Chapter 1 #2
We lock eyes. He's so close I can see the gold in the hazel.
His pupils are blown but his face is steady, focused, absolutely on me—and under it, in the tight set of his jaw, in the shake of his hand at my throat, the feral is there.
The alpha that has been waiting on the other side of his discipline since the concrete cell.
Held. For me.
The held thing is what wrecks me.
I don’t deserve someone so good. So loving.
"Good," he says. "There you are. There's my boy."
Atlas drops between my legs.
His mouth is on my cock before I register it—hot, wet, taking me all the way down his throat, the slow shocking ecstasy of being sucked off fully by an alpha I have wanted to have on me like this for weeks.
I cry out into Bane's mouth and Bane swallows the sound, hand at the side of my face, kissing me through it.
"There it is," Bane breathes. "There it is, baby. Let him taste you."
Atlas works my cock with the same patient command he does everything with.
No rush. No theater. His hand splayed flat on my hip, holding me down when I try to fuck up into his mouth.
His tongue heavy and unhurried on the underside of my length.
His other hand sliding my legs wide and then under me, two fingers gathering slick from where it's running down the backs of my thighs onto the sheet, and then he's pressing them into my hole—smooth, easy, my body too soaked and hungry to resist—and I sob into Bane's mouth.
"Oh god—oh god—Bane—"
"I know. I know, baby. Tell me what you feel."
"Full—too much—not enough—"
He laughs against my mouth. Low and rough. "Yeah."
Atlas's voice from below. "His hole's so wet, Bane. He's leaking all over me. You're not going to need anything to get inside him."
Bane grabs my jaw and kisses me deep again. “Hear that baby? Hear how fucking perfect you are?”
I lick his tongue as he tries to pull away.
"He's almost there already," Atlas grunts. “Max, I’m gonna take the edge off.”
Atlas adds a third finger and curls them deep, finds the spot inside me that turns my vision white, and his throat works around the head of my cock at the same time and I am gone—I am sobbing into Bane’s mouth, I am pulling Bane's hair too hard, my body clenches and I am coming down Atlas's throat with a cry that Bane catches before it can leave the room, my hole pulsing around his fingers, and Bane is murmuring through it the whole time, that's it, that's it, that's my boy, that's it, you're so good, look at you coming for him, look at you—
Atlas works me through it. Drinks me down. Slides his fingers out only when I'm shaking and oversensitive and my body is already, somehow, asking for more. He sits back on his heels. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
His eyes meet Bane's.
Something passes between them that has no language. The wordless brothers' shorthand they've been speaking their entire life. Atlas gives one short nod.
"He's ready for you."
Bane's whole body shudders.
Atlas doesn't say anything else. Just moves.
He pushes up off the bed and reaches across to where my wet t-shirt has been forgotten on the pillow—still cold, still damp—and he wrings it out once with both hands and folds it and presses it to the back of my neck again as he settles up near my head. Out of the way for what's coming.
Present for what I need.
His palm finds my forehead. Smooths the sweat-soaked hair back. He says nothing. He doesn't have to. I can feel him in the bond he set into me weeks ago—steady, low, a hand at the base of my skull even when no one is touching me. Now there's a hand. Now he's actually touching me.
Bane is already moving between my legs. His pants gone.
His cock is heavy and hard against his stomach, the head flushed dark, already wet at the tip.
His knees bracket my thighs. His hands slide up the insides of them, pushing them open wide, exposing my hole still wet and twitching from Atlas's fingers, and the look on his face when he sees me like this is the one I have been waiting two months to see—feral, awed, already wrecked, already mine.
"Look at me," he says.
I look at him.
"This is mine. What you're about to give me."
"I know," I whisper.
"Tell me you want me."
"I want you."
"Tell me whose."
Heat surges, clenching my stomach, my asshole aching for his cock. The word comes out of me like he pulled it. "Yours."
He fists his cock once, lines the head up against my ass, and pushes in.
The stretch is everything I've been waiting for since the last time he fucked me—his cock thick and hot and deep, my hole opening for him the way my body was built to open for him specifically, slick easing the way until I feel his hips meet mine.
Bane is not slow, exactly, but he is deliberate.
Every inch chosen. His forehead pressed to mine.
His breath shaking on my mouth. His hand fisted in the sheet beside my ribs because it has to be fisted somewhere or it will be at my throat.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Fuck, Max, you—"
"Move," I beg. "Bane—move, please, fuck—"
He moves.
The first thrust is the one that breaks me. Deep, hard, total—and I cry out so loud the walls would carry it if Atlas's palm weren't already there, slid down from my forehead in one smooth motion to cover my mouth.
"Quiet, baby." Atlas. Soft. Calm. The hand at my mouth is firm but not cruel—anchor, not silence. "I know how good he’s making you feel, but you’ve got to stay quiet."
I sob into his palm.
Bane fucks me with everything he has been holding back since the day I walked into his father's house and disrupted his entire life.
Hard. Deep. Filthy. His cock dragging slick out of me with every pull back and slamming it back in on every thrust, the wet sound of it obscene in the small room.
Talking to me through every thrust—mine, mine, mine, taking what's mine, look at me, eyes on me, that's it baby, that's it, you're so tight around me, you're taking my cock so good, you're so good for me—the words spilling out of him like he's not aware he's saying them, like they were under everything else he's ever said and finally got let out. His mouth at my throat—near the place where he’ll bite, near the spot, scraping, not breaking the skin, holding the line he set himself even now, even shaking, even feral—and his hips slamming home with a rhythm that's part rut and part grief and part absolute relief.
I come again on his cock. My hole clenching down hard around him.
My own cock spilling untouched between our stomachs.
Then again, minutes later, when he angles deeper and finds the spot Atlas found and grinds against it.
Then a fourth time when he wraps his hand around my cock and strokes me through it.
Atlas's palm muffles every cry. Atlas's other hand slides the wet shirt across my collarbone, my chest, cool against the heat fever, anchoring me to the room.
"Bane—" I gasp into Atlas's palm. "Bane, please—"
"I know, baby." His voice is shot. "I know."
He doesn't slow. If anything he fucks me harder, his hips snapping into mine with a building urgency I can feel taking him over, the catch of his slow swelling knot at my rim getting bigger every time he pulls back.
My body is screaming for it the way my body has been built to scream for it, the only thing that can put this fire out, and Bane knows it.
He lifts his head from my throat. Looks across me at his brother.
"I'm going to knot him."
Atlas's eyes meet his over me.
"He needs it," Bane says. Steady. "He's not coming down without it. But he's not going to be quiet about it either."
A beat. Atlas's thumb traces my swollen lower lip.
"Yeah." Already moving. "I've got him."
Bane pulls out.
The loss is a sob I can't catch—my hole clenching around nothing, slick spilling out of me onto the sheet, my whole body keening at the wrong of it—but Bane's hands are already on me, flipping me onto my stomach, dragging me by the hips down the bed until my legs hang over the edge and my hips are at the foot of it, my hard cock pinned between my belly and the mattress with a pressure that makes me shudder.
Bane standing behind me on the floor now.
His hand splayed flat between my shoulder blades, holding me down.
"He might scream when I knot him." Bane. Wrecked, breathing hard, cock still wet from me in his fist. "Atlas. Give him your cock. Keep him quiet."
Atlas climbs down the bed in front of me. Kneels. Works his belt open in two practiced movements. His cock springs free heavy and hard and wet at the tip, level with my face, and my mouth waters at the sight of it before my mind catches up.
He cradles the back of my skull. Strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles.
"Open up for me, sweetheart."
I open.
He slides into my mouth slow. The head of his cock heavy on my tongue, the salt of him, the slow shocking depth as he eases past my tongue and into my throat, his hand at the back of my skull guiding me onto him, my throat opening for him the way the rest of me has been opening all night.
His other thumb traces the bulge of him through the skin under my jaw and a sound comes out of me around his cock that I have no language for.
"There he is," Atlas murmurs. "There's my good boy. Fuck, Bane, look at his mouth—"
"I see it." Behind me. Strained. Already lining his cock up against my hole. "Hold him steady."
He pushes in.
The slick has flooded out of me so much that he buries himself in one stroke and my body welcomes him like it's been starving for him. He groans, low and broken. "Fuck. Fuck, he's so wet, he's so—"
I moan deep around Atlas’s cock and he pushes deeper, cutting off the sound.
"He's been like that all night. You should've felt him when I had my fingers in him. Sucking me in."
"Atlas, I swear to god—"