21. Bianca #4
“Too much,” I gasp, trying to squirm away. My hands push weakly at his shoulders. “Owen, please… it’s too sensitive?—“
“You can take it,” Tristan chides, his voice silky. His hand slides up to grip my throat, gently forcing my head back against his shoulder. “He’s waited forever to taste your pussy. Let him have his fill.”
When I try to close my legs, Tristan’s palm cracks sharply against my inner thigh. The sting makes me jerk, eyes flying wide.
“Stay open for him,” he orders, no trace of his usual lazy drawl. His voice is feral and commanding. “When we tell you to take it, you take it. Understand?”
It shouldn’t send fresh heat pooling between my legs. It shouldn’t make me wetter, shouldn’t make me want more. But my body responds instantly to the command, thighs spreading wider in shameless submission.
“Yes,” I whisper, shocked by my own response, by how quickly I yield.
“Yes, what?” Weller speaks from across the room, his voice strained but controlled. He hasn’t moved an inch.
“Yes, Alpha,” the title slips out without thought, instinctive and right.
The room goes deadly still for a heartbeat, their scents spiking.
“Fuck,” Owen growls against my thigh, his breath hot against tender flesh. “I love the sound of that, Princess.”
Freddie’s mouth returns to my breast, his teeth scraping roughly over the sensitive peak before sucking hard, drawing a broken cry from my lips.
“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good for us. I’ve got you,” he praises between light nibbles across my chest. “Taking everything we give you. Perfect from your hair to your toes.”
“Please,” I gasp, not sure what I’m begging for anymore. More? Less? For them to stop? For them to never stop?
“Please what, sweetheart?” Tristan purrs against my ear, his hand still firm on my thigh where he slapped it, the sting fading to a pleasant warmth. “Use your words.”
I writhe helplessly between them, desperate sounds escaping my throat as Tristan continues whispering filth into my ear.
“I bet you’re aching to be filled properly,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. “That sweet little cunt stretched around a knot instead of just fingers. You want that, don’t you? Want to be stuffed full, used like the perfect omega you are.”
“I need—” The words catch in my throat as Owen’s tongue returns to my oversensitive clit, gentler now but no less devastating.
“You need to come again,” Freddie murmurs against my breast, his golden curls tickling my skin. “We’re just getting started, beautiful.”
Just getting started?
Another orgasm rips through me with such force that tears spring to my eyes. My legs wrap around Owen’s neck as I shake.
“Fuck!” Owen groans, his whole body tensing. His forehead presses hard against my inner thigh, breath coming in harsh pants as his hips jerk involuntarily. “God fucking dammit,” he curses.
The scent of his release drenches the room.
Tristan’s laugh is dark and knowing against my ear. “Did you just come in your pants like a fucking teenager?” His words are mocking but laced with heat. “Just from tasting her?”
Owen’s answering growl is all the confirmation needed.
“Fuck off, Tris.”
I collapse against Tristan’s chest, limp and utterly spent, unable to move or think beyond the overload of sensation still rippling through my body. My legs remain splayed open, my pussy swollen and glistening.
Tristan’s fingers trail up my inner thigh. “Poor little thing,” he murmurs. His touch feels like fire against my oversensitive skin.
I whimper as his fingers slide through my folds, exploring the aftermath of my pleasure. My body twitches involuntarily, overstimulated and raw.
“Look at the mess you and Owen made,” he continues, holding up his glistening fingers for all to see.
“You gave away what was ours,” Tristan’s voice hardens as his fingers return to my sensitive flesh, circling my entrance without penetrating. “Our little omega… our everything… spreading these pretty thighs for someone else when they were made for us.”
My head lolls against his shoulder. I’m too drained to respond. His fingers press inside me without warning, drawing a weak moan from my lips.
“So responsive,” he praises darkly. “Even after all those orgasms, your greedy little cunt knows who it belongs to.”
Owen rises from his knees, and he moves closer, leaning over me. Before I can process what’s happening, his mouth claims mine in a brutal kiss. I taste myself on his tongue, the evidence of my pleasure mingling with what is purely Owen.
His kiss is possessive, demanding, his tongue invading my mouth the way his fingers invaded my body a few minutes ago. “That’s what ours tastes like,” he growls against my lips.
I can only whimper in response. My mind feels like cotton, soft and warm.
Freddie watches as Tristan’s fingers work inside me.
“Fucking beautiful,” Owen’s thumb tracing my swollen bottom lip.
Tristan’s fingers curl inside me to find that spot that makes my back arch despite my current state of ruin.
“I can’t,” I protest weakly.
“Shhh,” Tristan’s voice drops to a seductive purr. “Just one more, and then we’ll let you rest.”
His fingers work gently, thumb circling my oversensitive clit. The stimulation borders on painful, too much after everything my body has already endured, but somehow the pain circles back around to another orgasm.
“That’s it,” he coaxes as my breathing quickens involuntarily. “Good girl, Bianca.”
I don’t have the energy to fight it, so I just accept it.
“Look at me,” Owen demands, tilting my chin up. His eyes capture mine, holding me prisoner as Tristan’s fingers drive me toward another peak. “You’re ours… don’t forget it again.”
The last orgasm is gentler than the others but no less consuming. My body trembles with aftershocks, tears streaming down my face as I cling to Tristan’s arm.
“That’s it,” he whispers into my ear, his voice dark honey. “You were made to take everything we can give you. Made to come for us. Over and over until you can’t remember anyone else who’s ever touched you.”
I can’t form words, can only manage a weak nod as my eyes grow heavy. My body feels weightless, like it’s floating in the ocean. The alphas’ scents surround me, wrapping me in a cocoon of safety, warmth, and utter possession.
“She’s fading,” Freddie observes softly as he strokes my hair.
“She’s exquisite,” I hear Weller say from somewhere. “Let her rest… she’s earned it.”
Tristan’s arms tighten around me, protectively. “Sleep, little bee,” his tone surprisingly tender. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
The promise in those words follows me down into darkness as consciousness slips away.