“Look at me,” I growl when her eyes start to flutter closed. “I want to see every reaction.”
Ace’s rhythm falters slightly—I recognize the signs of his approaching climax. Without words, we communicate our intentthrough locked eyes above Keira’s body. With practiced ease, we withdraw simultaneously.
“Swap,” Ace says, his voice tight with restraint.
I trade places with my brother, positioning myself at her entrance while he stands before her face. I slam into her without warning, relishing her surprised gasp that’s quickly muffled as Ace pushes between her lips.
“That’s it,” I praise. “Take us both.”
I grip Keira’s hips harder as I thrust into her from behind, watching her lips stretch around my brother’s cock. The familiar rhythm of Hunt, the claiming, the displaying, the ownership—it should feel routine by now. Seven years of this ritual, seven years of interchangeable women bent to our will.
But Keira is different.
My body recognizes what my mind is still processing: Keira fits us like no one ever has.
I slide my hand up her spine, feeling each vertebra beneath my fingertips. Her skin holds the heat of our earlier sessions, marked by our hands, our mouths, our possession. Usually by now, the novelty has worn off, the prey becoming another body to use until the Hunt concludes. With Keira, every touch feels like the first.
Our eyes meet above her body—Ace’s and mine—and I see my own revelation mirrored in his expression. Even my always-restrained twin is coming undone for her.
“Fuck,” I growl, watching her take him deeper. “Look how perfect she is.”
The sounds around us fade to white noise. The other hunters, the other prey, the spectators—they’re nothing but shadows. Only Keira burns bright, her body responding to our every touch with an instinctive understanding of what we need.
I reach around to stroke her where we’re joined, feeling her clench around me. Her moan vibrates through Ace’s cock,making him hiss with pleasure. This feedback loop between the three of us—it’s never existed before. Previous claims were performances, expertly executed but ultimately hollow. This feels like completion.
“She was made for us,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
For the first time since we began the Hunt years ago, I find myself counting down the hours until the claiming, desperate to claim her for as long as the Hunt rules allow. One year and not a moment less.
13
ACE
The feast hall gleams under crystal chandeliers, the long glass table not hiding the entertainment we provide. I adjust myself in the plush chair, watching my brother sink deeper into Keira’s willing body. Her back arches as he fucks her while she sits on his lap, her hands splayed across the glass surface for balance.
“You’re being so good for my brother,” I murmur, stroking her hair while Cyrus lifts her up and down his dick. “Everyone’s watching how perfectly you take his cock.”
The observation makes her clench around him—I can tell by how Cyrus’s rhythm falters momentarily. She likes being watched. Another delicious discovery about our dancer.
Across the table, Mayor Pike’s daughter writhes between three hunters, her political pedigree making her conquest particularly satisfying to those with grievances against her father.
But it’s Elliot and Julian who keep drawing my attention. Julian has Elliot on his lap, wearing a black silk shirt, riding his dick. I’ve always appreciated male beauty as much as female, and the sight stirs something primal in me.
“Enjoying the view?” Cyrus asks, voice strained as he continues fucking our prize.
“You know I am,” I reply, not bothering to hide my interest. “Reminds me of Milan. That curator and his assistant.”
Cyrus smirks, recognizing the memory of men we once shared. “Your turn soon enough,” he promises.
Keira’s eyes follow my gaze to the men, pupils dilating further at the realization that my tastes extend beyond women. I cup her chin, forcing her attention back to me.
“Don’t worry, little dancer. We share everything, but we’ve claimed you exclusively. For now.”
When Julian pushes into Elliot, the art dealer’s controlled facade crumbles into raw pleasure. It’s a masterpiece worthy of his gallery—two of Ravenwood’s most composed men reduced to animal need.
“After I’m done with you,” I tell Keira, “Perhaps we’ll introduce you to some new games.”
Cyrus’s pace quickens, his fingers digging into Keira’s hips as he reaches his climax. I watch the familiar tension build across his shoulders, the way his head tips back when he surrenders to pleasure. He drives deep one final time, emptying himself inside her with a guttural groan.