Betrayal

The cabin's air hangs heavy, thick with the musk of sweat and sex, the rope burns still stinging my wrists as I lie tangled with Julian on the rumpled bed. His breath's slowing against my neck, his hand resting lazy on my hip, the afternoon light slanting through the window in dusty gold streaks. I should feel sated—his rough reclaiming, the ropes, the way he fucked me into submission then softened—it's left me raw, buzzing, but there's a restlessness clawing at me, a thread of unease I can't shake. Mara's pact looms in my head, and now Julian's plea not to shut him out—it's a knot I haven't untangled, and I'm not sure I want to.

The crunch of tires on gravel snaps me upright, my heart lurching as I twist to peer out the window. A black car—too sleek for this backwoods—rolls to a stop beside Julian's truck, and I know who it is before the door swings open. Lena. Her boots hit the ground, a sharp thud that echoes in my chest, her leather jacket catching the sun as she strides toward the cabin, all fire and purpose. "Fuck," I mutter, shoving Julian's arm off me, scrambling for my jeans, but he's slower, groggy, blinking up at me.

"What's—" he starts, but the door bangs open, cutting him off, and there she is, filling the frame, her dark eyes blazing as they lock on us—me half-dressed, him bare-chested, the ropes still dangling from the headboard like a neon sign. Her lips curl, a smirk that's half-fury, half-triumph, and I feel the air shift, a storm brewing I can't stop.

"Well, isn't this cozy," she says, voice dripping venom, stepping inside, kicking the door shut with a heel. "You two playing house while I'm out of the picture?" Her gaze flicks to the ropes, then back to me, and I see it—hurt, rage, a hunger that's been simmering since the club, since I turned her victory into my reckoning.

"Lena, get out," I snap, yanking my shirt over my head, but she doesn't move—just crosses her arms, tilting her head like she's sizing up prey. Julian's on his feet now, jeans tugged on, hands raised like he can calm this, but I know better—Lena's not here to talk.

"No," she says, stepping closer, her boots loud on the wood floor. "You don't get to cut me out, Sasha. Not after everything." Her eyes dart to Julian, softening just enough to twist the knife in me, and she smirks again, turning to him. "You miss me, huh? She tie you up too, or is that just her thing?"

"Stop it," he growls, but there's a crack in his voice, a weakness she pounces on, closing the gap between them, her hand sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. My stomach churns—jealousy, hot and sharp, spiking through me—but I'm rooted, the ropes still biting my wrists where they hang loose, a tether I haven't shed.

"Make me," she murmurs, and then she's kissing him—hard, possessive, her tongue plunging in as she presses herself against him, hips grinding in that dancer's rhythm I know too damn well. He resists for half a second, hands hovering, but then he groans, melting into her, and fuck, it's the club all over again—her taking him, showing me, and I'm trapped, bound by my own damn choice to watch.

The ropes pull as I twist, the burn flaring, and I'm panting, not just from anger—there's a heat pooling low, a sick, twisted thrill as I watch her hands rip his shirt open, buttons scattering, her nails raking down his chest. He's hard again—I can see it, the bulge straining his jeans—and she knows it, smirking against his mouth as she shoves him back toward the bed, right beside me. "Look at her," she says, loud enough for me to hear, her voice a taunt. "She loves this."

I should hate her—should lunge, fight, anything—but my body betrays me, thighs clenching, breath shallow as she unzips him, freeing him, stroking him slow and deliberate while his eyes flicker to me, guilt and lust warring there. "Sasha—" he starts, but Lena cuts him off, straddling him, her skirt hiked up, no panties—just bare, slick heat as she sinks down, taking him in one smooth motion that makes him groan, loud and broken.

The bed shakes, inches from me, the ropes creaking as I strain against them, and I'm caught—watching her ride him, her hips rolling, his hands gripping her ass like he's drowning. It's a show, a punishment, and fuck, it's working—jealousy's a live wire in me, but so is desire, the voyeuristic thrill of her gasps, his thrusts, the way she throws her head back, hair spilling wild. My wrists burn, the rope biting deeper, and I'm wet, aching, hating myself for it but unable to look away.

"Lena," I rasp, voice hoarse, and her eyes snap to me, dark and triumphant, but there's something else—need, a crack in her armor. She slows, grinding harder, and leans over him, her breath hot as she whispers, "Tell her how good it feels." Julian groans again, head tipping back, but he doesn't speak—just watches me, pleading, and that's it—the thread snaps.

I yank at the ropes, the knot loosening enough from my thrashing, and my hands are free, stinging as I lunge, grabbing her hair, pulling her off him mid-thrust. She yelps, tumbling onto the bed, and Julian's left panting, cock slick and abandoned, but I don't care—I'm on her, pinning her down, my knees bracketing her hips. "You don't get to do this," I hiss, but it's weak, breaking, because my hands are already moving, shoving her skirt higher, finding her wet, hot, ready.

"Then stop me," she taunts, but it's a moan as I slide my fingers in, deep and rough, curling them until she arches, a cry ripping from her throat. Julian's watching, stroking himself now, and the cabin's a chaos of sound—her gasps, his grunts, my ragged breaths as I fuck her with my hand, taking back what she stole. Her nails dig into my arms, drawing blood, and I lean down, kissing her hard, tasting Julian on her lips, a collision of jealousy and want that's got me trembling.

"More," she gasps against my mouth, and I don't hesitate—pulling my fingers free, I straddle her face, lowering myself until her tongue's on me, hot and frantic, and fuck, it's good—too good. Julian moves then, behind me, his hands on my hips, and I feel him press against me—not inside, just rubbing, teasing, the friction driving me wild as Lena licks, sucks, her moans vibrating through me.

It's a mess—three of us spiraling, no boundaries, no sense—just need, raw and unfiltered. I'm close, teetering, when Julian thrusts against me harder, his cock slipping between my thighs, not entering but close enough, and Lena's tongue finds that spot, relentless. I shatter, a scream tearing free, my hands fisting in her hair as I grind down, riding the wave, and Julian's next, groaning as he spills against my skin, hot and messy.

We collapse, a heap of limbs and sweat, Lena beneath me, Julian half-off the bed, the ropes dangling useless now. My chest heaves, lungs burning, and I roll off her, staring at the ceiling, the chaos settling into a heavy, unsteady silence. She's panting, hair plastered to her face, and Julian's sprawled, eyes shut, like he's wrecked beyond repair.

"You're an asshole," I mutter, to both of them, but there's no heat left—just exhaustion, a hollow ache where the thrill burned out. Lena laughs, shaky and low, sitting up, her skirt still bunched around her waist.

"Yeah," she says, meeting my gaze, "but you joined in." Julian shifts, reaching for me, but I pull away, standing on shaky legs, my wrists red and raw, my body humming with the aftermath.

"Get out," I say again, quieter this time, and they don't fight it—Lena grabs her jacket, Julian his shirt, and they stumble out, leaving me alone in the cabin's wreckage. The door shuts, and I sink to the floor, the ropes in my hands, feeling the weight of it—exclusion bred this chaos, sure, but I dove in, and now I'm drowning in what's left.