Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I can already feel this switching into not-so-fun territory.
“All of you,” Matthew says, thankfully referring to every initiate and not singling me out yet. “Take off your jackets. Set them behind you.”
I shed my pink puffer.
Rocky strips off his black peacoat with a grin. He eyes the space like this is cool shit. There is absolutely no way he’s truly entertained by Matthew’s display of dominance. It would naturally irk Rocky. But I wonder what he’s really thinking, and sometimes I wish I had a front row seat inside his brain during our jobs.
“Shirts and pants next,” Matthew decrees.
Claire balks. “Seriously?”
“Do as he says, roach,” a green-robed figure pipes in.
Roach? I guess we’re cockroaches until we become fireflies.
Rocky avoids eye contact with me. And I sheepishly look away from him while I shed my pink top. Though I can’t see Matt’s mouth through the mask, his blue eyes are grinning at me.
Fuck you, I want to shout.
With pissed off haste, I start unbuttoning my jeans.
I’m happy that Rocky is blocking my view of Nova and my brother’s view of me. Both guys quickly strip down, and I try to squash the desire to peek at Rocky’s ass and how the boxer briefs mold his package.
Do not look.
Kendra follows my pace and sheds her long-sleeved shirt.
Claire is gaping at me like this is unbelievable, but I shrug, trying to be encouraging. A pit forms in my stomach, knowing she’s sort of caught in the cross fire tonight. I’m sorry. This initiation can’t be easy, but Rocky was the one supposed to be in the driver’s seat as a Firefly member dictating what Oliver does. I was just supposed to advocate for Rocky.
This isn’t how we wanted it to be.
Claire more reluctantly pulls off her blouse.
Matthew walks the line of initiates again, but this time, he makes an elaborate show of stopping in front of me.
Rocky is starting to feign confusion.
I narrow a glare on Matthew. His pompous eyes hover over my breasts, pushed up in a lacy white bra that leaves little to the imagination. My matching panties ride high on my hips, and I pretend to be virginal and shy and hide my bare stomach.
Claire takes a tense breath beside me.
And I’m glad she’s okay.
At least he’s only looking at me.
A tracker is stitched in the lining of my bra, and the only thing I need to ensure is that he doesn’t grab my boob. Which I sincerely thought would be unlikely.
Yet, here we are. With this sleazebag pretending to be Mr. Hotshot. The difference between him and us—we don’t believe in these delusions.
“Abigail Miller,” Matthew says my fake name. “Take off your bra.”
“Come on, man,” Rocky tells him lightly with raised brows. “That’s my sister.” A threat lingers in his deep voice, but then he laughs into his next words. “Be a little more creative.”
He’s not just my fake brother tonight, but a vile asshole of a fake brother.
Matthew laughs, skin stretching at his eyes. He must be smirking. “You have my word, roach.” I keep my bra on.
He snaps his fingers. Firefly members come forward with trays of shots.
A fear of mine is now unlocked. I’ve maintained a massive fear of being drugged since I was a little kid and my mom drilled into me the horrors of roofies.
The clear liquid resembles vodka, but it could be laced with GHB.
“Oh, I’m allergic,” Claire poorly lies, her breath hitched.
“Take the damn shot, roach!”
I put the shot between my lips. Pretending to down the shot, I cough hard and roughly, and while they’re watching me hack, I buckle over and pour the vodka onto my coat behind me.
Rocky and Nova have other sleight-of-hand tricks, but I can’t watch them fake the shot.
“Swallow, roach,” Matthew tells me.
I swallow and grimace.
“On your knees!”
All five of us obey, and another Firefly member emerges with a wooden paddle.
Okay, this is kinky.
While our asses are paddled one by one, Matthew crouches down to me and reaches toward my face. I flinch a little, but that hardly dissuades him from going in. He tugs my hair tie.
And the long tendrils of my hair spill out around my cheeks. He twirls a dyed-black strand around his finger. I bite my tongue to keep from spitting in his face.
“All fours,” Matthew tells me as the Firefly member finishes Claire’s spanking and reaches me.
Placing my palms on the cold stone, I remain on all fours and try to focus on the ground, but Matthew pinches my chin and forces me to look at him.
The paddle strikes my ass with a light smack.
I try not to smile. It’s not terrible. Could be a lot worse.
“Harder,” Matthew instructs.
The next whack jostles my body forward, and the sting burns my skin.
“Again,” Matthew says.
As I’m spanked once, twice, three times, arousal builds from the stinging pressure, and I imagine Rocky watching. He shouldn’t be—he’s my fake brother tonight. But the idea that he could be pulses a need, and my pussy throbs.