The Ritual — Part Two

Dom pulled off with a wet pop. His lips were glistening. His eyes were already starting to dilate — the G2 kicking in, sharpening his perception, narrowing his focus to a crystalline point.

"Your turn, Chief," Dom said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rose. "Best part of the job."

Marcus "Chief" Chen rose from his bench. The biggest of them, he had to crouch to fit under the overhead rail, his helmet scraping against the metal. He knelt in front of Kayla with none of Dom's theatrical hunger and all of Dom's intensity.

He didn't speak.

Just looked at her once — a quick, assessing glance that took in her face, her posture, the slight tremor in her hands — and then lowered his mouth to her breast.

His technique was different. Softer. Almost reverent. His tongue circled her nipple once before he began to drink, and Kayla felt a shudder run through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

The broad-shouldered man with no identifiers — the silent one, the one who hadn't spoken a word the entire ride — had moved.

He was kneeling beside Marcus, his mouth already closing around her other nipple.

His lips were chapped. His stubble scraped against the sensitive skin of her areola, and she gasped — a small, involuntary sound that she immediately hated herself for.

"There she is," Dom said from the bench, grinning. "Told you she was a natural."

"Dom," Vic warned.

"I'm just saying."

The suckling continued. Two mouths. Four hands — Marcus's on her hip, steadying her, and the broad-shouldered man's on her other hip, holding her just as firmly. The warmth spread lower. Her underwear was definitely damp now. She could feel it every time the van hit a bump and her body jostled against the seat.

This is just biology, she told herself again.

But biology didn't explain why she didn't want them to stop.