Chapter 35 Keira
KEIRA
Iwake slowly, consciousness drifting back like morning fog lifting off water.
My eyes flutter open to find sunlight streaming through massive windows, bathing the penthouse bedroom in gold.
For a moment, I’m disoriented—weren’t we in a grimy motel?
Then I remember: we flew back late last night, stumbled into the penthouse well past midnight.
Two pairs of stormy gray eyes watch me intently from either side of the bed. Ace and Cyrus, propped up on their elbows, examining me with identical expressions of concern.
“What?” I mumble. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“You didn’t have nightmares,” Cyrus says, reaching out to brush hair from my face. “We expected screaming, thrashing...”
Ace’s finger traces the curve of my shoulder. “You slept like the dead. Not a single sound.”
I stretch, cataloging the sensations in my body. My muscles are sore, but in a satisfied way. The cuts from Cyrus’s blade have scabbed over, tiny lines of remembrance across my skin. But my mind feels... quiet. Peaceful, even.
“I thought I’d see his face when I closed my eyes,” I admit, staring up at the ceiling. “But I didn’t dream at all. It’s like... I’ve been having nightmares for years without realizing it. And now they’re gone.”
My hands—these hands that tortured and killed less than twenty-four hours ago—feel clean. Lighter. I flex my fingers against the silk sheets.
“I’ve spent thirteen years carrying him with me,” I whisper. “Hiding from what happened in that basement. And now...”
“Now you’re free,” Ace finishes for me.
I nod, unexpected tears pricking at my eyes. “I’ve never slept better in my life. Isn’t that fucked up?”
Cyrus leans in, pressing his lips against my temple. “It’s not fucked up. It’s justice.”
I turn my head to find both twins still watching me like I might shatter. There’s something so tender in their vigilance that it makes my chest ache.
“I’m okay,” I tell them, meaning it for perhaps the first time in my life. “Really.”
“We thought you might need to talk,” Ace says carefully. “About what happened.”
I push myself up against the headboard, studying both their faces. There’s no judgment there, no disgust or fear—just concern. They’re waiting for me to break down, to regret what we did. To need comfort or absolution.
“I killed a man who destroyed my childhood,” I say slowly, tasting the truth of the words. “I don’t need therapy for that. I need to celebrate.”
Something flickers across their identical faces—surprise, then dark understanding.
I reach out, placing one hand on Ace’s chest, the other on Cyrus’s. Their heartbeats thunder against my palms, strong and synchronized. “I want to feel alive with you both. Right now.”
I pull them close, one on each side, their bodies bracketing mine.
When Cyrus’s mouth finds mine, there’s no punishment in his kiss, no need to break me down. His tongue traces mine with reverence. Ace’s lips brush the healing cuts along my collarbone, so gently I shiver.
Their hands move over my body without the usual urgency, mapping every curve with slow appreciation. When Cyrus slides inside me, he watches my face with wonder, like he’s seeing me for the first time. Ace guides my hand to where Cyrus and I are joined, his fingers tangling with mine.
“You’re ours,” Cyrus whispers against my lips, but the words lack their usual edge of possession.
“And you’re mine,” I answer, wrapping my free arm around Ace’s neck, drawing him closer. “Both of you.”
Ace’s breath catches, and he’s looking at me with such raw emotion that tears prick my eyes. When we shift positions, and he takes his brother’s place between my thighs, he moves with deliberate tenderness, his fingers interlaced with mine.
This isn’t about claiming or being claimed. It’s about choosing each other. About three broken people finding something whole in their jagged edges.
Ace and Cyrus take their time with me, trading places.
Cyrus pulls out of me, rolling to the side as Ace slides between my legs.
The change in rhythm, in pressure—it’s intoxicating.
Where Cyrus is raw power and barely contained emotion, Ace is precision and control, his movements calculated to draw out my pleasure.
“More,” I gasp, nails digging into Ace’s shoulders as he works inside me. “I need both of you.”
Ace’s eyes darken. He exchanges a look with Cyrus over my shoulder.
“Tell us exactly what you want,” Cyrus says, his voice rough against my ear.
I gather my courage, my body trembling with need. “I want you both inside me. Together. Ace in my ass, Cyrus in my pussy.”
Cyrus groans, his hand sliding down to grip himself. “Fuck, Keira.”
They move with practiced coordination, positioning me between them. Cyrus lies back against the pillows, guiding me to straddle him. His hands cup my face as I sink down onto him, the fullness making me gasp.
“We’ve got you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing my bottom lip.
Ace presses against my back, his chest warm against my spine.
I feel him reach for the lubricant on the nightstand—always prepared, always calculated, even in moments like this.
His slick fingers prepare me with patient care, stretching and teasing until I’m rocking against his hand, silently begging.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
I nod, leaning forward against Cyrus’s chest. The position is familiar—we’ve done this before, many times now—but something feels fundamentally different. It’s not just about possession anymore.
When Ace pushes inside, joining his brother, there’s none of the usual forcefulness. No need to prove their dominance or mark their territory. Instead, he enters me with exquisite slowness, pausing when I tense, advancing only when I relax.
“Breathe,” Cyrus whispers, his eyes locked on mine. His hands cradle my face like I’m something precious, not just a body to be used.
The fullness is overwhelming, but the tenderness is what breaks me. I’ve had them both inside me before, but never like this—never with this careful attention to my comfort, this focus on connection rather than conquest.
They move together in perfect rhythm, their bodies communicating in ways that transcend words. Ace’s hands slide around to intertwine with Cyrus’s at my hips, both supporting me as they guide our shared motion.
“You’re trembling,” Ace observes, his lips brushing the nape of my neck.
I am. Not from fear or pain, but from the weight of what’s happening between us. This isn’t just sex. It’s not even just intimacy. It’s an acknowledgment that something fundamental has changed.
“It’s different,” I whisper, unable to articulate exactly how. “It feels...”
“We know,” Cyrus says, kissing me so tenderly it makes my eyes sting with tears.
Our bodies move in perfect synchrony, the three of us finding a rhythm that builds slowly, deliberately.
Their bodies surround me completely—Cyrus beneath me, his eyes never leaving my face; Ace behind me, his breath hot against my neck.
The fullness of having both of them inside me at once is overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Fuck, it’s so tight like this,” Cyrus groans, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise.
Ace’s hand slides around to where Cyrus and I are joined, his fingers finding my clit with unerring precision. “Can you feel me through her?” he asks, his voice strained.
The question hangs in the air between them, loaded with meaning beyond just the physical sensation. Cyrus’s eyes darken, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then he nods, a barely perceptible movement.
“Every thrust,” he admits, his voice rough.
The tension between them crackles like electricity, and I’m caught in the current.
Ace’s fingers press harder against me as his rhythm quickens.
His other hand slides up my back, then down again, coming to rest over Cyrus’s where it grips my hip.
Their fingers intertwine beneath mine, the three of us connected in every possible way.
“I’m close,” I gasp, my body tightening around both of them.
“Together,” Ace commands, though I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or Cyrus or both of us.
Cyrus reaches up, tangling his hand in my hair to pull me down into a bruising kiss. “Let go,” he whispers against my lips. “We’ve got you.”
The pressure builds inside me, a wave gathering force until it crashes over everything.
I cry out as pleasure rips through me, my body clenching around them both.
Cyrus follows immediately, his back arching as he pulses inside me with a shout.
Ace thrusts twice more, his forehead pressed against my shoulder blade as he finds his release with a strangled groan.
For a moment, no one moves. No one speaks. We remain connected, sweat-slicked and trembling, three broken people made momentarily whole.