As if on cue, Ace’s voice cuts through, clearer now. “What the fuck are you doing, Cy?”
Heat flushes through my body—embarrassment tangled with something else entirely. I pull my underwear back up, fumbling.
“Why is Ace in your bed?” I ask, confused.
Cyrus shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “We’ve shared a bed since we can remember. Why change what works?”
My mind races with sudden, forbidden images—their identical bodies tangled together, hands on skin, lips on lips. The thought is taboo, wrong, but undeniably arousing. My pulse quickens as I wonder if they’ve ever crossed that line with each other.
Even as the thought forms, I dismiss it. During those seventy-two hours, I’d been between them constantly, watched them move in perfect synchronization, and never once detected any hint of sexual tension between the brothers. They touched me, not each other. Their focus had been entirely on breaking me apart and putting me back together in the image they wanted.
“Did you really call her?” Ace’s voice again, closer now.
The phone shifts in Cyrus’s hand, and suddenly Ace’s face appears in frame, his expression a mix of irritation and hunger. Unlike his brother’s playful demeanor, Ace’s eyes hold that calculating intensity that makes my stomach clench.
“Since my brother’s already broken protocol,” Ace says, his voice controlled but tight with tension, “show me.”
It’s not a request. It never is with these men.
“Show you what?” I challenge, though we both know it’s pointless resistance.
His jaw tightens. “Show me my pussy too. Now.”
My body responds before my mind can argue, heat flooding between my legs at his possessive tone. I watch as the brothers position the phone between them, both sitting up against the headboard of what must be an enormous bed. The camera angle widens, revealing them both from chest to mid-thigh.
They’re naked, identical in their perfection—broad shoulders, tattooed skin, defined abs, and impossibly hard cocks standing rigid against their stomachs. The sight of them together like this, side by side, hits differently.
“You heard my brother,” Cyrus says, stroking himself lazily. “Show us what belongs to us.”
I shouldn’t. Every shred of dignity I have left screams at me to end this call, to reclaim some dignity. But I angle the phone between my thighs, exposing myself completely to their hungry stares.
“Spread wider,” Ace commands.
I comply, my face burning with shame as I reveal how embarrassingly wet I am—slick and swollen, my body a traitor to my pride.
“Look at that,” Cyrus groans. “Already dripping for us.”
“Good girl,” Ace murmurs. “Our perfect little slut, even when we’re not there to remind you.”
I watch, transfixed, as they grip themselves in unison, two identical cocks sliding through tight fists. Their breathing grows heavier, synchronized like everything else about them.
“Touch yourself,” Ace commands, his voice strained as his hand moves faster. “Show us how wet our little dancer gets watching her owners.”
My fingers find my clit without hesitation, circling the sensitive bud as I spread my legs wider for the camera. “Like this?”
“Fuck yes,” Cyrus groans, his head falling back against the headboard. “Tell us what you’re thinking about.”
My eyes lock on the narrow space between their bodies—mere inches separating them as they pleasure themselves. The forbidden thought that’s been circling my mind slips out before I can stop it.
“I’m thinking about you touching each other.”
Their rhythm falters for a split second. Cyrus recovers first, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Watching me stroke my brother’s cock instead of my own?”
Heat floods my face, but I can’t deny it. “Yes.”
“Such a dirty little slut,” Ace murmurs, his calculated control slipping as his hand moves faster. “Getting off on taboo fantasies.”