28. Belle #2
“Why would I know that? Because you fucked me? Because you both tell me pretty things while you're lost in ecstasy?”
“Because I love you.”
Surely I heard him wrong. There’s no way those words came from Peter’s lips.
I scoff. “You don’t love me.” Rourke doesn’t let go of my arm. He remains still as if waiting for my direction. My perfect pet.
“I do,” Peter replies, his chest heaving as if the words exhaust him. “It sickens me. I can’t cope, but I’m obsessed, addicted, and painfully in love.”
It’s silent. My heart and mind racing. This is not part of the plan.
It shouldn’t matter, though. I shouldn’t care what he says.
He can think he loves me all he wants, but it shouldn’t set something off in me.
I’m not sober enough for this. The ideas bubbling through my mind aren’t rational.
“You don’t love me,” I say again, wanting to hear the words from his lips once more, as much as I shouldn’t.
He crawls to me, tears in his eyes, taking my hand in his and kissing its back. He looks up, his lips still on my skin, his eyes pathetically beautiful. “How can I prove it to you?”
Rourke’s heart beats against my back. Wicked thoughts run through my mind, sandwiched between the affection of these two brothers. The alcohol takes control of my words, “Would you love me enough to share me?”
I’m being cruel. I know it. But he’s been cruel.
This whole realm has been cruel. It’s only fair.
And besides, I need to see how far I can push him, how far his devotion goes.
This shouldn't be my first request—or even a request at all.
If he truly loved me, he'd release me of my Darling, but for some reason I can't care about my freedom.
In fact, I hope he yanks my collar while he and his brother fuck me.
Wait, no. That's crazy.
Stupid wine.
He doesn’t reply, stares at me from his knees, his pupils dilating. He likes the idea. I can tell. I’m not surprised. The way he looks at me, the yearning—he’d do whatever I’d ask of him, except one thing…Something I can’t seem to care about now.
I tilt his chin upwards, lowering my voice. “Could you love me on my terms? Could you love me while your brother loves me too?” Somehow, I know Rourke won’t protest. I feel it through his grip on my arm.
“I’d take mere scraps.”
A shocked gasp escapes. “Good boy.” I lean down and kiss his lips, gently, as his reward. I don’t pull away, waiting for a reaction from Rourke. When one doesn’t come, I release my captive, turning to Rourke behind me, snaking my hand around his neck, and pulling his lips to mine.
He kisses me deeply. Yes, just as I thought. His desire is tangible.
With my free hand, I direct Peter higher, with only my finger on his chin. He rises, and I turn to meet his lips. Rourke licks the side of my neck and nibbles at my ears, his human hand pawing my middle and his hook hiking up my skirt.
Peter presses against my side as his tongue explores my mouth, one hand cupping my chin.
I’m waiting for this moment to disappear, for one of them to attack the other in a jealous rage.
Surely I’m dreaming. The wine really did knock me out, and I’m writhing around in my sheets, imagining this entire thing.
But both of their cocks etch against me.
Could I really be this powerful? Even with my Darling, I’m bringing these monsters of men to their knees, demanding they share because that’s what I desire, and they have no choice but to oblige to my glutinous requests.
No, perhaps this isn’t just my fantasy coming true.
They seem far too eager to share me with the other—practically no hesitation from either of them.
The sharp point of Rourke’s hook has found its way under the many layers of fabric, scraping against my skin until he meets my underwear, slicing it off with delicate precision.
Peter gropes my breasts, slipping them out easily from the low neckline of his own creation.
I move to Rourke’s lips, taking my time kissing them both before switching from brother to brother—comparing their flavor like I’m at the most exquisite tasting.
All the while I work at the buttons of Peter’s flowy shirt, wanting to feel more of him, wanting to reward him for being such a good boy.
Our lips separate as I feel down his chest, and he breathes helplessly into my ear.
I wrangle with his pants, pulling him free, the warmth igniting another spark of desire.
I turn fully toward Peter, bending forward as Rourke hikes up my skirt and I press my ass against his front.
The coolness of the room pricks my skin, not for long as Rourke’s form covers me like a blanket of steel.
“Fucking hell,” Peter mutters as I bring his cock to my lips, simultaneously bucking against Rourke.
In mere moments, both brothers have inserted themself inside of me, one at each end.
Rourke stretches me, and I moan around Peter’s cock.
I look up as I take him, catching him staring down at me with complete devotion.
I wish I could see Rourke too as he fucks me.
I can’t help but wonder if he watches me take his brother’s cock or if he keeps his eyes closed to imagine he’s fucking me on his own.
Peter’s eyes flick upward, over my body. Rourke picks up his speed, groaning as he pounds into me harder. Peter releases a quiet moan, not taking his eyes off the point holding his attention, surely his brother.
Holy fuck. This is my doing, my design, and yet it feels as if I’m just an instrument between these two, a way for them to fuck each other. It does it for me. It’s too quick. I melt around the Pans’ cocks, losing tempo. Peter makes up for my lack of focus, fucking my mouth in tune with Rourke.
Please, please, please. Yes! They both clench, just at the height of my symphony. Both of them sputter inside of me.
Wait.
Both of them sputter inside of me.
I gasp, releasing my suction on Peter. Beads drip from my lips.
Peter still spurts, siphoning off, and his body tenses. “Did you just…” His eyes wide with mortification, his words directed toward Rourke. He scrambles, stuffing himself back in his pants, climbing to his feet on the floor.
Rourke breathes heavily, resting his palm on my back to catch himself.
I’m disoriented, pulling myself off of Rourke’s cock, cum running down my thighs, searching for Peter’s expression.
Peter’s face is red, his eyes violent. He glares at Rourke before storming out of the dining room, slamming the doors behind him.
He's pissed. Not because I tricked him into sharing me. Not because he liked it more than he should, but because his brother came inside of me. Peter’s jealousy isn’t sated.
He may be willing to share me, but perhaps not my womb.
I should be upset too.
Except I’m not.
At least, not really.
Damned wine.