“That’s it,” Cyrus encourages. “Look how wet she’s getting.”
He’s right. With each flick of my tongue, Keira’s pussy clenches and drenches his shaft, her arousal seeping down to coat his balls.
“Oh god,” Keira gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Right there, yes, don’t stop.”
I maintain the pressure of my cock deep inside her. She’s practically gushing now, her slickness making obscene sounds as I thrust in shallow movements.
“Fuck, feels so good,” she moans, her head falling back against Cyrus’s chest. “I missed you both so much.”
The words hit me so intensely as warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward until it threatens to engulf me. I pause, lips still against her clit, processing this unfamiliar sensation.
She missed us. Not just the fucking. Not just what we do to her body. She missedus.
I meet Cyrus’s eyes over Keira’s shoulder and see the same stunned recognition in his expression. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Women don’t miss us. They fear us, desire us, submit to us—but miss us? That implies an emotional connection neither of us is equipped to handle.
Yet here I am, feeling oddly touched by her announcement, by the raw honesty in her voice when she said it. I resume my attentions with renewed vigor, rewarding her confession with pleasure.
“We missed you, too, little dancer,” Cyrus whispers against her ear, the admission clearly as surprising to him as it is to me.
I nod in affirmation.
Cyrus groans. “Join me, brother,” he demands, his voice rough. “I want both of us in her pussy. Now.”
My cock twitches hard at his words, pre-cum beading at the tip. I’m already leaking at the thought of sharing her tight heat with my brother again, our shafts pressed against each other inside her.
“Fuck,” I growl.
This isn’t new territory for us. We’ve shared women countless times before, our cocks sliding against each otherinside tight, wet heat. We did it during the Hunt with Keira, too, stretching her pussy around both our lengths while she screamed our names. It’s just what we do—what we’ve always done. It’s our normal.
So why does my heart hammer against my ribs now? Why does my skin feel electrified at the thought of that contact?
The answer comes unbidden: Keira’s confession during our video call. Her breathless admission that she fantasized about us touching each other, about crossing that boundary.
A line we won’t cross. Can’t cross. But the fact that she wants us to, the fact that she sees something there worth wanting—it’s shifted the entire foundation we’ve built our relationship on.
I’ve never thought about it that way before. Our cocks touching was just a byproduct of sharing the same woman—mechanical, incidental. But Keira’s words transformed that contact into something forbidden, something taboo.
Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
Cyrus’s eyes narrow, reading my hesitation. “Problem?” he asks, an edge to his voice.
“No,” I reply instantly, gripping Keira’s hips tighter. “Just thinking about how fucking good it’s going to feel.”
And it will. It always does. But this time I’ll be conscious of every slide of his cock against mine, every shared pulse, every moment where the line between whose pleasure is whose might blur just slightly.
I line myself up against Keira’s entrance, already slick and stretched around Cyrus’s cock. My brother tilts her back further in the chair, angling her hips upward to create space for me. His hands grip her waist, positioning her perfectly between us.
Keira’s eyes lock with mine—dark, hungry, and completely unafraid. The vulnerability I glimpsed earlier when she accepted the flowers has vanished, replaced by wanton need. This womancontinues to surprise me, shifting between softness and strength with a fluidity that leaves me off-balance.
“Ready for both of us, little dancer?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”
That single word hits me like a physical blow. Not“yes” or “please,”which are both responses we’ve heard countless times before, butalways. As if this connection between the three of us extends beyond the Hunt, beyond the contracted year, or anything we’ve experienced before.
I can’t believe how perfect she is. How perfectly she fits between us, how perfectly she responds to our demands, how perfectly she pushes back against our control even as she surrenders to it. The dichotomy shouldn’t work, but with Keira, it does.
I push forward, grinding my teeth as the head of my cock breaches her entrance alongside Cyrus’s shaft. The sensation is overwhelming—Keira’s tight heat clenching around me, Cyrus’s hardness pulsing against me.