Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man Chapter 171: Choosing The Lesser Evil (ii)

Lucas POV:

Maybe... maybe I could survive this.

Maybe I could use them, just like Clark had used Blaze. Maybe they were my lesser evil, too. I could be their plaything, just like Clark had beco Blaze’s. They would protect . They would keep safe, and in return, I would give them what they wanted. Just like Clark had done.

Fuck. Was this really the only choice I had left? Was I really going to sell my soul to one of these monsters to survive? Was that what this place had turned into?

"I’ll be good," I choke out, my voice hoarse, the pressure on my throat thick and suffocating. "I’ll be really good..."

I force a laugh, but it cos out shaky, strangled. The hand tightening around my neck makes it harder to breathe, but sohow I don’t want him to stop. "Yeah," the blond murmurs behind , his voice low and warm against my ear. He slides a hand down to my hips, gripping them possessively, before squeezing my ass.

I yelp, caught off guard by the sudden pres sure. A soft, dark chuckle from the other side of makes my body tense.

"Show us, then. We’re waiting." His voice is cool, expectant.

My heart pounds so loud I can barely hear anything else. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. The fear gnaws at , but beneath it, there’s sothing else—sothing darker. Shivers race down my spine, but I force my hands to move, trembling but determined.

I place them—slowly, almost reverently—on their pants. The very fabric that once concealed the innocence I thought I still had. The thought makes my chest tighten, but I push it down. I start to rub, fingers slipping against the fabric, feeling the heat beneath.

"Fuck, the boy knows his stuff, alright," the blond murmurs, a laugh escaping him. His voice is heavy with approval, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

The dark-haired one curses, his grip tightening on my wrist, holding my hand still over the hard outline of his cock. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through . "Don’t stop," he growls.

I feel the dark-haired one’s fingers dig into my wrist, forcing to stay still as he guides my hand over the bulge in his pants. His breath is hot against my neck, each exhale making shiver.

"You’re doing well," he mutters, his voice low and almost dangerous, but I can hear the edge of satisfaction in it. I don’t want to stop—so twisted part of wants to push further, to see how far this will go.

The blond, still behind , leans in close, his lips brushing the back of my ear as he speaks. "Don’t be shy. Let’s see what else you’ve got."

His words cut through my thoughts, making my chest tighten. I can feel the tension in my body as I try to steady my breathing, my fingers still rubbing over the dark-haired guy’s pants. The material is rough under my fingertips, but I can feel the heat seeping through.

Then, the blond’s hand moves from my hip to the front of my shirt, slipping inside and brushing against the soft skin of my stomach. His touch is slow, deliberate, but it’s enough to make gasp. "You’re so fucking responsive, aren’t you?"

I can’t stop the shudder that rips through . The sensation of both of them on , touching in ways I’ve never been touched before, sses with my head. But I can’t think too much. If I think too much, I’ll back out, and I know that’s not what they want.

The dark-haired one pulls closer, his other hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding steady. "Don’t be afraid," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You’ll be fine."

It feels like my whole body is on fire, each nerve ending tingling with anticipation, dread, and sothing else I can’t quite place. The blond behind shifts closer, his chest pressing against my back. He’s almost too close, but the heat of his body makes feel... exposed. Vulnerable.

But then he speaks again, the words slipping past my ear in a rasping whisper: "Show us how good you can really be, Lucas. I want to see you make us lose control."

I can feel my breath growing shallower, each inhale shakier than the last. The dark-haired one’s grip on my wrist is possessive, almost bruising, but the sensation is strangely comforting, grounding in this mont of chaos.

My heart thunders in my chest, a mix of fear and sothing else that I can’t quite define. The weight of the mont presses down on , making every breath harder to take. I’m kneeling in front of them, my hands still trembling as I reach for the zipper of the dark-haired man’s pants.

The smooth tal clicks under my fingertips, and for a split second, I hesitate. But then his hand slides into my hair, tugging gently, coaxing forward. "Go on," he murmurs, his voice a velvet command. "You want to prove yourself, don’t you?"

I swallow hard, the knot in my throat thickening. The words feel like they’re suffocating , but I push forward anyway. My fingers work the zipper down, slowly, deliberately, and the sound of the fabric parting sends a shiver down my spine.

When I finally pull the fabric away, the dark-haired one leans back slightly, his eyes locked on . He doesn’t say anything at first—just watches, his gaze full of expectation, full of hunger. It’s like he’s daring to give him more, to show him I can be what they want.

I glance up, eting his gaze, and then look over at the blond, who’s leaning casually against the wall, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You’re doing fine, little," he says, his voice dripping with that dark amusent I’ve co to recognize. "But can you do better?"

A slight tremor runs through at his challenge. I feel small under their eyes, but I’m not ready to back down. Not now. I look at the dark-haired one again, my breath shallow.

"If I’m good enough," I murmur, voice soft, almost shaking with vulnerability, "will you protect from the others?"

The air seems to thicken with his silence. I don’t know what answer I’m expecting, but I brace myself, my pulse hamring against my ribs. Then, the blond steps forward, his grin widening.

"Make it worth our while," he says, his voice low, almost playful. "If you show us what you’ve got, no one will touch their little rabbit ever again. We’ll make sure of it."

His words linger in the air, heavy with promise. The dark-haired man’s hand moves to the back of my neck, holding steady as he guides my face closer to the bulge in his pants. "We keep what’s ours," he says, his voice steady, almost possessive.

I can feel the heat of him, his breath a soft puff against my skin. The scent of him—of sothing sharp and masculine—fills my senses, and I can’t deny the way my body responds. Despite the nerves, despite the fear, there’s a spark of desire flickering beneath it all.

I take a deep breath, swallowing down my anxiety, and pull his pants fully down. The dark-haired man’s cock springs free, thick and flushed, and I can’t help the slight gasp that escapes . He looks down at , his eyes dark, full of expectation.

"You know what to do," he murmurs, almost an order, but there’s a hint of sothing softer in his voice. It’s not just dominance; it’s a strange kind of care.

I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s the promise of protection he gave , or maybe it’s just the heat of the mont. Either way, I lean forward, my mouth hovering over him for a brief second before I take him into my mouth.

The taste of him is salt and warmth, and my throat tightens as I adjust to the feeling. I start slow, testing, tentative, my hands moving to the base of his cock, feeling the throbbing pulse of him against my palm. His breath hitches, his hand tightening in my hair, but he doesn’t push —he lets find my rhythm.

I glance up, catching the blond’s gaze. He’s watching intently, his lips parted slightly, eyes dark with hunger. "That’s it," he says, voice low and gravelly. "Make him beg for it. Make him want more."

The dark-haired man groans softly, his hand guiding deeper. I can feel the tension building, the rough slide of him against the back of my throat, and my own pulse races in ti with his.

As I work him, the blond steps forward, his hands sliding down to his own pants, pulling himself out. His cock is long and thick, already hard, and I can’t help the flutter in my stomach. He smirks, eyes glinting with approval.

"You’re doing well," the blond murmurs. "Now show us that you can handle both."

The words ignite sothing in —sothing primal. I know they’re in control, but there’s a part of that wants to prove I can take it all. I pull off the dark-haired man for a mont, gasping for air, and shift my attention to the blond. I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight of him in my grip as I move down, tongue flicking over the tip before I take him in, matching the pace I set for the dark-haired man.

They both groan, the sound of their pleasure mixing with the heat in the room. I alternate between them, sucking one while jerking the other off, my hands and mouth working in tandem. Each ti I switch, the pleasure seems to intensify, a rising tide that threatens to overwhelm .

It’s dizzying—too much, and yet not enough. Every movent, every touch, only drives further into the frenzy of sensation, and I can feel the heat pooling in my belly, the desperate ache that has nothing to do with relief.

The dark-haired man pulls back to him, and this ti, when I take him into my mouth, he doesn’t hold back. He thrusts once, twice, deeper, his fingers gripping my hair tightly. I moan against him, the vibrations sending shockwaves through , and he groans in response.

"Good boy," he murmurs. "