Prologue Whipped Cream Confessions #2
But then Luca’s hits, and it’s heady—molasses gingerbread, coffee so dark it borders on sinful. Allspice, smoked oak, and something even deeper, edged with rum and bittersweet chocolate. All of it braided tight with Rowan’s fire and smoke and my own sugar-laced desperation.
Rowan’s cock swells inside me in instant response.
“Hazel,” he rasps, holding me down so I can feel every twitch, “looks like you’re about to get spoiled.”
Spoiled? I want to drown.
Levi is at my right, mouth already on my neck, hands not shy at all as they slide up to cup my sticky, flour-dusted breasts. He palms them both, rolling my nipples between his fingers, then leans in and licks a dollop of melted whipped cream straight from my skin.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs, nosing along my jaw. “You gonna let us all have a turn, pumpkin?”
I whimper. My head rolls against his shoulder.
My hips don’t even slow on Rowan’s cock—I’m still riding him, greedy, shameless—but now every grind drags my breasts across Levi’s palms. He keeps up a steady rhythm, tweaking, stroking, making me arch and tremble with every touch.
Luca slides in behind me. His hands are huge and rough, mapping my lower back, my sides, the backs of my thighs. He’s not gentle—he’s methodical, precise. He drags his fingers down my spine, then starts kneading my hips, pinning me in place so nothing escapes his grip.
His voice is low, smoke over ice.
“Thought you said you were tough, Holloway. Right now, you’re shaking.”
“Shut up and touch me,” I breathe, not even pretending to play coy.
He obliges.
There’s a tangle of hands—Luca’s at my waist, Levi’s on my tits, Rowan’s everywhere, all three of them feeding off my scent and the way my body pulses.
Levi bends, sucks a nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling over chocolate and skin.
Luca’s fingers dig into my hips, then slide around to my belly, holding me tighter, rougher, daring me to fall apart.
Rowan can’t stop watching.
“Fuck, Hazel. Look at you. Perfect omega, ruined for anyone else.”
His words spark through me, hot as lightning.
The twins jockey for position.
Levi’s kissing his way across my collarbone, his laugh warm against my skin, while Luca’s lips ghost up the back of my neck, teeth scraping. The two of them bracket me, every inch of my body starved and surrounded.
Levi nuzzles my shoulder, breath hot.
“Want to see how you taste everywhere.”
Luca’s hand dips between my thighs.
Bold. Controlled.
He circles my clit with thumb and forefinger, then spreads the mess Rowan and I made to coat his fingers. It’s obscene, the way he toys with my body. Makes me feel like an animal and a queen, both.
I moan, sharp and shivery.
Levi licks my mouth, his tongue tasting of sugar and spice. “Tell us what you want, Haze.”
“Don’t stop.” It’s all I can manage.
Luca’s hand slides lower, then he replaces Rowan’s cock with his own—just for a minute, just long enough to stretch me wide and knock the sense out of my brain.
Rowan groans at the loss but lets go, eyes wild and wanting.
The twins move in a dance, one thrusting in as the other slides out, the rhythm slow at first, then brutal.
I lose myself.
Every thrust is a new note—Levi’s sweet, teasing, playful, letting me set the pace. Then Luca, driving in hard while his hands clamp my wrists to the edge of the table. I’m a toy, a treat, the main event at the world’s messiest bake-off.
They praise me constantly—Rowan calling me beautiful, strong, his perfect girl. Levi in my ear, telling me how sweet, how good, how nobody else could ever compare. Even Luca, though less talk, more action, lets out a grunt and a “fuck, you take us so well” that makes me shatter.
The scents are out of control.
My pumpkin and honey, Rowan’s fire, Levi’s sugar, Luca’s coffee.
It’s a storm.
It’s a recipe for madness.
At some point, Levi pulls my left breast into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth biting gentle, and I see white.
Luca’s hands slide up and down my sides, then back to circle my clit, hitting just the right angle as he pounds into me.
Rowan leans up, grabs the back of my neck, and kisses me until I can’t see straight.
We trade off. Over and over.
Sometimes it’s two at once—one inside, one on my tongue, the other gripping my hair and telling me how good I taste. Sometimes they have to hold me up because my legs just…fold.
I never felt so alive. Never so wanted.
It goes on forever—pleasure stacking, building, tripling.
My mind breaks into little pieces, thoughts only scattered:Rowan’s hands.
Levi’s mouth. Luca’s cock driving me open.
The taste of whipped cream, the smell of Alpha, the way the table never quite breaks.
The way they never stop giving. Never stop touching.
I sob. I laugh. I scream. I don’t hold back.
Nothing I’ve ever done in my bakery, nothing I’ve ever eaten or perfected or tasted, prepared me for being devoured like this. By three men who want me for exactly what I am.
Heat doesn’t just burn, it blooms.
Rowan bites my shoulder, no teeth—just enough to warn, to claim. Levi’s tongue circles my nipple, his hand sliding between my thighs to join Luca’s as they both toy with my pussy, making me shake and spasm. Luca kisses down the length of my spine, each press of lips a promise.
“Ready for more?” Levi asks, voice all sugar and sin.
I can’t answer. Just nod, wild-eyed, tears and sweat and flour streaking my face. I’m falling apart, and they hold me together.
One of them pushes into me—hard, deep, slow. Not letting up. The other kisses my neck, my shoulder, my jaw, telling me how good I am, how they want me forever. Third stands behind, giant hand in my hair, keeping my head up so I can’t look away.
The rhythm’s perfect. Brutal. Sweet.
Everything I ever needed, everything I never dared ask for.
Luca’s hands slide from my hips to my ribs, holding on like he’s afraid I’ll run. Levi’s mouth is everywhere—nipping, licking, soothing. Rowan whispers in my ear, low and hoarse:
“Let them break you, Hazel. Let us have it all.”
So I do.
The world narrows to slick, to Alpha, to pleasure sharp as sugar snap.
My pussy clenches, creamy messy wet, every nerve on fire.
Rowan’s cock inside me, then Luca’s, then Levi’s—each bringing a different flavor, a different kind of ache.
I’m barely even human at this point. Just sensation and hunger and heat.
They never stop.
My hands scrabble for a grip—table edge, Rowan’s bicep, Levi’s hair, Luca’s forearm. Cling to whatever will ground me, whatever will keep me from floating away.
Levi presses his forehead to mine, grinning like a kid at the county fair. “You’re the star of the show, pumpkin. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
Luca leans in, mouths my neck, breathes deep.
“You smell so fucking good. Can’t get enough.”
Rowan never lets up, hips rocking, hands guiding me down, making sure I take every inch.
The air is thick—pheromones and sweat and all the sweetness I used to think would protect me from loneliness. Good joke.
I’m alive. I’m claimed. I love it.
I lose track of how many orgasms, how many times I scream or beg or plead for more. The climax builds and breaks, over and over, sweet and then sharper, until my brain just…melts.
There’s no room for shame.
No space for anything but this—Alpha, omega, the three scents that hold me together.
Rowan’s voice gets rough.
“Let him knot you, Haze. Take it all.”
Luca snaps in, cock swelling, and I shatter—body, soul, everything. My vision whites out. Sparks behind my eyes. I sob and laugh and moan, leaking slick everywhere, hands fisted in whatever skin I can grab.
Levi holds me. Luca fills me. Rowan never lets go.
I lose myself. On this table, in this kitchen, with chocolate and flour and whipped cream and all the sugar of three men melting into me.
It’s not even sex anymore.
It’s worship.
I come again. Harder. Loud, raw, no more walls left.
And as my body finally collapses, wrung out and shaking, their hands pull me close, safe in the mess we made.
I want to live here. In this heat. In this love.
I want it forever.
But I know it won’t last.
Nothing sweet ever does, not for me.
Not for the bakery girl everyone called defective.
Still, for this moment? I have it all.
And I want more….
I lose myself, over and over.
At one point, I think I black out. Maybe just for a second, maybe longer.
When I surface, my whole body is trembling, sweat-slick and grit-sticky from flour and sugar and the mess three Alphas can make in a kitchen.
Rowan’s chest is beneath me, a furnace. Levi’s laughter sparkles in my ear, sweet and a little wild, and Luca’s hands are still holding me together—one palm at my nape, the other anchored at my hip. I could almost believe I’m safe.
Might even believe I’m happy.
But the pleasure isn’t over. Not even close.
Every thrust. Every slam of hips, every slow, sucking slide of cock inside me, ratchets the pleasure higher—spikes the need until I can’t even think in words, just sensation.
My tongue stutters on their names.
Rowan, Rowan, Rowan—then Levi, sweet and hurting, then Luca, all knifepoint need. Over and over, like a chant, a spell, an invocation.
They keep chanting, too.
How good I am, how perfect, how they need me, want me, can’t let me go.
I believe them. Maybe just for tonight.
My scent explodes with every climax—pumpkin cream and maple, blitzed out with honeyed cinnamon and the dark, burnt snap of caramel.
It’s dizzying. I can tell it drives them wild.
Their own scents rise to meet mine: Rowan’s fire and sugar, Levi’s vanilla chai, Luca’s bittersweet chocolate and rum. The air is so thick I could drink it.
My body goes rigid. Then liquid.
My thighs shake—I don’t know if I’m riding or being ridden anymore, just that every slam brings another white-hot crack of orgasm. I see stars. I taste whipped cream and Alpha on my tongue.
Levi drags his mouth up my neck, bites down, and I shatter. Fuck, I shatter. The world whites out. Pleasure rips me apart at the seams. I scream, voice raw, throat burning with it.
Luca follows, hands clamping my hips so hard I know I’ll wear bruises tomorrow. He grinds in, knot swelling, and the stretch just…wrecks me. I gush slick, legs giving out, head lolling to the side.
Rowan’s hand finds my breast, squeezes, thumb flicking the nipple as he kisses the corner of my mouth. Sweet, gentle. Real.
For a moment, I float.
No pain, no shame, no past.
Just me. Just them. Just heat, and sugar, and the ache of being filled, over and over, until the loneliness is scrubbed out for good.
But the memories creep in anyway.
Heats alone were always a joke—like pulling a blanket over your head and pretending the monsters weren’t real.
Sometimes, when it was just me, I’d bake through the pain.
Try to drown myself in cinnamon and carbs.
Didn’t work. The emptiness crawled under my skin, never let me rest. Even when I let someone help, it was wrong.
Their hands were too rough, their scent made my stomach turn, the pleasure never clicked into place. Always felt like being broken. Always.
This? This is nothing like that.
This is being seen.
Matched. Redeemed.
My nails rake down Rowan’s back, then Levi’s shoulder, then Luca’s chest as I clutch at whoever’s closest. I need to stay grounded. I need to remember this is real.
My cunt pulses with the last aftershocks, slick leaking, making a mess of thighs and table and every inch of skin within reach. I want to care, but god, I don’t.
Rowan’s lips are at my ear, voice hoarse. “You’re everything, Hazel. Let go.”
I do.
I cry out, raw and honest, as the final wave slams through me.
The world goes soft-focus, edges melting like butter on a hot roll.
I collapse, breath gone, all my muscles fried.
They catch me. Hold me. The kitchen spins around us, sunlight and flour haze and the tangled tangle of arms and bodies and love.
A tear slides down my cheek. Not sad, not even close.
Just… release.
I feel their hands on me. Rowan’s in my hair, stroking. Levi’s across my chest, thumb brushing lazy circles on my breast. Luca’s arm banded tight around my waist, breathing hard.
My heart trips. Stutters. Tries to make sense of being whole.
How did I ever live without this?
The question hangs there—soft, sweet, and a little mournful—as the world starts to slide out from under me.
Memories shimmer at the edges of my mind,
each one a morsel from a life I once starved through.
The first time Rowan looked at me like I was something worth tasting.
The first night Oakridge Hollow felt like home instead of exile.
The first flicker of hunger that wasn’t just about need—but want.
I used to think I was the one feeding everyone else.
Now I know—
I was always meant to be the feast.