22. Harper #2
“You’ve been punished enough,” he says, voice rough as gravel. “Now they need you, sweetheart. Asher. Killian. They need to feel you.”
I look over my shoulder and see them watching—Asher’s jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists at his sides, Killian with his tie half-unwound, eyes dark, hands flexing like he’s holding himself back by sheer will.
I crawl. Slow. Deliberate. On my hands and knees toward them, feeling every inch of the floor, the ache in my thighs, the wet between my legs.
I stop in front of Killian first, smile soft, reach for his belt.
The leather slides free with a whisper, and I unbutton his slacks, slip the zipper down.
His cock springs free—hard, thick, leaking—and I wrap my hand around it, stroke once, twice, before leaning in to kiss the tip, taste the salt and musk of him.
“I missed you,” he breathes, voice low, ragged.
I look up at him. “I missed you, too.”
Then I turn to Asher. Unbutton his jeans, tug them down just enough. His cock is velvet over steel, and I wrap my fingers around it, stroke slowly.
He grips my hair, pulls me up. Not rough, just sure, like he’s been waiting for this.
“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes blazing. “For not reaching out. For making you think you were alone.”
I press my lips to his neck. “I’m sorry, too. For not saying anything.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, sets me on his lap, and I straddle him, sink down slow—so slow—his cock filling me, stretching me, making me moan like I’ve never moaned before.
I tear his shirt open, buttons flying, and lick his neck, kiss the hollow of his throat, bite his collarbone.
He groans, hands tight on my hips, fingers digging in as he starts to move—hard, fast, deep—like he’s trying to make up for lost time.
I reach back, still jerking Killian off, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “Princess,” he murmurs. “God, you feel so good.”
I close my eyes, lost in it—the smell of sex and cologne, the sound of skin on skin, the thud of Asher’s hips against mine. Then Killian moves—pulls me off Asher, turns me—drives into me from behind, his cock pushing deep, his hands on my hips, fingers splayed like he’s staking a claim.
Maddox steps back, jerks himself off slowly, watching, eyes burning.
Killian slaps my ass once—sharp, stinging—and then he’s coming, deep, his cock twitching inside me, filling me—and I’m still so close, so needy.
Asher pulls me, turns me, sets me on his lap again, and I ride him hard, bouncing, my clit rubbing against him with every thrust. I don’t care about quiet, I don’t care about control—I want them, all of them—
And then Maddox steps forward.
“You ready?” His voice is low, rough, like sandpaper over flame.
I nod. “Yes.” Breathless. “Yes, I want this.”
He crouches behind me, drips something warm and slick onto my skin, then a single finger presses into my asshole—slow, careful. I tense, breath catching, the burn sharp but good, so good.
“Tell us to stop,” Asher says from beneath me, arm tight across my back, holding me close. “Tell us if it’s too much.”
I shake my head. “No. I want this. I need this.”
Maddox adds a second finger, stretches me slow, curls them just right—there—and I gasp, back bowing.
Killian slips a hand between us, finds my clit, rubs slow circles, and I’m so close, so full, so theirs with Asher inside of me, Killian’s touch igniting my blood through my clit, and Maddox stretching my ass for him.
Maddox lines up, presses the head of his cock against my back hole—slow, relentless—and I moan as he pushes in, inch by inch, the stretch burning, aching, but it’s right, it’s them, and I feel so safe I could cry.
He’s all the way in.
I’ve never felt so full.
“So beautiful,” Maddox growls. “So fucking perfect.”
“Ready?” Asher asks, breathless, cock still deep inside me.
I nod. “Fuck me. Please.”
They start to move—slow at first, then faster, deeper, Asher gripping my hips, Maddox driving into me from behind, Killian jerking himself off, watching us the way a man watches something he’s claimed as his.
I can’t make sound. My mouth is slack, open, and Killian steps forward, presses his cock into my mouth, and I take him deep, throat convulsing, eyes watering.
They’re all using me, loving me, fucking me—
And it’s so much, so overwhelming, the pressure building in my core, swelling, swelling—until—
I come.
I come with a soundless scream, my whole body seizing, my pussy pulsing, wetness gushing—squirt—drenching Asher, the couch, Maddox’s thighs—so much, too much—and still they don’t stop.
“You’re so sexy,” Killian breathes. “God, look at you—”
“Such a good girl,” Asher growls. “Proud of you—”
“Fucking mine,” Maddox snarls.
Killian pulls out, kisses me deep—tasting himself on my lips—and then Asher flips me, pulls me down, fucks me hard until he’s coming, pulsing inside me, and then Maddox grips my hair, pulls me off Asher, and swings around—
He jerks himself off in front of me, cock bobbing, and I keep my mouth open, just like he said.
He comes with a groan, hot ropes of come across my face, my lips, my chest.
He watches it drip, then smears it into my skin, rough hands spreading his come over my breasts, my neck, like he’s marking me.
Then he kisses me—deep, claiming—and when he pulls back, his voice is low, final.
“You’re ours. No more fucking games. Understood?”
I smile soft. “Yes, sir.”