39. Cruz #2
“Stop.” My voice comes out torn. Everyone stills.
Four faces turn toward me in the low light.
“I need—” I have to stop and breathe. “I need all of you. At once. Not taking turns, not passing me around. All of you inside me at the same time, while I’m inside our girl.
” My eyes find Dakota’s. “I want to be so full of this family that there’s no room left for fear.
I want to feel you for days. I want proof in my body that this was real, no matter what they take from us tomorrow. ”
Silence. Then Dante, hoarse. “Cruz. Three of us. That’s—do you understand what you’re asking?”
“I’ve never understood anything better in my life.”
Dakota crosses the bed to me. Her eyes are wet and blazing and she understands, I can see it, she understands better than any of them.
She pushes me down onto my back, throws one leg over my hips, and sinks onto my cock in a single slow slide that punches the air out of both of us.
The sound she makes is half moan, half sob.
“Like this,” she breathes, bracing her hands on my chest.
“Lube,” Eli says, already moving, already in his dominant mode with his voice shaking underneath it. “Every bottle in this apartment, and towels.”
Dakota rides me slow and deep while they get ready, her hips rolling in long unhurried waves, keeping me hard and keeping me here, anchored, her palms flat over my heart. I stare up at her and she stares down at me and neither of us blinks.
“You’re sure,” she whispers.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything, sweetheart.”
Eli’s fingers find me first, slick and careful, and I groan into the ceiling as he presses one inside. The angle is filthy—Dakota seated on my cock, my legs spread and hips tilted up, Eli working me open beneath where she’s stretched around me.
“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Bear down when I add the second.”
Two fingers. Then three, scissoring, stretching, and every stroke drags across the spot inside me that makes my cock jerk inside Dakota. She gasps and grinds down harder, and it’s a well of sensation I could drown in. Being touched from both directions at once.
Dante takes over when Eli’s arm tires. His fingers are thicker, blunter, and he works me with the patience of a saint. Four fingers, twisting, and the burn spreads through my hips like whiskey heat.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Color.”
“Green. God, green, don’t stop.”
“You’re taking it so well.” His free hand strokes my thigh. “Look at you, baby. Look at how open you are for us.”
Brady is last, and gentlest, because Brady is always gentlest with the parts of us that scare him. His hands tremble when he touches me. He keeps asking.
“You’re sure? Cruz, you’re really sure? Three of us, that’s not—people don’t—”
“We’re not people.” I catch his wrist and drag his palm to my chest, right over my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. “We’re us. And I need you in this. It doesn’t work without all of you. That’s the whole point, Brady. The whole family. All at once.”
His face crumples and rebuilds itself into resolve.
Eli goes first. He lies beside me, and I shift onto him with my back against his chest, taking my weight, his legs bracketing mine, and Dakota remains on my cock, her breasts pressed to me, her mouth at my jaw. He lines up beneath me and pushes in slowly, one relentless inch at a time.
“Breathe, Cruz.” Eli’s voice, rough velvet. “That’s it. That’s it. Take me.”
He bottoms out and holds still, seated deep, and it feels so good—his cock in my ass, my cock buried in Dakota, her walls fluttering around me every time Eli’s weight shifts and moves me inside her. Three bodies connected in one unbroken line, and we haven’t even started.
“More,” I grind out. “Dante.”
“Easy, big man. Nothing about this should be rushed.”
Dante slicks himself until he’s dripping, then crouches over Dakota’s back, and when he nudges in alongside Eli, my whole body tenses.
“Bear down,” Eli commands. “Now.”
I do, and Dante pushes, and the pressure is immense, impossible, my body resisting and then surrendering and then opening in a way I didn’t know a body could.
The stretch screams up my spine and detonates everything behind my eyes.
I’m shaking. Making sounds that aren’t words.
Dakota cradles my face in both hands and kisses me.
“You’re doing so well,” she whispers. “So good for us, Cruz. Look how good you’re being. Such a good boy.”
And God help me, that’s what undoes me. Not the stretch. The pride in her voice.
“Color,” Dante grits, holding himself still inside me, and I can feel him throbbing against Eli, both of them buried in me, separated by nothing.
“Green.” It comes out sobbed. “Green. Brady. I need Brady.”
Brady hesitates at the edge of the bed, cock in his fist, his expression a war between hunger and terror. I reach for him with a hand that won’t stop shaking.
“I need you too. Come here. Please.”
“I’ll hurt you—”
“You’ll complete me. Get over here and finish it.”
He climbs up. There’s barely room—Eli beneath me, Dakota’s thighs spread over my hips, Dante crouched over her back—and Brady kneels behind them and finds the last angle, and when he presses in—
The world disappears.
There’s no word for it. Beyond pain, beyond pleasure, beyond vocabulary.
Three cocks stretching my ass past every limit I thought I had, Dakota’s pussy hot and clenched around me, every nerve ending I own firing at once like a city grid lighting up block by block.
I’m sobbing openly now, chest heaving, tears sliding freely, and it has nothing to do with pain.
It’s the intimacy. The impossible, obliterating intimacy of holding my entire family around my body at the same time.
“Cruz.” Eli’s voice cracks. “Cruz, talk to us.”
“Full.” That’s all I have. “I’m so full. Don’t—don’t any of you dare move yet. Just let me feel it.”
They hold it there. Five people fused into a single trembling architecture. Dakota’s forehead drops to mine. Eli’s arm crosses my heaving chest from beneath, palm splayed like he’s taking my pulse through my sternum.
“Okay.” I exhale. “Okay. Move.”
They start moving carefully. They have to—there’s no other way, four bodies negotiating one rhythm, small shallow rolls of their hips that ripple through me like stones dropped in still water.
Eli sets the tempo. Dante follows a half-beat behind so there’s never a gap, one of them always dragging deep while another withdraws.
Brady barely thrusts at all, just rocks, and even that is enough to make my vision blur.