Chapter 12 The Present #3
I can’t even form words. My head tips back against Nathaniel’s shoulder, lips parted, chest heaving.
“You’d split me in half,” I whisper finally.
“If you say so.” He lets go.
But something about him stopping—just listening—makes the idea even hotter. It’s such a small thing, consent. The bare minimum. But I’ve never had that before.
It’s sexy. Sexier than I could have imagined.
The choice is mine.
Mine.
“Gods,” I whisper, throat dry. “You’d really let me decide?”
Nathaniel kisses the hinge of my jaw. “Always.”
Talon groans, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re clenching again, Little Grim. Just admit you like the idea, or I won’t last if you keep going like this.” His teeth scrape my shoulder before he pulls back to look at me, flushed, and wild.
A broken sound escapes me. It’s half denial, half want. My thighs tremble around him.
“I like the idea.”
“Yeah?” His grin is pure sin. “Two cocks stretching this sweet cunt at the same time? Filling you so deep you’ll forget how to walk?”
“Y-yeah,” I rasp. “But it’s insane.”
“The good kind of insane,” Talon says. “Say the word, and we’ll give it to you. Say no, and I’ll keep fucking you alone until you can’t breathe.”
I’m shaking. My body screams yes, yes, yes, even as my mouth stumbles over fear and thrill.
“Fuck…” I barely manage the word, clutching Nathaniel’s arm with one hand and flailing blind for Talon’s shoulder with the other, like I might float off the planet if I don’t anchor myself to at least one of them. “Do it.”
Talon laughs and then immediately chokes on it when he thrusts harder.
Nathaniel’s breath stutters hot against my neck.
“Then relax, Skye,” he murmurs. “As much as you can.”
Relax.
Sure.
As if that’s easy.
I can’t think. I’m not even in my head anymore. My body is molten. But it’s also treacherously cooperative, moving before I consciously decide anything. Nathaniel’s hand slides slow down my side, coaxing my thigh higher over his, and I follow along on instinct.
Then he angles lower, sliding along my soaked heat until he’s pressing right where Talon already fucks me open. The stretch is obscene. I jolt like someone just plugged me directly into a socket.
“Breathe, Skye,” Nathaniel murmurs against my skin, kissing my jaw, my cheek, my temple. “Relax. Take us.”
I try.
Gods, I try.
My whole body is a live wire, screaming at capacity. It’s not pain, really. But my nerves scream anyway. It’s too much. Way too much.
Talon swears behind me.
“Fuck, she’s letting you in… Gods, she’s opening.” His thrusts slow, letting Nathaniel nudge in beside him.
Language actually fails here. I need new verbs, new words for sensation, maybe a priest. Two cocks forcing space inside me, stretching me past what should be humanly achievable, like my body doesn’t follow the laws of physics. I think I might combust.
Then the burn crests…
and I go incandescent.
“That’s it,” Nathaniel breathes, voice wrecked velvet. “I’m in.”
“Holy shit,” Talon rasps, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “So fucking tight… Little Grim, you still with us?” Just a testing roll of his hips and—
I scream.
“Yes—fuck, yes—it feels so—gods—”
That’s all the permission they need.
They start moving together, slow at first like they’re negotiating territory, then deeper, harder, bodies syncing like they can read each other’s minds. The rhythm grows devastating.
“Look at me,” Nathaniel growls, and I do. His eyes are bottomless ruin and worship, like I’m the altar and the sacrifice.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing incredible. You can take all of this.”
My body can’t decide whether to detonate or liquefy. So it does both. I shake, like the fuse has already hit the powder line and there’s no turning back. Every push, every place they meet through me, sparks fire.
The pressure builds too fast. Or maybe it was simply there all along. Either way, I bow between them, spine curving to the maximum, and an orgasm detonates within me.
And I suppose the pressure is too much for them to handle too, because the two of them are coming with me.
Nathaniel’s release rips through him, his thrusts stuttered and helpless while Talon presses harder against my back, breathless and half-laughing like this is the best moment of his life.
They fill me until I can’t tell who’s who, just heat and surrender and them, and my body won’t stop trembling.
“Fuck,” Talon pants, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Little Grim. You are going to be the death of me. I’m putting that in my epitaph.”
The world tilts. Gravity forgets how to behave. I slump, caught only by their arms and by the fact they still haven’t let me go. Haven’t even tried.
I can’t move. Can barely breathe. And I have never felt so devoured, so claimed, so terrifyingly safe in my entire existence.
I said I wanted to be shared, not owned.
But what if those two things were never separate options?
“Easy,” Nathaniel murmurs again, kissing my damp hair.
“‘Gentle,’ huh?” Talon huffs a laugh. “Think we got shockingly close this time. For us, anyway.”
I want to snarl at him. I want to kiss him. I want to sink my teeth into his shoulder until he feels me tomorrow. All I manage is a broken little sound against Nathaniel’s throat—wrecked, dizzy, ruined in the exact way I asked for.
I knew these men couldn’t do gentle.
Turns out, I can’t either.
And saints preserve me, I think I like the monster I become in their hands.