35. Everly #2
Atlas at my back, solid as a wall, and I feel him everywhere I'm not used to feeling him, the charge he never fully grounds running off his skin onto mine, a low electric hum that lifts every fine hair on my body and drags every nerve up to the surface to wait.
He gathers my hair in one fist and draws it off my neck, baring my throat, and sets his teeth to the side of it.
"Like this?" he says against my skin. Then he lets my hair fall and both hands come around to fill themselves with my breasts, big and rough-palmed, his thumbs finding my nipples and working them in slow circles until I arch back into him without deciding to.
"Like that." My voice is already gone thready. "Don't stop doing that."
"Wasn't planning to." His teeth graze the cord of my neck. "Ren. She's ready when you are."
Ren settles between my thighs. He looks up at me once—dark eyes, steady, the thread of him in my chest pulling warm and certain—and then he puts his mouth on me.
On my clit, exactly, no fumbling, no searching, because Ren reads me from the inside the way only he can.
His blood sense catches each response a half second before I give it, so his tongue is already where I need it before my body's finished deciding it needs it there.
Two fingers curl up into me and find the place that makes my hips jerk, and he knew, he knew before I did.
"That's not fair," I gasp.
He pulls off just enough to answer. "You said you didn't want me careful." His breath is hot against my wetness. "I can feel exactly what you feel. There's nothing careful about it." Then his mouth is back on me and I lose the thread of whatever I was going to say.
Atlas's thumbs match his rhythm on my nipples, and the storm-charge sings under everything, and his mouth moves to the hinge of my jaw. "Tell him," he says, low, rough. "You always know what you want. Tell him exactly."
So I do. "There. Right there—don't move, don't change it—" My breath catches when Ren hums against me and the vibration of it goes straight up my spine. "Harder. God, Ren, harder."
"Harder," Atlas repeats against my ear, and there's something almost smug in it, in being the one to relay the order, and Ren's eyes flick up at him over the line of my body, and the look they trade isn't rivalry now—it's two people building the same thing, watching it land.
"You heard her," Ren says, and gives it to me harder. Flat of his tongue, two fingers curling, the rhythm tightening to a point.
I watch them. I make myself keep my eyes open for it.
Atlas's jaw set against my temple, the muscle there jumping every time I move against him, the proof of how much it's costing him to go slow written all down the line of his body—and lower, hard against the small of my back, the other proof, the one he isn't hiding and wouldn't bother to.
Ren's eyes lifting to my face between every other breath, taking my whole self in.
"She's close," Ren says. He isn't guessing. He can feel it.
"I know." Atlas's hand splays flat and possessive over my sternum, right where the threads live. "I can feel it too. Through this."
"Then quit narrating and hold her." But Ren's almost smiling when he says it.
"Both of you," I manage, half a laugh and half a moan, and that's the last word I get.
The pressure builds and crests and breaks, and I come against Ren's mouth with Atlas's charge humming through every nerve he's lifted to the surface, and it's the first time since the drain that the bond flares all the way bright, a pulse of warmth in my chest that isn't mine, then another laid over it a beat later, two heartbeats inside my own ribs, both of them, there, present, alive. I make a sound I don't have a name for.
The threads aren't filament anymore. They're rope.
"There it is," I get out, when I can get out anything. My voice is wrecked. "There it is. That's the thing. That's what he almost took."
Ren presses his forehead to my inner thigh, just breathing. Atlas's arms close around me from behind, and for a second neither of them is anything but careful, both of them feeling the bruise heal through the bond at the same time.
One of them isn't enough. The want changes shape low in my belly, an empty ache that the orgasm only sharpened, and I don't have to put words to it. Ren feels it move before I do, and Atlas catches it through the bond a beat behind him.
"She wants both," Ren says, already low and rough, sitting back on his heels with his mouth still wet from me.
"Yeah." Atlas's voice has dropped somewhere I feel against my own teeth. "I got that."
They don't make me ask. Atlas's hands close on my waist and Ren takes my hip, and between them they turn me over and bring me down onto my hands and knees in the middle of the bed, Ren settling in behind me, Atlas moving around to kneel up in front where I can reach him.
I don't dress it up. "Don't go easy," I tell them both.
"Either of you. I want to feel it tomorrow. "
"You will." Atlas brushes the hair off my face, almost tender for half a second before his thumb drags rough across my bottom lip. "Open."
But it's Ren who moves first. I feel him notch against my entrance and push into me, slow, the stretch of him spreading me open inch by inch, his blood-sense timing it so each one lands the exact second my body's ready and not a moment before.
He seats himself to the root and holds there, buried, and the fullness is so complete I drop my head and just breathe around it.
"There." I feel the word in his chest through the bond before I hear it. His hands settle warm and certain on my hips. "Feel how she takes me," he says—and it's to Atlas, low, an edge of something competitive under all that calm. "All the way. First try."
"Yeah, well." Atlas's hand fists slow in my hair. "She hasn't had her mouth on me yet." He tilts my face up. "Open, baby. Let him watch what you do to me."
I open.
He feeds himself past my lips and I take him—the blunt width of him stretching my mouth, the salt-warm skin, the heat.
I can't take all of him, not at first, so I take what I can and wrap my hand around the rest, fist tight at the base, and I start to work him.
Flat of my tongue against the underside on the way down.
A swirl around the head on the way up. I hollow my cheeks and suck and feel his whole body lock.
"Fuck." The word breaks in half coming out of him. The storm cracks faint in the room, charge prickling down the back of my neck. "Look at you."
I do it sloppy. Wet. I let myself drool around him and use it—slick my hand and twist on the upstroke, take him deeper until he nudges the back of my throat and my eyes sting, then pull off to lick a long stripe up the underside and catch my breath before I sink down on him again.
Spit slicks my chin. I don't care. I want him loud.
He gets loud.
"That's it—that's it, just like that, take it—" His hand tightens in my hair, not pulling, just holding on. "Best mouth, you've got the best fucking mouth—Ren, are you feeling this?"
"I'm feeling her." Ren grinds deep to make the point, a slow hard roll that pushes a moan out of me straight around the cock in my mouth. "She just clenched so tight I nearly went. That's me. Not you."
"That's her with my cock down her throat," Atlas counters, teeth in it, the old rivalry—except it's gone warm now, all heat and no fight.
"Boys." I pull off Atlas just long enough to say it, my voice already wrecked, my hand still working him slow and slick.
I press a kiss to the head of him, lick him clean.
"It's both of you. It's always going to be both of you.
Now one of you fuck me like he means it, and the other one give me something to do with my mouth. "
They decide it without a word. To last. To make me earn every second of it.
Ren sets a deep, unhurried rhythm behind me. Drags almost all the way out, slow, then pushes all the way back to the root, so I feel every inch of him both directions. Long strokes. Patient ones. The kind built to take a girl apart by degrees.
Atlas feeds himself back between my lips in time with it, letting me set how deep, one hand fisted in my hair. The other reaches down to find my breast where it sways with every one of Ren's thrusts—he palms it, rolls my nipple, and the sensation shoots straight down to where Ren's filling me.
No part of me isn't being used. Cock in me behind. Cock in my mouth in front. Ren's thumb finds my clit and rubs slow tight circles, so the ache climbs again before it's even gone.
I moan around Atlas. Both men go tight at the sound.
"You hear that?" Atlas grits. "She only makes that sound when she's getting close."
"I don't have to hear it." Ren's voice is fraying. "I can feel every part of her. You're getting the half she can spare." A hard roll of his hips, deep, and I cry out around the cock in my mouth. "I get the rest."
"Keep telling yourself that, Ashford."
But there's no fight left in it. The rivalry's burning off into the same fire, the two of them building one thing and watching it land, and I'm the thing. I take Atlas deeper to reward him for it and feel him shudder all the way down.
This is what almost got taken. Not the men, not even the wanting—this. The three of us folded into one shape, the magic going round and round with nowhere to leak out. Wheeler had it pinned under glass three days ago and I thought I'd never feel it whole again.
I feel it whole now. So whole I have to fight not to cry around the cock in my mouth, and I don't fight hard.
Then they build me back up.