When I’m panting, bucking forward on Dimitri, I feel that pressure, the good kind that stretches and pulls and fills me up inside, and I take it because I already know I can. I gasp into Dimitri’s neck and let him whisper dirty things into my ear as Tristian painstakingly fills me, bottoming out with a tight, strangled noise.
“That’s our girl,” Tristian says, rubbing soothing circles into my lower back with his thumbs. “Is that good?” He reaches around me and grabs my breast, lifting it toward Dimitri’s mouth. Dimitri complies, enveloping me with his tongue, and I rock against him, pulling Tristian forward with me. It draws him deeper and I cry out at the intensity. “That’s right, sweetheart, you set the pace.”
I wasn’t lying before about needing it hard, frenetic. For days, I’ve felt like a livewire, all this energy and emotion thrashing around inside my chest, begging to be expended. It’s just like Dimitri said before. I want to feel them take it all out of me. I want to feel them stretch me, fill me, pound away with their lithe, strong bodies. I fall on top of Dimitri and he grabs my hips, fingers interlacing with Trisitan’s. I buck and bounce, telling them how I need it.
They don’t make me wait.
The two of them take control swiftly, hips surging, slamming into me. With every pound of Tristian’s cock into my body, Dimitri thrusts in tandem, swallowing my cries with his serpentine tongue and wicked eyes. I feel them everywhere, underneath, above, inside. There’s no place where they begin and I end. It’s just one mass of sweaty, hungry lovemaking, and I don’t want it to end.
But while Dimitri sets the fuse with every punch of his hips, Tristian is igniting it with the deep drag of his cock.
The live wire in my chest erupts.
The shockwaves of the orgasm ripple through me, taking me to that transcendent place where it’s so intense, there’s nothing I can do but ride it out and let it carry me away. Possessed. It’s like being possessed, taken out of my own body to make room for what they’re doing to me.
“That’s it.” Dimitri’s voice is tight with strain as he coaxes me through the whine that tears from my throat. “Jesus, I can feel you, baby. I can feel you coming around us.” He puts his lips to mine, breathless words colliding with my cries. “You’re so fucking beautiful…”
I’m held up by the two of them, hands on my hips, cocks thrusting into me, even when I collapse. They work in tandem and I close my eyes, just listening, feeling. Tristian whispers my name, attaching it to every punch, until he comes with a strangled grunt, heaving into me, spilling thick and hot in my ass. I can feel every pulse, slick and so deep, and I imagine myself—the soft, inside parts—clutching it greedily, calling it my own.
“Goddamn, baby,” Dimitri says, voice deep and guttural. “Goddamn, goddamn.” He seizes beneath me with a hard thrust, crushing our hips together painfully. His head lifts off the bed, neck straining as his cock jerks, pumping me so full of him that I swear I can taste it on the back of my tongue. “God-fucking-damn.” He crumples onto the bed, chest heaving, and for a long moment, the three of us are made human again. Tristian curled over my back, panting into the space between my shoulder blades.
“He needs us,” I tell them later, after we’ve cleaned ourselves up, lazy and uncoordinated, attracted like magnets into the center of Killian’s ridiculously large bed.
Dimitri’s on his side, running his fingertips across my lower belly. “Every King needs his court,” he agrees, watching my stomach twitch at the tickle of his touch.
“And a Queen,” Tristian says, taking my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles.
I spread my thighs, making room for the fingers Dimitri uses to push his cum back inside me. “Get some sleep, baby,” he tells me, those black eyes finding mine. “We’ll make sure he finds you.”
I lie between them, basking in the sensation of being thoroughly fucked and safe in our King’s bed, waiting for him to return and make us complete.
28
Rath
Story barely stirs when I roll her into Tristian, waiting until she’s curled into his chest, thigh slung over his hips, to creep out of bed. I spend a second watching them, memorizing the way they fit together, Tristian making a snuffling sound into her hair as his palm finds the swell of her ass cheek.
I swear I see him flex a pec.
Blame it on the South Side childhood, but I’ve never been a deep sleeper. This is unlike Killian, who’s spent years sleeping on busses or planes, wherever he could get the chance. Tristian exercises and masturbates his way to exhaustion every day, so he’s always been pretty good at passing out the moment his head hits the pillow. This all came in handy when we moved in here together, because there was no way I’d find myself living in the same room with a piano as sweet as the one upstairs and not play it all hours of the night. That’s how I get to sleep; music or a fat blunt to chill me out. I require a certain level of peace to relax, and those are the only two things that help me achieve it. Until Story came along, that is. Baby girl knows how to soothe a guy into sleep.