Damn it, Carlos! I already told you—put that shit away!” I grimaced at the sharp withdrawal of pain exhibited from the forbidden entrance. My body recoiled, slowly hissing at the ebbing pain of his intrusion to my unprepared entrance. My nails dug into Ramiro’s shoulder as I furiously whipped my head to face the uninvited intruder, Carlos—Ramiro’s identical twin.

My dark, unamused eyes pinned him to the spot. The intensity in my fathomless pools was so profound the Argentinian actually halted his vigorous jerking movements, which were wrapped around his proud member.

“Mierda! Carlos, esperate! It’s my turn.” Ramiro gruffly stated as his hands gripped the sides of my hips, holding me in place, fearing his twin had screwed their chances of an all-night shag fest.

I specifically detailed the dos and don’ts before this triad of sexual exploration began, but of course, there was always that one rogue stubborn head who was raging too hard to pay attention to the current mission at hand—me. This was all about me, after all, not them or what pleasures they sought tonight. I was to be catered to. Every ounce of flesh to be kissed and worshipped. I was to be their very reason for existence, or there wasn’t to be a deal. And even though I adored both men, I was quite ready to walk out of their apartment if one of them wasn’t willing to abide by the rules.

“Lo siento, Cara …” Carlos murmured sincerely, his coffee-like dark eyes unabashedly glued to my bare breasts, salivating.

“Cariña,” I snapped, correcting him. There was no mistaking the annoyance written all over me. The nickname was part of the bargain. Another rule he had conveniently forgotten.

The spark of desire in his determined eyes accelerated tenfold. The struggle of his Latin temperament of needing to be in control and his unequivocal desire to possess me for himself played beautifully on his chiseled face. But I was holding firm. This was my game—my rules. Best he remembered that.

He could take it or leave it. As they said, there were a lot of fish in the ocean.

For a moment, our eyes silently battled before he was possessed with lustful intentions once again. The instant shift in his dark depths was unmistakable.

I had won.

“Cariña, let me show you how sorry I am,” Carlos succinctly stated as his lustful gaze glued on to my breast, kneeling before me like a slave before his hungry lips captured my breast, catering to my wanton needs before I had the chance to reject his advances. His twin Ramiro immediately carried on with pummeling me vigorously.

The little reservation I’d had moments ago vanished as their simultaneous ministrations intensified.

“Five minutes,” I gasped as I let out a low, satisfying moan. “You guys have five minutes before we start.”

When the Argentinian twins had approached me five hours ago, I had been shocked at my body’s immediate carnal response. Their accent and their dark coloring—everything about them reminded me of Juan Torres. The immediate pang of intrinsic disgust and undeniable arousal was a toxic combination I couldn’t resist.

After all these barren months, Juan was going to come alive. I was to be the sacrificed just like the twisted Spanish did it—violating me all night long as he whispered his undying love and all the filthy ways he was going to fuck me until I submitted to him.

Tonight was about the same reenactment of that perverted night in Barcelona.

Lights out. Drugged out. Fucked out.

And so it had begun … bonding with my captor.

It was just as I had pictured it.

Just as I had memorized it.

Raging fire coursed through my veins, zinging through my body with an endless supply of euphoria. My body experienced the highest peaks of unparalleled ecstasy. And with each stroke of pleasure, my soul chipped away, gradually deteriorating the very interior of my being—the very fabric of me. Each illicit moan of surrender diluted the identity that made me who I was, reprogramming me into this powerless woman, enslaved by the very memory of a man who selfishly robbed her of everything she held dear, everything she prided herself for.

I was a walking disaster, but I didn’t care. This was the first time I had felt alive in months, and if this was the only route to feel this alive, then so be it.

I had nothing else to live for, anyway. Apart from my career, I had nothing else going on in my life.

This …

This was all I had. This was the gift Juan departed me with. A gift I was learning to treasure.

A sick joke of perversion, Juan’s very signature of perversion, and yet it was one I couldn’t stop indulging in.

It only took once before it became an addiction. The rush, the disgust, the unmitigated euphoria was too addictive to stay away from. So much so that it was unbearable to consider living without his corruption.

This was, after all, my fate. Might as well accept the cards life had dealt me instead of denying what I had truly become—a broken soul with broken wings, too irreparable to fly to safer pastures, forever grounding me in this godforsaken prison.