Chapter 16 Ace
ACE
Iknock on Keira’s door, my knuckles rapping against the wood. My foot taps impatiently against the hallway floor as we wait. Fourteen hours felt like a fucking eternity.
Behind me, Cyrus shifts his weight, the rustle of cellophane drawing my attention. I glance over my shoulder and nearly roll my eyes. My brother is actually holding a bouquet of dark red roses mixed with some purple flowers I don’t recognize.
“Seriously?” I mutter, keeping my voice low.
Cyrus shrugs, unapologetic. “What? She deserves something nice.”
This is new territory. We hunt, we fuck, we discard. That’s our pattern, refined over seven years of participating in the Hollow’s Hunt. Never once has Cyrus bought flowers. Never once have I wanted him to.
I tap my foot faster, my mind circling back to that video call.
Keira’s confession about wanting to watch us together—to see Cyrus and me cross that taboo boundary—replays in my head.
The thought should disgust me. Instead, I find it oddly arousing, particularly because of how it affected her.
The flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her breathing quickened, pupils dilating with desire even as embarrassment colored her features.
It’s not something we’d ever actually explore. I don’t believe. There are boundaries that we don’t even cross.
But for Keira...
I shake my head, dispersing the thought. What is it about this woman that has both of us acting so uncharacteristically? Cyrus with his fucking flowers, me with these thoughts I shouldn’t be entertaining.
“She’s different,” Cyrus says quietly, as if reading my mind.
For once, I don’t have a response, because he’s right. Keira is different. I’ve never felt this desperate anticipation to see a woman again after the Hunt. Never felt this raw need clawing at my insides, urging me to claim and keep rather than use and discard.
I knock again, harder this time.
Keira opens the door, and my entire body goes rigid. She’s wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her hair is tousled, her eyes heavy with sleep, and her lips part slightly when she sees us.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, blinking away her drowsiness. “Is it that time already?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. My feet move of their own accord as I step forward, forcing her to retreat into her apartment. My hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silk as I back her against the nearest wall. The door swings shut behind us.
“Fuck yes,” I growl against her neck, inhaling her scent—sleep-warm skin with traces of vanilla. “And you opening the goddamn door like that is asking for an immediate fucking.”
Her pulse jumps beneath my lips when I press them to her throat. I can feel her heart racing, her body responding to my proximity with an immediacy that satisfies the primal side of me. She’s ours. She knows it. Her body knows it.
“Wait,” Cyrus interrupts. “First, I need to give you these, little dancer.”
I reluctantly step back, keeping one hand pressed against the wall beside Keira’s head. Cyrus extends the bouquet toward her.
Keira’s eyes widen as she accepts them. Something flickers across her expression—surprise, confusion, vulnerability—before settling into a look of being utterly overwhelmed. Her fingers tremble against the cellophane wrapping.
“I—” she starts, then stops, looking between the flowers and us like she can’t quite reconcile the gesture with what she knows of us.
I understand her confusion. This isn’t what we do. We don’t bring flowers. We don’t acknowledge the existence of gentleness alongside our hunger. Yet here we are, contradicting everything we’ve trained ourselves to be—all because of this dancer who’s wormed her way under our skin.
“I should put these in water,” Keira says, clutching the bouquet to her chest like it’s something precious.
I clench my jaw, fighting the urgent need coursing through my body. Every second not touching her feels like wasted time. But I nod stiffly, releasing her from between my body and the wall.
“Make it quick,” I tell her.
She slips past me toward the kitchen, the silk nightgown doing very little to stem my desire. My eyes follow the movement, hypnotized by the glimpses of flesh beneath the translucent fabric.
Cyrus catches my gaze and gives me a single, deliberate nod. I return it, understanding passing between us without words. We both need her. Now.
We stalk after her into the kitchen, watching as she fills a vase with water. The moment she sets the flowers in the water, we converge.
“We’re going to fuck you right here in this kitchen,” Cyrus announces, his hands already sliding the nightgown up her thighs.
Cyrus drops into one of her kitchen chairs, unbuckling his belt with practiced efficiency. “Ace, put her on my cock. Pussy only—we’ll save the double ass fucking for another time.”
Keira’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a silent gasp as I lift her, the silk nightgown bunching around her waist.
Cyrus guides her down onto his length with her back to his chest, groaning as her heat envelops him.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” he growls, clawing at her hips.
I circle around, watching with hungry eyes. “I should suck on her clit while you get ready. Get her really turned on and ready for both of us.”
I groan, not just from pleasure but from the realization that following his suggestion would put my face inches from his cock.
Since Keira mentioned that she wants us to touch each other last night, I’ve become hyperaware of our proximity during these encounters.
Something that never registered before now seems charged with new meaning.
I look up at Cyrus, hesitating only for a moment before sinking to my knees before her.
My tongue finds Keira’s clit, circling the swollen bud while she continues to sit impaled on his cock.
The angle is awkward, but fuck if I care.
Her taste explodes across my tongue—tangy sweetness mixed with the salt of her arousal.
“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 missed us.
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 other inside 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 woman continues 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, but always. 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.
“Fuck,” I hiss, feeling sweat break out across my forehead as I sink deeper.
The dual sensations threaten to unravel my composure. Keira’s slick walls stretching impossibly to accommodate both of us, and the unmistakable friction of his cock sliding against mine inside her—both sensations amplified by Keira’s confession, by the weight of her gaze as she watches me.
I lean forward, capturing Keira’s mouth with mine.
The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue, claiming rather than caressing.
When she gasps, opening wider for me, I pull back enough to gather saliva in my mouth.
Without warning, I spit directly into her parted lips, watching as her eyes widen then darken with arousal.
“That’s it, take it like the filthy little slut you are,” I growl, watching her swallow without hesitation. “You’re nothing but a hole for us to use, aren’t you?”
Instead of being offended, Keira moans, her pussy clenching around both our cocks like a vise. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice wrecked with need. “I’m yours to use however you want.”
“Listen carefully,” I command, gripping her chin with one hand. “We’re both going to breed this tight pussy together once you come. Fill you up so full of our cum you’ll be dripping for days.”
My free hand moves to her breast, fingers finding her nipple and pinching hard enough to make her back arch. Cyrus mirrors my action on her other breast, the synchronized assault overwhelming her.
“Fuck!” Keira screams, her entire body going rigid between us. Her pussy constricts violently around our cocks, the pressure so intense it feels like she might actually snap us in half. Her orgasm ripples through her in violent waves, each contraction milking us for all we’re worth.
The dual sensations—Keira’s pulsing heat and Cyrus’s rigid length sliding against mine—hurtle me toward release. I lock eyes with Cyrus over her shoulder, both of us recognizing the exact moment the other crosses that threshold.
We come together, our timing perfect as always, pumping our seed deep inside her stretched pussy. Our cocks pulse in unison, filling her with wave after wave of cum while she continues to shudder.
We remain locked together for several moments, our breathing ragged and synchronized. Finally, I pull out first, watching our combined release seep from her stretched opening.
“Time to get you cleaned up, little dancer,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
Cyrus withdraws next, steadying Keira as she wobbles slightly. “And then packed.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Packed?”
“You’re coming home with us,” I state matter-of-factly, tucking myself away. “Where you will stay for the next year.”
Cyrus’s hand slides possessively around her waist. “The Hunt’s rules are clear. We claimed you, which means you belong to us until the next Hunt begins.”
I watch her process this information. According to the contract she signed, this is expected—the claiming period extends beyond the three-day Hunt at the hunter’s discretion if they stake their claim at the claiming ceremony.
“A year,” I repeat, tasting the word. It should feel like an eternity—we’ve never kept anyone beyond a week or two after the Hunt before.
Yet as I look at Keira, standing there with our release still glistening on her thighs, her eyes both defiant and aroused, I’m struck by the sudden, unsettling realization that a year won’t be nearly enough.
The thought ambushes me. A year of having her in our home, in our bed. A year of watching her move, hearing her voice, feeling her body respond to our touch. And then what? She walks away? Returns to her life as if nothing happened?
Something cold and hard settles in my chest at the thought.