Chapter 22 Keira
KEIRA
“What do you mean I can’t come?” Cyrus’s voice rises as he follows me around the kitchen. I’m trying to make a protein shake before heading to rehearsal, but his intensity makes it impossible to focus.
“I didn’t say you can’t,” I measure powder carefully into the blender. “I said I don’t want you to.”
“What’s the difference?” He slams his hand on the counter, making me jump. “We’ve claimed you. Every part of you belongs to us, including your dancing.”
I set the scoop down harder than necessary. “No, it doesn’t. My dancing is mine.”
We’ve been living together for nearly a month, our relationship built on sex and submission, but this is the first time I’ve directly challenged one of them. It feels dangerous, like stepping off a cliff.
“You performed in front of the entire fucking Obsidian club,” he snarls, moving closer. “But suddenly it’s too private for me to see?”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because I didn’t know you then!” The words burst out of me. “You were faceless men in the audience. Now you’re...” I trail off, unsure how to define what they are to me.
Cyrus’s eyes darken. “We’re what, Keira? What exactly are we to you?”
My throat tightens. “You’re too much already. You and Ace have taken over my entire life. My apartment is sitting empty. My phone is tracked. You decide when I come and go. The studio is the only place that’s still mine.”
“We give you everything,” he hisses, backing me against the counter. “And you can’t give us this one thing? Let us see this part of you?”
“No.” I lift my chin, meeting his gaze directly. “Some things need to stay separate.”
“Bullshit.” His hands grip my waist, fingers digging in possessively. “You’re hiding something. Is it that other dance instructor? Marco? Does he get to see parts of you we don’t?”
I push against his chest, creating space between us. “This isn’t about him. It’s about me needing something that’s mine alone. Something you don’t control.”
Cyrus steps back as though I’ve slapped him, hurt flashing across his face before anger replaces it. “This isn’t just about control, Keira.” His voice drops, revealing an edge I’ve rarely heard. “I want to see you dance because it’s part of who you are. The part I don’t get to touch.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. For weeks, I’ve been their plaything, their possession, but this admission feels different.
“You and Ace already have everything else,” I say, softer now. “My body. My time. My space. Can’t I keep one thing sacred?”
“No,” he says, stepping closer again, his eyes burning into mine. “Not from me. Not anymore.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about keeping secrets. It’s about keeping myself.”
“Then help me understand,” he growls, crowding me against the wall. His body presses against mine, familiar heat building between us. “Make me see why you need to hide from me.”
“I’m not hiding—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing my sentence. This kiss is desperate and searching, like he’s trying to find something inside me I’m keeping from him. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Ace isn’t home,” he murmurs against my lips.
The realization hits me suddenly—in all our weeks together, I’ve never been alone with just one twin. They’ve always taken me together, a united front of desire.
“Cyrus—”
His hand slides beneath my shirt, calloused fingers tracing my ribs. “If you won’t let me see that part of you, then give me this instead.”
I should push him away. Keep some boundaries intact. Instead, I find myself clinging to him, anger and desire tangling together as he lifts me onto the counter.
“Just you?” I whisper.
His eyes flash. “Just me. Is that a problem?”
I shake my head, surprised by how much I want him alone. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back as his teeth graze my throat.
“Mine,” he growls. “Even the parts I can’t see.”
His mouth devours mine as he yanks down my leggings, tearing the thin fabric in his urgency. I should be angry—I need these for rehearsal—but the desperation in his movements ignites something primal within me.
“You think you can keep parts of yourself from me?” Cyrus growls, spinning me around and bending me over the kitchen counter. “Every inch of you is mine to claim. Mine to ruin.”
My cheek presses against the cold granite as his hand comes down hard on my ass, the sharp sting making me cry out.
“That’s it, let me hear how much you need this,” he says, rubbing the reddened skin before striking again. “Such a filthy little slut, getting wet from being spanked.”
His fingers slide between my legs, confirming his words. I’m embarrassingly aroused, my body betraying how much I crave this roughness.
“Look at you,” he hisses, pushing two fingers inside me without warning. “Fighting me about your precious dancing when your cunt is practically begging for my cock.”
I whimper as he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes my knees weak.
“Say it,” he demands, his other hand wrapping around my throat from behind. “Say you’re my filthy little whore.”
“I’m your filthy little whore,” I gasp as he squeezes gently.
The zipper of his jeans rasps behind me, then his cock replaces his fingers, stretching me in one brutal thrust. I cry out, my body struggling to accommodate him.
“So. Fucking. Tight,” he pants, setting a punishing rhythm. “Even after everything we’ve done to you.”
Despite his cruel words, his hands cradle my hips with tenderness, adjusting my position to hit deeper. When my legs start trembling, he wraps his arm around my waist, supporting me.
“That’s it, take all of me,” he murmurs, his voice softening momentarily. “Nobody has ever felt like you do.”
The contradiction of his harsh thrusts and gentle touch undoes me, pleasure building unbearably as he claims me alone for the first time.
Cyrus’s hand slides up my back, then down between my ass cheeks, his thumb circling my puckered entrance while he maintains his brutal pace. I arch my back, giving him better access.
“You like that, don’t you? Want me in both your holes?” His thumb presses harder, breaching the tight ring of muscle.
“Yes,” I whimper, my body trembling as he works his thick digit deeper. “I love it when you touch me there.”
He slips a second finger alongside the first, stretching me wider. The burn mingles with the pleasure from his cock pounding into me, creating a heady cocktail of sensations. My mind fragments into pure feeling.
“Such a perfect little slut for me,” he growls, twisting his fingers inside me. “You love being used, don’t you?”
“God, yes.” The words tumble out between gasps. “I live for it—the way you and Ace pass me between you, fill all my holes, mark me inside and out.”
His fingers push deeper, making me cry out as he finds a spot that sends lightning up my spine.
“Tell me how much you love our cum inside you,” he demands, his pace turning savage. “How much you crave being bred by us.”
“I love it more than anything,” I pant, tears springing to my eyes from the overwhelming fullness. “Love feeling you both flood me, paint my insides white, claim me from within.”
Cyrus’s fingers stretch my ass relentlessly as his cock hammers my pussy.
“That’s right. Our perfect breeding bitch.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Next time, I’ll have my cock in this tight little ass while Ace fills your cunt. I know you love that. When we pump out loads into both holes at once.”
“Please,” I beg, my walls clenching around him at the thought. “I want it so bad. Want to be ruined by both of you.”
The sensations overwhelm me—his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me, his fingers stretching my ass, the filthy words pouring from his mouth. It’s too much. My orgasm crashes through me without warning, my inner walls clenching around him as I scream his name.
“That’s it, baby,” Cyrus groans, his rhythm faltering. “Take all of me.”
He slams into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he pulses inside me, filling me with his release. We stay locked together, both trembling and breathless, until he slowly withdraws.
I feel his cum beginning to leak out, but before it can drip down my thighs, Cyrus tugs my panties back into place, the fabric immediately soaking up his seed. He then pulls my torn leggings up my legs, arranging them carefully over my hips.
“You’re going to rehearsal just like this,” he says, his voice husky with satisfaction. “With my cum dripping into your panties while you dance.”
I turn to face him, my legs still wobbly. “Cyrus—”
“The tear isn’t bad,” he continues, running his finger along the rip at my thigh. “No one will see anything they shouldn’t. But you’ll feel me with every movement.”
The thought of dancing with his essence inside me, marking me as his even in my sacred space, sends a thrill through me.
“Yes,” I whisper, surprising myself with how much I want this—this extension of him into the part of my life I’ve been trying to keep separate.
He pulls me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that’s all heat and possession. It’s messy and passionate, our tongues tangling as I taste myself on his lips.
“See you later,” Cyrus says when we finally break apart, landing a stinging smack on my ass that makes me gasp. “Now go show them how a claimed woman moves.”