Chapter 18 #2
He pushes in. One smooth thrust—the slick making it effortless, my body remembering him, welcoming him. The stretch is familiar and perfect and I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper.
"Fuck—" Bane drops his forehead to my shoulder. His hips roll—slow, deep. He fucks me like he did in the facility. Unhurried. Savoring. Every thrust a full withdrawal and a long, steady push back in that lets me feel every inch of him.
"God, Bane—" My fingers dig into his back.
His mouth finds my neck. Presses open-mouthed kisses along the tendon while his hips keep that devastating rhythm—in, hold, out, in, hold, out.
Like breathing. Like a tide. His hand slides under my lower back, tilting my hips, and the angle shifts and he hits the spot and I gasp.
"Right there?" he murmurs against my throat.
"Right there. Don't stop. Just like that—"
He doesn't stop. Holds the angle. Rolls into me with that same patient, thorough rhythm, his cock dragging over the spot on every stroke.
My legs tighten around his waist. My heels press into his lower back, pulling him deeper, and the sounds I'm making are embarrassing—high, breathy, keening sounds that Bane drinks in like he's been starving for them.
"How does he feel?" Atlas. From the side of the bed. His voice thick. His hand still in my hair, his other hand pressed against the front of his pants where he's straining against the fabric. He's watching Bane's hips move. Watching where Bane disappears inside me. "Tell me."
Bane lifts his head. Looks at his eldest brother over my body with glassy eyes. "Tight." His voice is wrecked. "Wet. Warm. Like he was—" A thrust. His jaw clenches. "Like he was made for this."
Atlas's hand tightens in my hair. His breath hitches. I can feel what that answer does to him—the coiling anticipation, the jealousy and desire braided together, the hunger of a man watching his brother have the thing he's been denying himself and knowing his turn is next.
"Harder." Zero's voice from the chair. His hand is on his cock now—pulled free from his jeans, thick, dark, his fist working slow strokes. "He can take it. Open him up."
Bane obeys. His rhythm shifts—the tenderness giving way to something harder, deeper.
His grip on my hips tightens and the wet sound of him fucking me fills the room—slick and filthy, the slap of skin.
I'm moaning with every thrust, my cock trapped between our stomachs, and Bane is panting against my neck, his composure cracking with every stroke.
Atlas's hand is in my hair. His mouth against my ear. "You look so fucking good," he murmurs. The strategist undone. "Taking him like that. Sounding like that. You have any idea what you're doing to me?"
"Touch yourself," Zero says to me. An order. "Wrap your hand around your cock, Max. I want to see you."
I reach between our bodies. Wrap my hand around myself. Stroke in time with Bane's rhythm. The dual sensation—Bane inside me, my own hand working—is so much I can barely see.
"He's ready," Zero says. "Pull out."
Bane groans. The effort of stopping visible in every muscle—his hips stutter, his jaw locks, and he pulls out slow. Leaving me empty. Aching. My hole clenching around nothing, slick and stretched and desperate to be filled again.
"Atlas." Zero's voice. "Your turn."
Atlas stands. Undoes his belt. Slow. His eyes on me the entire time—spread out on his sheets, flushed, slick running down my thighs, my cock hard and leaking in my fist.
"You're—" He stops. His jaw works. "Mine." Steps out of his pants. His boxer briefs. And—
Fuck. He's bigger than Bane. Thicker. Flushed dark, curving upward, the head slick. My hole clenches at the sight and fresh slick runs between my thighs.
A pathetic whimper slips out of me and my cheeks burn.
Atlas flips me onto my stomach. Pulls my hips up until my chest is on the mattress and my ass is in the air. His thumb drags through the mess between my thighs—Bane's precome and my slick mixed together.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes.
"Spread your knees," Zero says from the chair. Directing. Orchestrating. The man who can't touch giving orders to the men who can. "Wider, Max."
I spread them wider.
Atlas lines up. The blunt, thick head pressing against me—bigger than Bane, the extra thickness making me tense. His hands find my hips. Trembling.
"Max. Look at me."
I turn my head.
He pushes in.
One long, devastating thrust. The stretch is enormous—Bane opened me but Atlas is thicker and the difference makes me cry out, my hands clawing at the sheets. The slick eases the way but the fullness is staggering. Every inch of him sinking deeper, filling me completely.
"Oh fuck—Atlas—"
He bottoms out. Holds. Buried to the hilt, his hips flush against my ass. His forehead drops between my shoulder blades. Shaking.
"Max—" Into my skin. "You feel so good I can't—"
"Move." I push back against him. Clench around him. Feel his groan rumble through my spine. "Fuck me. Please."
He moves.
Deep, rolling thrusts that pull almost all the way out and slam back in. He finds the angle within seconds—the spot that makes my vision blur—and hits it.
Again.
Again.
Bane moves to the head of the bed. Kneels in front of me. His cock still hard, glistening with my slick. He cups my jaw. Tilts my face up.
"Open," he says. Tender even now.
I open my mouth. He slides in—the taste of myself on his cock, salt and musk—and his hips push forward while Atlas pushes into me from behind. Full at both ends. Two brothers inside me at the same time.
I can't think, can't breathe, can only take it—Atlas driving into me, Bane rocking into my mouth.
"Look at him." Zero's voice. Rough. Fraying. "Look at how good he takes it. Both of you at once."
His hand is moving faster. I can hear the slick sound of it from across the room.
"Touch yourself, Max." Zero again. "I want to watch you come from Atlas's cock."
I reach between my thighs. Wrap my hand around myself. Stroke in time with Atlas's rhythm. The triple sensation—Atlas in my ass, Bane in my mouth, my own hand on my cock—is so much my vision swims.
"That's it," Zero says. Low. His voice a live wire. "That's it. Don't hold back. Let us hear you."
Bane pulls from my mouth. He pulls me up so we’re face to face, my back arched deep for his brother.
He kisses me—tasting himself on my tongue—while Atlas's thrusts get faster.
Harder. The control gone. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room and I'm moaning into Bane's mouth, loud and desperate.
Bane wraps his hand around his cock, stroking fast, his forehead against mine. "Together," he breathes. "Come with me."
Atlas's rhythm breaks. His thrusts go ragged, desperate.
"Max—I can feel it—the knot—"
I feel it too. The base of his cock swelling. Thickening with every thrust, stretching me wider, the pressure building into something enormous. My body resists for a fraction of a second and then gives—opens around the growing knot with a wet, obscene sound that makes Atlas choke on my name.
"Fuck—" My face drops against Bane's chest. The stretch is immense. The knot pressing against every nerve ending inside me, growing thicker, locking us together. I can feel his pulse through it—Atlas's heartbeat inside my body.
Bane pulls me back up so we’re face to face, kisses me through it.
"Max—" Atlas's voice is destroyed. "I want to—can I—"
His mouth is on my neck. Right on the bonding gland. His teeth grazing the skin. He's asking. Even now. Even with his knot growing inside me and his body shaking—he's asking.
My eyes sting.
"Bite him." Zero. From the chair. His voice cracked open. Raw. "Atlas. Bite him."
"Yes." The word tears out of me. "Atlas. Yes. Claim me."
His teeth sink in.
The pain is sharp—bright and clean and I cry out—and then it transforms. Something that rolls through me like a wave, crashing from the bite down through my chest, my stomach, my cock, my spine.
The bond snaps into place—a connection I feel in my bones.
Atlas inside me and on me and in me—not just his cock but his presence, flooding through the bond.
I come.
Hard. Violent. My hand still around myself but the orgasm isn't coming from my hand—it's coming from the bond, from Atlas's teeth in my neck and his knot locked fat inside me.
My vision goes white. My body convulses around his knot in rhythmic waves that drag him with me—I feel him come, the hot pulse of it filling me, his groan vibrating through the bite and into my blood.
Bane comes a second later—watching Atlas bite me, watching me shatter, his hand working himself fast and rough until he spills across my chest with a broken groan, his forehead still pressed against mine.
Atlas's jaw tightens on my neck. Holds. He's pulled me upright, my back against his chest, his knot buried inside me, his teeth in my neck. We're locked together. Shaking. The bond reverberating between us.
From the corner—Zero. A guttural groan that tears out of him, raw and unguarded in a way Zero never is.
I turn my head enough to see him—head tipped back against the chair, throat exposed, his hand fisting his cock in rough, graceless strokes as he comes across his stomach.
His jaw clenched. His chest heaving. The sound he makes when the last wave hits is almost a growl—animal, possessive, wrecked.
Atlas releases the bite. His tongue laps at the wound—gentle, instinctive, cleaning the blood. His mouth presses against the mark.
A kiss.
He shifts his weight—just slightly, adjusting his hold on me—and the knot moves inside me.
I hiss. Sharp. My whole body goes rigid, my hand shooting back to grip his hip, nails digging in.
The pressure is intense—the knot swollen to its full size, locked tight, pressing against nerves that are already overloaded from the orgasm and the bond.
Every tiny movement sends a jolt through my lower body that's somewhere between pleasure and too-much.