Four Men's Perfect Substitute

Eliana's POV

Ever since they stole me, not one night has been mine.  

Some belong to Martin and Dennis, some to Lawrence and Philip, but most (like tonight) they take together, greedy, relentless, until I forget whose air I’m breathing.

Martin shoved me flat onto the center of the bed, knees forcing my thighs apart. He didn’t wait; he slammed in to the hilt in one thrust, thick cock stretching me wide, the blunt head punching against my cervix. I opened my mouth to cry out and Lawrence was already there, fist twisted in my hair, shoving himself past my lips until his crown hit the back of my throat. Two cocks filled me at once, no pause, no mercy.

Martin fucked me hard and fast, pulling out until only the head stayed inside, then ramming back in, wet slaps echoing every time his hips met mine. His fingers dug into the soft skin of my inner thighs. Lawrence kept my head still, sliding in and out of my mouth, salty precome coating my tongue, drool spilling over my chin.

They switched without warning. Lawrence flipped me onto my knees, yanked my hips up, and drove into me from behind, his balls smacking my swollen clit with every thrust. Martin grabbed my hair again and fed me his cock, still slick with Lawrence’s spit and my own wetness. I tasted all three of us, sharp and musky, flooding my mouth.

I came first, pussy clamping down so hard Lawrence groaned and spilled inside me, hot pulses flooding deep. Martin followed seconds later, cock jerking against my tongue as he shot thick ropes down my throat. I swallowed what I could; the rest leaked from the corners of my mouth and dripped onto the sheets.

They pulled out and I collapsed, legs splayed, cunt still pulsing and pushing their mixed come out in slow, creamy pulses that ran down my ass and soaked the bed.

My body still trembled, little aftershocks rippling through me. Martin’s chest rose and fell against my left side, his arm draped heavily across my waist. Lawrence pressed against my back, his breath warm on my neck.

Martin shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His fingers traced lazy circles on my shoulder, so gentle it made my throat tight. Six months ago those same hands had grabbed me outside the restaurant where I worked and forced me into a car while I screamed. Six months ago I’d been Eliana Sullivan, a girl saving up for college. Now I was just here, in this bed, in this prison that sometimes felt like home.

"Ellie," Martin whispered, pressing his lips to my forehead. The kiss lingered, soft and careful. "You know what? We haven't felt this relaxed in years."

My heart did something stupid and skipped. He used my real name, not Vivian's.

I wanted to answer but I didn't trust my voice. These past few weeks something had shifted. They'd stopped dressing me in Vivian's clothes, stopped making me sit in her chair at dinner, stopped closing their eyes when they touched me like they were pretending I was someone else. They looked at me now and they said my name.

Lawrence's arms tightened around me from behind, pulling me closer. "Stay," he murmured against my hair. "Stop thinking about running. We'll protect you, Ellie. I promise."

Protect me? They were the ones I'd needed protection from. But God, the way he said it made me want so badly to believe him.

Maybe I don't have to be just a replacement. Maybe they're finally seeing me, the real me.

I'd noticed the small changes. Martin remembered I liked my coffee with two sugars, not the way Vivian took hers black. Lawrence brought me mystery novels instead of the romance books that lined Vivian's shelves. Dennis had stopped flinching when I laughed because my laugh wasn't hers. Philip smiled when I made sarcastic comments instead of going quiet like I'd broken some rule.

Last week Martin had found me reading in the garden and that old gardener James had lent me a book about California wildflowers. Martin sat down next to me, actually interested in what I was reading, asking me questions about which flowers I liked best. He'd even ordered seeds so I could plant some in the spring.

Spring. That meant they expected me to still be here in spring. The thought should have terrified me but instead it made something warm bloom in my chest.

"You're thinking too loud," Lawrence said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on my hip. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

I'm thinking that I might be falling for my kidnappers. I'm thinking that I'm so pathetically starved for affection that I'm confusing captivity with care.

But what came out was different. "Nothing. I'm just... I'm okay."

And the terrifying part? In that moment, wrapped between their bodies with their hands gentle and their breathing steady, I almost meant it.

Martin's phone buzzed on the nightstand but he ignored it.

Lawrence pressed a kiss to my shoulder blade, then another one higher on my neck. I shivered and he made a low sound of satisfaction. "Cold?"

"No." I wasn't cold. I was burning up.

Tonight, I let myself pretend. I pretended that I'd met them some other way, that I'd chosen to be here, that when they looked at me with those intense hungry eyes they saw Eliana Sullivan and nobody else.

Martin's breathing had started to even out, his hand still resting on my waist. Lawrence was already asleep, his body a solid wall of warmth behind me. I should have felt trapped between them but instead I felt safe.

God I'm so pathetic. But I didn't move. I stayed exactly where I was, memorizing the weight of Martin's arm and the rhythm of Lawrence's breathing and the way the moonlight made everything look like a dream.

Maybe tomorrow they'll look at me the same way. Maybe tomorrow I won't just be the girl who looks like Vivian Bailey. Maybe tomorrow—

The pounding on the door shattered everything.

Martin jerked awake, already moving. Lawrence sat up, instantly alert in that way that reminded me he'd been in the military. My heart was racing and that brief moment of peace evaporated.

"Martin! Lawrence!" Dennis's voice came through the door, sharp and urgent. "Get out here! Now!"

Martin was already pulling on his pants, fingers fumbling with the button. Lawrence rolled out of bed and grabbed his shirt. Neither of them looked at me.

I wrapped the sheet around myself and followed them to the door, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. Martin yanked it open. Dennis stood there with his face pale and his phone clutched in his hand.

"What is it?" Lawrence demanded.

Dennis's eyes were wide, almost manic. "It's Vivian. She just called. She's alive."