes very, very still.

“Shit,” he grinds out, but he doesn’t stop moving the rope around. I realize after a moment that I’m supposed to still be watching his hands, not his silver eyes, not his dangerously beautiful lips. I drop my gaze down. “The overhand knot.” He finishes his demonstration, the soft whisper of the rope as he ties it making my heart thunder. “And the double overhand.”

I watch his inked fingers moving, but I promise at this point, I’m not paying much attention to the lesson. I just like the way he moves. He shows me the square knot and the surgeon’s knot, and then moves onto half-hitches.

“Now,” he commands finally, gesturing over at Callum. “Help me tie him up.” Oscar turns his cool gaze over to Cal, but he can’t hide the bead of sweat that trails down his inked throat, between his biceps, and down to the belly button darkening his perfect abs. “Put your back against the headboard, Cal.”

Callum complies, allowing us to tie him without complaint, hooking his ankles and his neck and wrists to the slatted headboard. The obscene color of the red rope against his pale skin, against his scars and tattoos and long, lean dancer’s body, that makes me so wet and swollen that when I shift backwards on the bed a bit, my thighs rub and pleasure radiates through me in a wave.

“Holy fuck,” I murmur, studying Cal’s bound form, his cock thick and swollen and throbbing with need. He can’t do shit about it either. He’s at our mercy. Wouldn’t surprise me if he used the safe word right now.

Callum just closes his eyes and shudders for a moment before lifting his lids again and staring at us. I turn back to Oscar and he shoves his pajama pants over his hips, slicking a thumb over the moist head of his cock. He drags his fingertips down, playing with one of his piercings. It’s incredible to me that someone who hates to be touched so much has so much ink, such intimate piercings. He’s alluded to the story behind that, about the physical pain chasing the emotional, but I need more.

Whenever he’s ready to tell me, I’ll be here.

“Come, Bernadette,” Oscar says, and even though I’m his queen and I give the orders, I can sense that he needs moments to be in charge, too, to quell some of that violent, icy anger inside of him. I crawl over his lap, but he encourages me to prop my cunt against his thigh instead of over his shaft. He grabs me roughly by the back of my hair and licks the shell of my ear once before whispering, “move.”