She kneels at the center of a tight circle, twenty men pressing close, their heat radiating onto her skin from every direction. Your girl — yours — looks up through heavy lashes, lips parted, completely surrendered to the weight of all those eyes on her.

You watch from the edge, pulse hammering, as hands reach forward to brush her hair, her shoulders, her jaw. She turns toward each touch instinctively, obedient in a way she never quite is with you alone.

The humiliation and arousal twist together in your chest until you can't separate them. She belongs to this moment now, and somehow that makes her more yours than ever.