My head falls back against Ronan’s shoulder, his breath ghosting over my neck as his twin moves inside me. The rhythm is slow, reverent, but it builds with every heartbeat. I can feel how close we all are—how tightly this moment binds us, how much weight it carries after what we’ve survived. I’ve lost track of how many times they’ve touched me, how often I’ve come undone only to be pieced back together by their hands, their mouths, their devotion. Not to mention their cocks.
It all melts into a single, breathless rush—heat, want, and the deep, anchoring pull of belonging. The world shrinks until there’s nothing but the slide of Rowan’s body beneath mine, the steadyrhythm of Ronan’s breath against my ear, and the pulse of my heartbeat thundering in my chest. My fingers curl into Rowan’s skin, searching for something to anchor me as another soft, helpless moan slips free. Through the haze, I catch sight of Emerson watching us, his eyes dark and so full of heat that it feels like worship and hunger tangled together, grounding me even as I fall apart. “I don’t know if I can take anymore,” I whisper, the words catching on a shaky exhale.
Rowan chuckles softly, the vibration running along his chest. “You can, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride. “We’ll take care of you.”
With a low growl of approval, Ronan’s mouth finds my neck. His lips are hot, his breath steady as he presses me forward until I collapse against Rowan’s chest. Rowan catches me easily, one hand splaying across my lower back while his mouth captures mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs. His lips move with purpose, tongue tangling in a duo, soft but demanding, coaxing me to forget everything except the press of his body beneath mine.
Then something cool drips against my skin, sliding down the curve of my backside. I gasp and jolt forward, a startled sound breaking through the haze.
“Easy now,” Ronan murmurs, his voice rough but soothing as his hand comes to rest on my lower back, next to his twins. His thumb strokes slow circles against my back hole, the motion both grounding and sinful. The warmth of his palm follows the trail of the liquid, rubbing what must be lube in with a care that makes me shiver.
Rowan’s lips pull from mine just long enough for him to glance sideways, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Em,” he says with a smirk that’s nothing short of wicked, “why don’t you come help calm our girl down?”
The words hang in the air, thick with heat and challenge. Emerson moves closer without hesitation, his presence magnetic as always. He settles beside Rowan, his touch feather-light when his fingers brush across my breast. A soft gasp escapes me before I can stop it. His fingertips move in slow, teasing circles over my nipple, the delicate motion sending tiny tremors rippling through me.
Ronan’s touch becomes measured, his pace unhurried and deliberate, each motion purposeful as he explores me with slow precision, coaxing my body to yield and accept the growing stretch with one finger, then two.
When he’s satisfied, the air shifts around us in anticipation—the sharp inhale from Rowan beneath me, the rough sound of Ronan’s breathing behind as he notches his cock against my backside. Every sense heightens until I’m trembling.
He murmurs low against my skin, “Easy, Pix. Relax. Let me in.” His voice filled with patience.
He sinks in carefully, slipping slowly one inch at a time, giving me a chance to adjust, and when I finally relax, the warmth of his hand slides up my spine, grounding me. The sensation is almost too much—too deep, too full—but somehow, it’s exactly what I crave.
Emerson keeps me anchored in another way. His touch is featherlight, tracing the edge of my collarbone before his mouthfinds its way to my nipple, teasing in a rhythm that makes my pulse stumble. Rowan tightens his grip on my hips, a low groan slipping from his chest, and the sound alone sends another wave of shivers through me.
“Breathe, Berk,” Ronan whispers, his voice steady but laced with heat.
I do as he says, exhaling slowly, trying to hold on to the air even as every nerve in my body feels alive and aching.
Rowan’s lips graze my temple, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with pride. “Taking our cocks so perfectly.”
“Full,” I manage, the word a soft confession as my body adjusts to them, the closeness, the impossible sensation of being surrounded and claimed in every way that matters.
Emerson looks up then, his eyes dark and steady. “You trust us?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, breathless. “Always.”
Rowan presses another kiss to my lips, deep and sure. “Then let go, baby,” he says, the words melting against my mouth.
And I do—completely, utterly—until all that exists is the warmth of their hands, the sound of their voices, and the ache of their love far deeper than desire.
The twins move in perfect unison, their rhythm slow at first, then deepening until it’s all I can do to hold on. Each motion pulls another sound from my lips, my breath catching as the heat builds and crests again and again. I clutch at Rowan’s shoulders, pressingmy forehead to his chest. His skin is slick and warm beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady even as mine races out of control.
Emerson shifts beside us, the mattress dipping under his weight as he rises onto his knees. I can feel the warmth of his body even before his hand slides beneath my chin, tilting my face toward him.
“Look at me,” he says softly, though his tone leaves no room for refusal.
My lashes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and the world seems to still for a breath. His eyes are dark with need but gentled by the tenderness there.
“Let me see your pretty tongue, baby.” The request sends another shiver through me. My mouth parts on instinct, lips trembling as I obey, my tongue slipping out in silent offering. His voice drops to an indistinct murmur, rough and approving. “Perfect.” The word slides through me like a touch, dark and coaxing. His thumb brushes my top lip, tracing the outline slowly, almost possessively. The simple contact sends a tremor down my spine, tightening muscles, causing the twins to grunt and moan. “Open wider,” he whispers.
The command isn’t loud, but it leaves no room for hesitation. I part my lips further, my breath shallow as he presses his thumb past them, dragging it across my tongue with deliberate control. His eyes darken, watching every small reaction as if memorizing me.
A sound escapes him—half groan, half growl—as his hand slides along my jaw, keeping me still beneath his gaze. I can’t lookaway, not when his expression turns dangerous in that beautiful, consuming way only my guys can manage.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent at the edges. His restraint feels razor-thin, a storm barely contained, and I know I’m the one pulling at the last threads holding him together.
My pulse races, and I can taste the tension in the air—the dark, heavy kind that makes every breath feel like a dare. He leans closer, his lips ghosting over mine but never quite touching.