Chapter 74 A Second Skin
A SECOND SKIN
Bloodstream - Stateless
Kookaburra
I’m still catching my breath when it finally registers how quiet the room has gone.
Too quiet.
Ghost – Donnelly – eases back, eyes blown wide, devotion and fracture still clinging to him like a second skin. I stay where I am for a moment, chest rising and falling, letting the aftershocks settle into something manageable.
From the direction of the big bed, Bones’ voice cuts through the haze.
“Kayla,” he says calmly. “You need to come back to bed.”
I smile without looking at him. “Who said I’m done?”
There’s a pause. A shift in the room. Then—
“Who said you’re joining me to sleep?”
That gets my attention.
I turn, slow and deliberate, meeting his gaze.
He’s propped on one elbow, expression unreadable, eyes dark with intent rather than rest. Hatchet is behind him in the armchair, watching me with that focused, wordless intensity that always makes my skin prickle.
Honeymonster lounges in the other bed, relaxed, amused, already clocking where this is going.
Good.
I walk to the bed and climb in without asking permission, settling myself right in the centre like I own the space – because I do.
“I didn’t wake everyone up for a nap,” I say lightly. “That would be rude.”
Bones exhales through his nose, something between a huff and a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
His hand lands on my thigh – grounding, possessive – and his thumb presses in just enough to remind me exactly how well he knows my body. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still hungry for more.”
I tilt my head, smiling. “You love that about me.”
Hatchet shifts. Just once. Controlled. Watching.
I turn toward him, hook a finger into his collar, and tug him forward until he has to stand. His breath stutters. He doesn’t look away.
“Daddy Hatchet,” I murmur, testing the words. “Join us.”
The effect is immediate.
Something in him snaps into place – jaw tight, hands flexing, eyes darkening with fierce, contained need. He nods once. Permission taken. Claim accepted.
Bones swears quietly. “Fuck.”
Honeymonster’s grin turns feral as he swings his legs off the other bed. “That’s my girl.”
Ghost moves back in last, like smoke curling toward heat, drawn without hesitation. The bed feels smaller now. Warmer. Full. Much-wanted attention pressing in from every side.
This time, I don’t let myself drift.
I stay centred. Grounded. Choosing every touch, every breath, every man as they close ranks around me. The heat builds again – not frantic, not desperate, but deep and deliberate, layered with trust and hunger and something dangerously close to reverence.
Bones’ hand is on my thigh, rough-skinned and burning hot, and his thumb circles down, pressing at the seam of me until I’m wet and wanting, his touch so practiced I think he could play me blindfolded.
He splits me open with two thick fingers, then three, the stretch deliberate, as if he’s prepping me for something bigger, something I already know is going to be much rougher and less forgiving.
Hatchet is as silent as ever, but his eyes are ravenous, the pupils so wide I can barely see the colour anymore.
He stays back at first, just watching, working his cock with long, patient strokes, like he’s timing himself to my breath, matching every inhale with a squeeze at the base, every exhale with a slow drag up the length.
Watching him fuels my own fire, every stroke sending me higher.
“Good girl,” Bones murmurs near my ear. “So responsive.”
Honeymonster, who’s never done anything in his life with less than total commitment, shoves my knees apart, crawling up between my thighs with a grin that’s half wolf, half devotion, and buries his face in me.
Bones has to adjust the angle of his hand to accommodate him, but they quickly find a way to make it work.
His beard is abrasive, delicious, the friction only making his tongue feel slicker as it circles and flicks, not even bothering with tease – just going straight for the kill, over and over, building it up until my whole body is vibrating.
I can’t help the noises, can’t keep from bucking up a little, chasing the next wave, but he just plants his big hands on my hips and pins me right to the mattress in a way that has me panting.
He knows exactly how to wring every last drop of control from me, and he wants to see me unravel.
“That’s it,” Honeymonster growls against my skin. “Let us hear you.”
Hatchet stays silent – but the way he watches me, the way he moves only when I invite him, is louder than words.
Ghost, who had been hanging back, recovering most likely, slips in like smoke – because of course he does.
His hands are cold and when he drags his palm up my ribcage, I practically levitate.
He bites down on my nipple, hard, holding it with his teeth while his tongue lashes, and he doesn’t let up, even when I cry out, just keeps sucking until I’m arching so far off the bed I swear I nearly headbutt the light fixing.
Bones just laughs, dark and low, and shoves his fingers deeper, curling them up until he’s got his knuckles grinding that spot inside me that’s like a button marked ‘oblivion’.
Praise spills freely now – soft, rough, reverent.
“You take us so well.”
“So fucking beautiful like this.”
“Look at her—she knows exactly what she’s doing to us.”
I do.
The world narrows to a single point of white-hot sensation. My body seizes, muscles locking as the wave builds from somewhere deep in my core. I’m dimly aware of my own voice – raw, desperate sounds I barely recognise – as everything inside me coils tighter, tighter, until I’m certain I’ll shatter.
Then it breaks. The release crashes through me like electricity, my vision sparking at the edges, every nerve ending singing as I convulse around Bones’ fingers, soaking Honeymonster’s face with my release.
I’m floating, drowning, dying a little death that seems to stretch into infinity.
Honeymonster growls, the sound reverberating up my spine, and when he finally pulls away, his face is slick, beard matted. He kneels up, fists his cock a few times, then rubs the head against my clit, making me whimper.
“Too much.”
“You can take more,” Bones insists.
By now I'm so far gone I barely notice when Hatchet slides in closer, but I feel his presence before I see him – he radiates heat like a furnace, and when the others withdraw so that he can finally press the head of his cock against me, it’s already leaking.
He doesn’t ask, doesn’t negotiate, because he doesn’t have to; I’m ready for it, more than ready, and he knows it.
Still, he’s slow at first, splits me open inch by careful inch, and I can sense the effort it takes him to hold back, veins standing out in his neck as he grits his teeth, jaw working.
He gets all the way in, buries himself to the hilt, and for a second it’s just the two of us locked together, breathing in the same rhythm, everything else falling away.
But then the others crowd back in: Honeymonster with his mouth on my breasts; Bones with those thick, endless fingers; and Ghost, who’s somehow managed to manoeuvre himself up by my head.
He strokes himself lazily, the tip of his cock glistening, and when he offers it to me, I take it with a hunger that surprises even me.
He tastes like salt and us, sharp and clean, and for a moment I lose myself in the rhythm of sucking him down, matching the bob of my head to the thrusts of Hatchet, the drag of Bones’ thumb up and down my clit, the relentless pressure building everywhere at once.
Somewhere in the haze, I realise I’m the focal point – every set of hands, every mouth, every shifting weight and angle is orchestrated to draw out every possible version of pleasure from me.
Usually, I’m the one running the show, but tonight, it’s as if the four of them have made a pact: I’m not allowed to hold back, not allowed to be anything but pure sensation.
Hatchet keeps fucking into me, harder now, deep enough I can feel the outline of him through my stomach. Bones, not to be outdone, pushes his thumb in next to Hatchet, stretching me even further, and the feeling is so overwhelming I almost black out.
Ghost’s hands are in my hair, tightening, guiding my head up and down his shaft.
He’s rougher than usual, desperate, and when he comes it’s with a deep groan, flooding my mouth.
I swallow it, licking him clean, dazed and greedy, then twist to see the others: Bones with that wolfish grin, Hatchet red-faced and sweating, Honeymonster’s hands shaking as he jerks himself faster and faster.
When Hatchet finally loses it, he goes rigid above me, eyes rolling back, every muscle in his body clenched. The warmth fills me, spreads outward, and the feeling is so all-consuming I almost miss Bones’ lips at my ear, whispering, “You can let go now. We’ve got you.”
And I do.
They catch me easily. Always do.
I come so hard I forget my own name, the world reducing to static, every nerve ending lit up and burning.
My thighs clamp around Hatchet, and I can vaguely hear myself crying out, but it’s someone else’s voice, someone else’s body.
The aftershocks go on forever, wave after wave, until I’m wrung out and limp, gasping for air and seeing stars.
Bones holds me through it, pressing soft kisses to my temple, murmuring nonsense.
Hatchet collapses at my side, still trembling, and Honeymonster strokes my hair, his huge hand gentle as a lullaby.
Ghost slides down next to me, cool and solid, and for a while, we just lie there, all tangled up, no one letting go.
Later – much later – we’re tangled together, skin to skin, breath slowing.
Hatchet lies heavy and warm at my side, Honeymonster’s hand stroking my hair with surprising gentleness.
Ghost’s presence is cool and solid near my shoulder.
Bones keeps me anchored, thumb tracing idle patterns like he’s counting my heartbeats.
I’m the first to break the silence. “So, uh,” I say, voice scratchy, “what’s for breakfast?”
Honeymonster laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “You. Again.” It’s not even a question. “But first, we nap.”