Chapter 24 #4
"Easy." Atlas strokes me slowly. Deliberately. His other hand presses flat against my stomach, holding me down. "I've got you."
"Atlas—" His name comes out as a sob.
"I know." Another stroke. Twist at the head. "Just feel it."
His thumb swipes over my slit, spreading the precum that's leaking steadily now, and I buck so hard that Zero has to tighten his grip on my thighs.
"Fuck, he's responsive," Zero mutters, and there's something like wonder in his voice.
Atlas doesn't respond. Just keeps stroking me with that same maddening, deliberate rhythm—slow enough to drive me insane, firm enough to keep me right on the edge. His gray eyes never leave my face, watching every twitch, every gasp, every desperate sound that escapes my throat.
"Margot—" I gasp. "If she knew—if Richard—"
"They're not here." Atlas's voice is low. Certain. "It's just us. And you need this. Your body's been screaming for it."
"I don't want—" But the lie dies in my throat because I do. God help me, I do. I want this so badly it's tearing me apart.
"Yes, you do." He reads me like a book. "And that's okay. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel good."
Bane's grip shifts on my wrists. His mouth brushes my ear. "Stop fighting it, Max."
I squeeze my eyes shut. Feel the tears leak out the corners. My body is betraying me—has been betraying me for days—and I can't hold the pieces together anymore.
"That's it," Atlas murmurs. "Let go."
His hand resumes its movement. Faster now. Rougher.
My hips jerk up, chasing his fist, but Zero's hands keep me pinned.
I'm trapped between them—Bane holding my wrists above my head, Zero spreading my thighs and holding me flat against the bed, Atlas between my legs with his hand wrapped around my cock—and I've never felt so exposed.
So vulnerable. So desperately, achingly wanted.
Atlas works me higher. His grip tightens, his pace increases, and I'm climbing toward something—some peak I can sense but can't quite reach—when he suddenly stops.
I make a sound that's barely human. A broken, desperate keen.
"Not yet," Atlas says. His voice is rough. Strained. Like his control is hanging by a thread. "Not like this."
He releases my cock. I whine at the loss—actually whine, like some desperate, needy thing—and try to buck my hips, try to chase the contact, but Zero holds me down.
"Shh." Atlas's hands slide up my inner thighs. Slow. Deliberate. His thumbs press into the crease where my legs meet my body, and I shudder at the sensation. "I'm going to give you what you need."
His hands grip my thighs, pushing them up and apart, folding me nearly in half. I'm completely exposed now—my cock hard and leaking against my stomach, my hole slick and clenching around nothing, every inch of me on display for them.
Atlas looks at me. Really looks—his gaze traveling down my body like a physical touch, lingering on my cock, my balls, the wetness glistening between my cheeks. Something dark and hungry flickers in his eyes.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. And then he's lowering his head, and—
Oh god.
Oh god.
His tongue drags over my hole.
The world whites out. I'm distantly aware of screaming, thrashing, trying to get away and get closer at the same time, but Bane and Zero hold me down, keep me pinned and spread while Atlas licks into me like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted.
"Fuck." Zero's voice is strained. "Fuck, Atlas, listen to him."
Atlas doesn't answer. Just groans against me and pushes his tongue deeper.
He dives deep. Tongue circling my rim, pushing inside, fucking me open with slow, deliberate strokes.
I'm sobbing now—actually sobbing, tears streaming down my temples—because it's too much, too good, too wrong, and I can't stop, don't want to stop, want to be dirty, want to be used, want all three of them to take me apart and put me back together.
"Please," I hear myself beg. "Please, please, please—"
"Please what?" Bane's mouth brushes my ear. "Tell us what you need, Max."
"More." The word rips out of me. "I need more."
Atlas's tongue disappears. Before I can mourn the loss, something else takes its place—a finger, slick and thick, pressing against my entrance.
"Relax." One word. That's all he gives me.
I nod frantically. "Yes. Yes."
He pushes inside.
The world stops.
For one suspended moment, there's nothing—just the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming rightness of finally, finally having something inside me. Atlas's finger crooks, pressing against a spot I didn't even know existed, and—
I come.
My back arches off the bed so hard I nearly lift completely off the mattress. My mouth opens in a silent scream, every muscle in my body seizing at once. Pleasure rips through me like lightning—white-hot, blinding, obliterating everything in its path.
"Fuck," Zero breathes.
My cock pulses untouched, spurting thick ropes of cum across my stomach, my chest, one streak hitting my chest. I'm shaking, convulsing, completely out of control, and I can't stop—can't do anything except ride the wave as it crashes through me.
"Bane." Atlas's voice cuts through the haze. "Give him something."
I don't understand what that means until Bane's fingers press against my lips. Two of them, sliding into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. I close around them instinctively, sucking hard, moaning around them as another wave of pleasure crests.
"That's it." Bane's voice is rough. Wrecked. "Just like that."
I suck desperately, grateful for something to ground me, something to focus on besides the overwhelming sensation of Atlas's finger still inside me, still pressing against that spot, dragging out my orgasm until I'm not sure where one wave ends and the next begins.
Zero shifts beside me. I hear him curse under his breath, see him reach down to adjust himself through his jeans—palm pressing against what looks like a painfully hard bulge. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "He's gonna kill me."
Finally—finally—the pleasure starts to ebb. My body goes limp against the mattress, chest heaving, Bane's fingers still in my mouth, Atlas's finger still buried inside me.
But it's not enough. It's not nearly enough.
The heat is still there. Still burning. If anything, the orgasm has only stoked it higher.
Bane's fingers slip from my mouth, trailing spit across my chin. I gasp for air, lungs burning, body still trembling with aftershocks.
"More." The word comes out broken. Desperate. "I need—it's not—"
"Not enough." Atlas finishes for me. His finger is still inside me, and he curls it now, dragging against that spot, making my whole body jerk. "You came so hard you're shaking, and it's still not enough. Is it?"
I shake my head, beyond shame, beyond embarrassment. "No."
"That's the heat." His voice is low. Dark. Almost satisfied. "Your body knows what it needs now. And we're going to give it to you."
His finger crooks again, pressing hard, and I cry out as stars burst behind my eyes.
A second finger joins the first. Stretching me. Filling me. Atlas works them in and out while his other hand wraps around my cock again—still hard, already hard again, like the orgasm never happened.
A pathetic sob punches out of my chest.
"Look at him." Zero's voice is awed. Wrecked. "Fucking insatiable."
"First heat." Atlas's voice is rough. Hungry. "His body's been starving for this."
They work me relentlessly. Atlas's fingers deep inside me, stroking that spot over and over while his hand pumps my cock. Bane holding my wrists, breath hot against my ear. Zero gripping my thighs, keeping me spread and open, occasionally reaching down to tug at my nipples just to hear me whine.
I'm lost. Drowning. There's no more shame, no more hesitation—just need and heat and the desperate, animal drive to be touched, filled, claimed.
"Please," I'm babbling now, the words spilling out without thought. "Please, I need—I need all of you—I need you to fuck me—please, please, I'll be good, I'll be so good, just please—"
"Not tonight." Atlas's voice cuts through my begging. Firm. Final. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot again, and I cry out. "This is what you're getting. Take it."
A third finger pushes inside. I keen, hole clenching greedily around the intrusion, wanting more, always more.
"Close." It's not a question. Atlas can feel it—feel me tightening around him, feel my whole body tensing toward release. "Come."
His fingers curl. His hand twists.
I shatter.
This orgasm is even more intense than the last. My whole body seizes, back arching so hard I nearly lift off the bed, cock erupting in thick, hot spurts while my hole clenches rhythmically around Atlas's fingers.
I'm screaming, sobbing, completely lost to the sensation, and through it all they hold me—hands and bodies keeping me pinned, keeping me together while I fall apart.
When it finally fades, I'm boneless.
Wrung out.
Barely conscious.
But the heat... the heat is quieter now. Still there—it will be there for days, I know—but the desperate edge is gone. The screaming need has softened to something almost manageable.
Atlas withdraws his fingers carefully. I whimper at the loss.
He leans up, crawls over top of me and presses a kiss to my forehead. Brief. Almost proprietary. "Good."
Bane releases my wrists. They stay limply on the bed.
Zero lets go of my thighs. Sits back. His expression is... complicated. Hunger and guilt and something that almost looks like tenderness, all tangled together.
"Max." Atlas's voice is gentle. "How do you feel?"
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
"I don't—" My voice is wrecked. Barely a whisper. "I don't know."
"The heat?"
"Better. For now." I stare at the ceiling. Can't look at any of them. "What did we just—"
"Don't." Bane's hand finds mine. Squeezes. "Don't think about it right now. Just rest."
Part of me wants to argue. Demand answers, explanations, promises about what this means and where we go from here.