Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Isla
After everything, he’s still denying me? What kind of sadist is he?
“You’re learning to be free, but you’re not there yet.” He flicks his gaze to Brennan who nods, his expression tight with restrained hunger.
They remain where they are, watching me like I’m a masterpiece they’re not done sculpting. The music loops, a relentless reminder of what I’ve just done, and I’m left standing, exposed, craving, but stronger than I’ve ever felt. I’ve crossed a line tonight, and there’s no going back.
The music’s echo lingers as a faint pulse beneath my ragged breaths. My body’s still trembling from exertion.
My climax has left me strangely starving. And my collar… The silver vines seem to belong where they are.
No longer caring that I’m naked, I pull my shoulders back, letting my men look their fill.
Dorian’s steel-gray eyes are sharp with intent, while Brennan’s icy blue depths are unyielding .
Beneath their gazes, I feel like a live wire. “Tell me.”
My pussy is slick, and I need their cocks, their heat, their everything.
The way they’re watching me says they know it.
Brennan takes a couple of steps toward me. “You showed us your fire, Isla. Now you’re going to show us exactly what you want.”
Confused, I frown.
Then he nods at Dorian, who is now leaning against the bedpost, one brow arched. “You’re going to tell him where to touch you and give him specific directions. If you hold back, I’ll tie your hands and blindfold you and make your decisions for you.”
I swallow my shock and desire floods me.
I’m supposed to tell Dorian what to do?
The idea is insane, thrilling, terrifying. He’s all control, all dominance—how can I possibly command him ?
But I know neither of them will let me off the hook. They’re pushing me and my limits, showing me parts of myself that I never knew existed.
The confidence I’d been feeling begins to waver. My cheeks burn as I imagine saying it— touch my clit, kiss my breasts —while they watch.
Once more, Giselle’s voice whispers in my mind. “Get out of your own way.”
What else might I discover if I take a chance?
Blowing out a small, nervous breath, I finally whisper, “Okay.” I meet Dorian’s eyes. “I want you over here.”
His eyes darken, and he shrugs out of his suitcoat and tosses it over the edge of the bed.
He comes to me, standing close enough that his scent—power and hunger—wrap around me.
His fingers hover near my hips, and expectancy crackles in the air around us .
“He’s waiting.” Brennan settles into the armchair Dorian vacated, his hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching like he’s fighting to stay still. “Be very specific, Isla.”
My heart pounds, but I force the words out, small at first. “Touch my breasts.”
Dorian moves his hands and cups me gently.
“More.”
He brushes my nipples with his thumbs. I gasp because the sensation is so different after my own, much rougher pinches.
My thoughts seem to scatter, leaving only desire. “Harder. Squeeze them.”
He does as I ask, and he rolls my nipples between his fingers. I moan as my insides clench.
“You’re doing well.” Brennan’s voice is rougher now. “If you have any hope of coming tonight, you’ll have to be direct.”
After only a slight hesitation, I say, “My clit needs some attention.” Until right now, I’m not sure I’ve ever said that word aloud.
Dorian eases his hand down, and his fingers graze my folds. Shuddering, I spread my legs to give him access.
Slowly he circles my clit, teasing, exactly as I wanted in the SUV but never got. “That’s good, but faster.”
This taste of power is heady, and I love it.
He obeys, his touch precise, electric.
Without the same kind of hesitation that I had in the SUV, I rock my hips, chasing the pressure. For the first time, I feel powerful, like I’m pulling him under for a change.
But then hesitation creeps back in—what if I ask for too much? What if I sound wanton?
As if sensing the switch in me, Brennan speaks, his words cutting across the pulsing music. “Last chance. Remember we’ll bind you, and you won’t choose anything that happens to you.”
The threat motivates me as fear and arousal twist together. There’s no way I can lose this control, this piece of freedom I’ve claimed. “I want your finger inside me, Dorian.”
Steel flashes with fire, and he smiles slowly as I ask.
God. It’s not nearly enough.
“Two,” I tell him. “I want two of your fingers inside me.”
“As you wish, little one.” He complies, voice low, stretching me just enough to make me whimper.
He pumps them, curling against that spot that lights me up. All of a sudden, my confidence roars back because I can’t imagine anything worse than him stopping what he’s doing. “That’s it.” I gasp. “Fuck me with your fingers.”
Brennan groans, low and primal, and I glance at him, catching the bulge straining his pants. His gaze is on me, and it’s thrilling to know that I’m doing this to them.
Dorian works his fingers. My slickness coats him, and I’m close, so close, but I want more —I want them, all of them.
The mirror taught me I can take it. Giselle told me to let go. Dorian wants it as well. “Stop,” I command.
Head cocked to one side, Dorian pauses, his fingers still inside me.
Brennan leans forward slightly.
My chest is heaving, but I meet Dorian’s eyes and then Brennan’s. “I want you—both of you—to fuck me.”
For a heartbeat, the only sound is the thumping music, and the air hangs thick with my boldness.
“Goddamn.” Dorian’s quiet curse is filled with approval.
Slowly he eases out, leaving me aching. “That’s our brave girl.” After opening his cuff links and dropping them on a nightstand, he unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’ve earned it. ”
Brennan’s at my side in an instant, his hands on my waist, guiding me onto the bed.
While we were gone, someone had come in and performed a turndown service.
“Lie back.”
When I do, the sheets are cool against my fevered skin.
Both men strip, revealing hard muscle, scars, and cocks so thick and ready that my mouth waters.
Craving what only they can give me, I spread my legs in invitation.
Both men roll condoms down their cocks. Then Dorian moves in first, climbing up onto the mattress to kneel between my thighs. “You want this?” Fisting his cock, he teases my entrance.
“Yes. Give it to me.”
“How?”
Unsure what he means, I frown.
“Slowly?” he clarifies. “Hard? Fast?”
“Hard.” I’m already wet, and after the way he’s been sensually toying with me all evening, I am more than ready for him.
Jaw clenched, he thrusts in deep, filling me with a stretch that’s almost too much.
I cry out as my insides grip him.
Pleasure spikes as he moves, relentless, each stroke hitting my most sensitive spot.
As I asked, he fucks me hard, his eyes locked on mine. I grab hold of his shoulders, urging him on.
“Fuck it; you’re tight.”
I’m getting closer with every thrust.
And then, he slows and pulls out, leaving me gasping, empty.
“What? ”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, Brennan’s there, guiding me onto my side.
“My turn.” He’s every bit as stern as Dorian.
He slides into me from behind, thick and steady, his cock stretching me differently, hitting new nerves.
I moan loudly as he thrusts, one hand on my hip, the other cupping my breast and squeezing my nipple.
His rhythm is slower, more deliberate, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until I’m trembling, lost in him.
They trade off, seamless, merciless—Dorian flipping me onto my back again, fucking me fast, then Brennan taking over, lifting my hips to go deeper.
My orgasms crash one after another, each thrust pushing me higher, my screams filling the room. “More.” It’s a desperate plea, barely coherent, but they give me what I need, alternating their possession, filling me, breaking me apart.
Dorian finds my clit and rubs tight circles, while Brennan grazes my neck. “Come for us, Isla.”
I do, again, and again, my body shattering, my pussy clenching them as they groan.
Dorian comes first, a low growl as he spills, hot and deep, his thrusts slowing but not stopping.
Brennan follows, his grip tightening, cock pulsing as he fills me, my name on his lips.
I’m a helpless, undone mess: sweat-slick, shaking, slick from my own orgasms. And suddenly my collar is my only anchor.
They collapse beside me, breaths heavy, hands still on me—Dorian’s possessive, Brennan’s tender.
“You belong to us,” Dorian says, voice rough but certain, tracing the collar.
Part of me wants to deny what he said, but I can’t.
Even though I nod, sated, I’m already craving more .
I’m not sure what Dorian wants for me as his wife, but if he intended to leave me broken, hooked on him, he’s succeeded.
How will I ever survive him?
And do I even want to?
“I’m never letting you go. Do you understand?”