49. Sage #2
“I love the way you look at me, wildcat.”
I lick my lips, staring shamelessly, drinking in the lines of muscle under Holden’s skin, the animal tension cording his arms. I want him to touch me everywhere, mark me, devour me—and I want the same from Milo, want him to ruin me with every reckless inch. Hungry. Starving.
Milo is the first to move. He surges up from the foot of the bed and nudges my legs apart with his knee, settling between my thighs like he belongs there.
The head of his cock is blunt and hot against the slick seam of me.
He drags it through my wetness, teasing, slow, until I’m rolling my hips and silently begging.
“God, you’re so ready,” he marvels, hands on my hips to keep me right where he wants.
He pushes into me with a single, smooth motion.
I gasp at the stretch, the way he fills me completely, and clutch at the sheets behind my head because I think I might actually come from the first thrust. He draws back, slow, then slams in—all the jokey bravado gone, just heat and need and him, fucking me like I’m the center of a room neither of them can leave.
Milo groans, his head dropping to the crook of my shoulder. “Jesus, Sage. No one should feel this good.” He sets a ruthless pace, his hips snapping against mine, and I arch to meet every stroke, greedy for it.
Holden deals with his jeans without taking his eyes off me, the mattress dipping as he kneels by my head.
He and Milo trade a look over my body—Milo’s hips stuttering for half a beat, Holden’s chin dipping, some wordless agreement about how far to push and when to hold back—and then Milo’s back in rhythm, instinctively in time.
Holden’s hand smooths my cheek, ghosting over my lips, and I open for him automatically.
I want every part of them, want to taste and touch and be ruined by both at once.
“You like Milo’s dick in you, wildcat?”
When I nod, Holden strokes my hair, gentler than I expected, thumb slipping into my mouth. I suck, gentle at first, then harder when he presses in. Holden’s breath hitches, and the room tightens with the sound of it.
“That’s my good girl,” he says, and the words make my body ignite.
I’m suddenly desperate for him—so much I can’t explain it.
I want to swallow him whole, keep him inside me forever.
But the way Milo is fucking me—God, it’s obscene.
Every stroke takes me higher, and when he starts to thumb my clit in tiny, relentless circles it turns my bones into water.
“Holden,” I gasp, reaching up for him. He doesn’t make me beg.
He brings the glistening head of his cock to my lips and lets me lick, taste, take as much of him as I can.
I choke a little on the first try, pull back, and he lets me, waiting until I take him again.
Then he guides me gently with his hand on the back of my head, praising me with words that melt my insides.
“Look how beautiful you are swallowing down my cock.”
There’s a tiny part of my brain left that’s screaming this is nuts, that this can’t be happening, that I’m not the kind of girl who does this, but nothing about this feels wrong or ugly or desperate—not with both of them here, giving and wanting and taking in perfect sync.
I suck Holden’s cock, tasting salt and heat, and the sounds he makes—deep, rough, not at all controlled—send electric bolts straight to my core.
Milo never lets up, fucking me so hard the bed frame complains.
His hand finds my throat, not squeezing until I arch into it, and then his fingers tighten, claiming.
I moan around Holden and he thrusts into my mouth, nudging against the back of my throat.
I want to be split apart by them. I want to be the thing they can’t control.
Milo’s rhythm gets wild and irregular, like he’s about to fall apart and trying not to. “Fuck, Sage.”
I clench around him, gasping, the world collapsing to the point of impact over and over, his cock a battering ram breaking down every last defense.
My mouth is full of Holden, my cunt is full of Milo, and my mind is finally, blessedly empty.
They’re fucking me so completely that there’s nothing left—no trauma, no survival, just sensation.
Milo groans. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” His rhythm stumbles, then his fingers clamp down hard and I feel the hot rush of him pulse inside me, thick and endless.
It tips me over, shatters me, turns every thought to white.
I cry out around Holden’s cock, which makes him snarl and drive in harder, chasing his own edge.
Holden’s hand fists in my hair and his cock pulses between my lips as he unloads down my throat, the taste hot and slick and so fucking filthy that I nearly come again from the power of it.
He lets out a ragged, guttural moan, the kind I never expected from him, and for an insane second I want to chase that sound forever, to find new ways to make him lose that control.
“Holy fuck, Sage. Your mouth.”
Everything comes down to sensation—a mix of skin and sweat and hands everywhere. All I know is that I’m wrung out and trembling and wanted so completely it feels dangerously close to being loved.
Milo slumps against me, his chest sticky with sweat, his mouth roaming my shoulder, sweet and savage and muttering stream-of-consciousness filth that cycles from praise to worship and back again.
“Fuck, kitten, you took us so well—look at you. Wrecked,” he whispers, teeth grazing my ear. “Want to go again?”
I laugh, boneless and hoarse. “Give me a minute, menace.”
Milo stills just enough to scan my face, and Holden’s hand settles warm on my thigh.
“You get as many minutes as you want,” Holden says.
Milo kisses my shoulder. “Water first. Then corruption.”