Chapter Eighteen
Berkley
Ronan’s voice curls against my skin, low and dark, the sound of it dragging another mini orgasm through my body.
“You ready for all of us now, baby?” he murmurs, and the question sinks into me like heat.
I’m still straddling Rowan, his body hot and solid beneath mine.
Every slow, deliberate roll of his hips sends a ripple of sensation through me, pulling soft sounds from somewhere deep in my chest. His grip tightens on my hips as if claiming me all over again, guiding me through lazy thrusts that leave me trembling and breathless.
Rowan growls, “She likes the sound of that, brother. Her pussy tightened around me so hard; I almost came.”
My head falls back against Ronan’s shoulder, his breath ghosting over my neck as his twin moves inside me.
The rhythm is slow, reverent, but it builds with every heartbeat.
I can feel how close we all are—how tightly this moment binds us, how much weight it carries after what we’ve survived.
I’ve lost track of how many times they’ve touched me, how often I’ve come undone only to be pieced back together by their hands, their mouths, their devotion. Not to mention their cocks.
It all melts into a single, breathless rush—heat, want, and the deep, anchoring pull of belonging.
The world shrinks until there’s nothing but the slide of Rowan’s body beneath mine, the steady rhythm of Ronan’s breath against my ear, and the pulse of my heartbeat thundering in my chest. My fingers curl into Rowan’s skin, searching for something to anchor me as another soft, helpless moan slips free.
Through the haze, I catch sight of Emerson watching us, his eyes dark and so full of heat that it feels like worship and hunger tangled together, grounding me even as I fall apart.
“I don’t know if I can take anymore,” I whisper, the words catching on a shaky exhale.
Rowan chuckles softly, the vibration running along his chest. “You can, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride. “We’ll take care of you.”
With a low growl of approval, Ronan’s mouth finds my neck.
His lips are hot, his breath steady as he presses me forward until I collapse against Rowan’s chest. Rowan catches me easily, one hand splaying across my lower back while his mouth captures mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.
His lips move with purpose, tongue tangling in a duo, soft but demanding, coaxing me to forget everything except the press of his body beneath mine.
Then something cool drips against my skin, sliding down the curve of my backside. I gasp and jolt forward, a startled sound breaking through the haze.
“Easy now,” Ronan murmurs, his voice rough but soothing as his hand comes to rest on my lower back, next to his twins.
His thumb strokes slow circles against my back hole, the motion both grounding and sinful.
The warmth of his palm follows the trail of the liquid, rubbing what must be lube in with a care that makes me shiver.
Rowan’s lips pull from mine just long enough for him to glance sideways, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Em,” he says with a smirk that’s nothing short of wicked, “why don’t you come help calm our girl down?”
The words hang in the air, thick with heat and challenge.
Emerson moves closer without hesitation, his presence magnetic as always.
He settles beside Rowan, his touch feather-light when his fingers brush across my breast. A soft gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
His fingertips move in slow, teasing circles over my nipple, the delicate motion sending tiny tremors rippling through me.
Ronan’s touch becomes measured, his pace unhurried and deliberate, each motion purposeful as he explores me with slow precision, coaxing my body to yield and accept the growing stretch with one finger, then two.
When he’s satisfied, the air shifts around us in anticipation—the sharp inhale from Rowan beneath me, the rough sound of Ronan’s breathing behind as he notches his cock against my backside. Every sense heightens until I’m trembling.
He murmurs low against my skin, “Easy, Pix. Relax. Let me in.” His voice filled with patience.
He sinks in carefully, slipping slowly one inch at a time, giving me a chance to adjust, and when I finally relax, the warmth of his hand slides up my spine, grounding me. The sensation is almost too much—too deep, too full—but somehow, it’s exactly what I crave.
Emerson keeps me anchored in another way.
His touch is featherlight, tracing the edge of my collarbone before his mouth finds its way to my nipple, teasing in a rhythm that makes my pulse stumble.
Rowan tightens his grip on my hips, a low groan slipping from his chest, and the sound alone sends another wave of shivers through me.
“Breathe, Berk,” Ronan whispers, his voice steady but laced with heat.
I do as he says, exhaling slowly, trying to hold on to the air even as every nerve in my body feels alive and aching.
Rowan’s lips graze my temple, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with pride. “Taking our cocks so perfectly.”
“Full,” I manage, the word a soft confession as my body adjusts to them, the closeness, the impossible sensation of being surrounded and claimed in every way that matters.
Emerson looks up then, his eyes dark and steady. “You trust us?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, breathless. “Always.”
Rowan presses another kiss to my lips, deep and sure. “Then let go, baby,” he says, the words melting against my mouth.
And I do—completely, utterly—until all that exists is the warmth of their hands, the sound of their voices, and the ache of their love far deeper than desire.
The twins move in perfect unison, their rhythm slow at first, then deepening until it’s all I can do to hold on.
Each motion pulls another sound from my lips, my breath catching as the heat builds and crests again and again.
I clutch at Rowan’s shoulders, pressing my forehead to his chest. His skin is slick and warm beneath my cheek, his heartbeat steady even as mine races out of control.
Emerson shifts beside us, the mattress dipping under his weight as he rises onto his knees. I can feel the warmth of his body even before his hand slides beneath my chin, tilting my face toward him.
“Look at me,” he says softly, though his tone leaves no room for refusal.
My lashes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and the world seems to still for a breath. His eyes are dark with need but gentled by the tenderness there.
“Let me see your pretty tongue, baby.” The request sends another shiver through me.
My mouth parts on instinct, lips trembling as I obey, my tongue slipping out in silent offering.
His voice drops to an indistinct murmur, rough and approving.
“Perfect.” The word slides through me like a touch, dark and coaxing.
His thumb brushes my top lip, tracing the outline slowly, almost possessively.
The simple contact sends a tremor down my spine, tightening muscles, causing the twins to grunt and moan. “Open wider,” he whispers.
The command isn’t loud, but it leaves no room for hesitation. I part my lips further, my breath shallow as he presses his thumb past them, dragging it across my tongue with deliberate control. His eyes darken, watching every small reaction as if memorizing me.
A sound escapes him—half groan, half growl—as his hand slides along my jaw, keeping me still beneath his gaze. I can’t look away, not when his expression turns dangerous in that beautiful, consuming way only my guys can manage.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent at the edges. His restraint feels razor-thin, a storm barely contained, and I know I’m the one pulling at the last threads holding him together.
My pulse races, and I can taste the tension in the air—the dark, heavy kind that makes every breath feel like a dare. He leans closer, his lips ghosting over mine but never quite touching.
“You want more?” His question is quiet, but it vibrates through me like thunder.
All I can do is nod, the sound that leaves me closer to a plea than a word. His answering growl is low and dangerous, full of promise.
“Then take it,” he whispers, pressing one last kiss to my lips, before replacing them with his long hard cock.
The world tilts as he slides to the back of my throat on the first glide, everything else disappearing but them. There’s nothing gentle about their claim, only need and possession and the dizzying realization that somewhere along the way, I stopped being afraid of the dark—and started craving it.
The air between us grows dense with warmth and quiet breaths, skin and heartbeat falling into a shared rhythm that feels almost reverent. Every thrust draws a whimper from me, every touch striking a spark that flares deep inside and refuses to fade.
Ronan’s grip firms at my hips, powerful yet measured, holding me steady.
The force of his next thrust tips my world, stealing the breath straight from my lungs as a raw sound tears free from my throat.
The rhythm between us turns relentless—untamed, consuming—until my body quivers, struggling to keep pace with the intensity they’re drawing out of me.
Rowan murmurs low and hoarse against my shoulder, “That’s it, Berk. You’re taking our cocks so well, baby. So tight and wet… fuck!”
The sound of wetness as they use me should be embarrassing, but the ecstasy they’re wringing from my body evaporates all other thoughts.
Emerson’s hand slides around the back of my neck, grounding me as everything spirals. His control is steady, but his voice is a low growl that vibrates against my skin. “Breathe, Berk,” he tells me, his tone both command and comfort. I cling to him, fingers gripping his thigh.