Rowan doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask how I want them—how I want him—the way he usually does. Tonight, he simply takes, driven by the same maelstrom churning inside me.
One moment I’m gasping against his mouth, and the next he’s pulling me onto his cock with a rough, desperate certainty that knocks the breath from my lungs. The connection between us snaps tight, a shock of heat ripping straight through my spine as our bodies lock together in a single, claiming thrust.
A cry tears out of me, matched by a low, feral sound from deep in Rowan’s chest. His forehead presses to mine, sweat damp and trembling with restraint he’s rapidly losing.
“Fuck…” His voice drops into a rough growl, equal parts reverence and hunger. “Baby—every single time—you wreck me.”
“Yes.” The word scrapes out like a plea, raw and desperate for more.
His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in, pulling me against him with each sharp, hungry movement. I cling to his shoulders, nails scraping across warm skin as heat coils tight and consuming inside me.
“You have no idea,” he rasps against my throat, breath hot and uneven. “The way your pussy tightens around me… how you flutter…” His next thrust steals the rest of his words, forcing them out in a broken groan. “Christ, you’re unreal.”
A warm hand glides down my spine, the familiar weight of Ronan’s touch telling me he’s joining us. He palms my lower back, guiding me down against Rowan’s chest as he pulls out just long enough for Ronan’s fingers to slip between my thighs. He strokes through the slickness Rowan left behind, tracing upward with deliberate intent.
I push back into his touch without thinking, my breath catching when his other hand presses firmly against my spine, steadying me, positioning me exactly where he wants me.
“You going to let me in easy, baby?” Ronan’s voice roughens against my ear.
His fingers tease lower, circling and pressing with slow, coaxing pressure. He slides one inside, gentle but claiming, my body yielding instinctively. A second follows, stretching me with a burn that makes my hips tremble, easing me open for him, preparing me in a way that feels both wicked and intimate.
He slides into my dripping entrance slowly, savoring every inch of connection, his breath warm against my shoulder. He lingers there, buried deep, before easing back out so Rowan can take his place again. Rowan pulls me tight against him, his hands gliding from my hips to my backside, holding me open for his twin with a sure, possessive confidence that sends a shiver through me. His touch steadies me, guides me, makes room for what comes next.
Ronan’s presence is a heat at my spine. The first press of his cock is always the moment that steals my breath—the sharp stretch that flares, then melts, turning into something deep and overwhelming. I breathe through it, pushing back, letting my body remember the burn.
Emerson stays planted in front of me, tracking every flicker of my reaction like he’s committing it to memory. His fingers move between my thighs—slow, precise, circling my clit—anchoring me even as the pleasure crests, three points of contact, three distinct claims drawing tight until I’m held, centered, and utterly undone.
My orgasm tears through me before I have time to brace for it, a hot surge that ripples outward from where Emerson’s fingers tease my nub. It’s too much and not enough all at once. My breath catches, my spine bows, and my body clamps down hard around Rowan and Ronan. Their answering groans rumble through my skin, rough and raw, vibrating through both of them where they fill me.
Emerson feels it too—my whole body shaking against his touch—and he laughs under his breath, wicked and pleased. “Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the hinge of my jaw, “already falling apart for us.”
My laugh is small, breathless, trembling around the edges. I shouldn’t want to push them further. I shouldn’t tease when all of us are strung so tight. But I do. God, I do. I shift my hips just enough, purposeful enough to make them feel every aftershock rolling through me.
Both twins groan again, deeper this time, coarse and unrestrained. The sound goes straight through me.
Ronan’s hand comes down fast, a hot slap to my right cheek. The crack echoes off the walls. The sting blooms instantly, delicious and sharp, and I gasp. But instead of softening, my body tightens again.
He huffs a disbelieving growl. “You trying to kill us, baby?” he mutters, and brings his palm down again, harder. Heat spreads across my skin in a bright, throbbing flush. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the bastard enjoys it.
Rowan’s fingers dig harder into my hips, every muscle in his arms flexing beneath my hands. He bites off a curse so raw it sounds like it’s dragged through him.
Emerson leans in close enough for his breath to warm my cheek. His lips ghost across my skin in a teasing stroke. “You little menace,” he whispers, voice curling like smoke down my spine. “Look at you. Look at what you do to us.” His smile touches his words, amused and hungry all at once.
I reach for him without thinking, threading my fingers through his dark hair and tugging him closer until our foreheads brush. Everything in me is stretched thin and electric, riding the edge between control and surrender.
“I want you to take the place of whoever caves first,” I whisper, voice shaking with want and wickedness. Each word lands soft against his lips, a dare wrapped in silk.
Emerson groans for a single heartbeat as the image settles in. His eyes darken, heat pooling slow and dangerous. “Baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe, “you’re going to undo us.”
I tilt my chin, brushing my mouth against his. “Good,” I breathe. “Ruin me right.”
Below me, Rowan groans again, fingers tightening on my hips as he fucks up into me. Ronan’s hand slides along my spine, steady and warm, his breath rough as it brushes the back of my shoulder while he glides his length into me relentlessly.
Rowan’s rhythm is the first to break—his breath tearing free in a rough, helpless sound against my shoulder. His hands clamp down on my hips, grip turning desperate, fingers digging in like he’s holding himself together by force alone. “Berk,” he rasps, the name scraped raw from his chest—half warning, half plea.
His eyes—lord, those eyes—storm-dark and blown wide, pupils devouring the last trace of gold, lock onto mine and burn straight through me. Sweat gathers on his brow. His jaw works, tight with restraint, holding himself on a razor’s edge as he silently asks—still—for forgiveness he’s already been given.
A shiver rolls through me, deep enough to seize my breath. My heart stutters against my ribs. The world tilts, narrows, sharpens around this man who once hid behind coldness, anger, violence… and now can’t hide anything at all.