The two words, "Your turn," hung in the air of the cell, heavier than a death sentence.
Alexi's world, already fractured, finally splintered into a million razor-sharp shards of terror and, to her profound shame, a dark, pulsating need.
She couldn't move. Her body was locked in place, a prisoner of her own conflicting signals. Her mind screamed at her to flee, to fight, to die with her pride intact, but her limbs were leaden, her muscles refusing to obey her mind.
Her gaze was torn between the man standing before her and the woman on the floor.
Natasha was a picture of debauched bliss, a beautiful ruin. She lay in a boneless heap, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, her body still twitching with the powerful aftershocks of her brutal fucking. And between her legs, the evidence of Jax's conquest was on full display.
