Chapter twenty-three #2
Then Torres is at my back, his hot mouth pressing into the sensitive curve of my shoulder, his large hands sliding up my thighs to grip my hips, and having both of them at once short-circuits every rational thought in my brain.
Two sets of hands. Two mouths. The familiar and the absolute ruin, and me caught right in the middle, claiming every single bit of it.
I take charge because I need to feel like I'm driving this freight train off the rails.
I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head.
Both of them freeze for a heartbeat, their eyes darkening into pure, feral hunger at the sight of me — and then neither of them holds back another ounce.
Luke's hands map my ribs, my waist, slow and reverent and greedy all at once.
Torres presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss down my spine, and I shiver so violently I feel him smile against my skin.
Luke finally tears his shirt off — finally, finally getting those broad shoulders under my palms — and then I turn and see Torres strip his off too, I need skin against skin, no more barriers, no more space.
I run my trembling hands over both of them, learning the magnificent contrast: Torres broad and heavy and burning hot, Luke leaner and coiled tight as steel wire.
I smile at the moment both of them stop holding back, and all that careful patience just… burns away.
Luke takes my mouth like he's finally done telling himself no, one hand fisting in my hair to hold me right where he wants me.
Behind me Torres is already there, a low sound rolling out of his chest that was never going to be a word, his arm banding across me like iron and pulling me flush between them until there's no space left, no air.
They stop asking — the wolf in each of them has locked onto the same single purpose, and I feel it in their hands, mapping me like they already know every answer, like my body's a language they were born speaking.
Everywhere I ache, they're already there.
Every sound I make, they chase it down. I'm coming apart between the two of them — wrecked, breathless.
Torres’s mouth is a branding iron against my hip, his hot, rough tongue dragging a ragged gasp from my throat as he dips lower, mapping the slick, dripping wetness of my core with his tongue, a deliberate, maddening slowness that makes my spine bow hard.
Before I can even draw breath to beg, Luke intercepts my cry, his lips crushing over mine in a deep, bruising kiss that swallows every syllable, his tongue thrusting hard and demanding against mine to match the merciless rhythm Torres is building between my thighs.
"Look at her," Torres growls against my sensitive flesh, his hot breath fluttering over my swollen folds right before his tongue hooks deep inside me, tasting every drop of my surrender. I snap my hips forward with a guttural sob, my fingers clawing onto Luke’s shoulders as the double onslaught completely shreds my remaining control.
Torres lays on the bed and pulls me to him, my back to his front.
Torres’s large, scarred hands slide down my ribcage to grip my thighs, holding me anchored, spread, and utterly helpless as Luke shifts forward, his heavy, rigid length pressing against my slick entrance before driving straight through me in one slow, breathtaking slide.
I gasp, my eyes flying wide, the searing fullness of him stretching me wider, hotter, and deeper than I ever imagined my body could take.
Luke groans a ragged curse, his long, corded frame trembling with the sheer, white-hot effort of holding back his dominance, while Torres’s low, rough laugh vibrates straight into my back as he bites hard into my shoulder, locking me securely between them.
"Mine," Luke mutters, his hips stuttering forward with devastating precision, hitting every hidden, throbbing nerve until my vision whites out at the edges.
"Ours," Torres adds, his thick, heavy heat sliding into place alongside Luke, slowly entering me. It’s on the edge of too much and Luke slides his hand down and finds my swollen numb, pressing and rubbing just right. Faster as I start to squirm. I need them both.
I don't just feel them—I'm drowning in them.
Two hard, heavy bodies claiming every single inch of me, sliding inside me in tandem, like they can feel my need, skin slapping against skin in a frantic, deafening crescendo.
I hook my heels around Luke's hips, pulling him deeper, harder, while my hands fist in Torres's hair.
My senses white-out and I come so hard I forget to breathe — the whole world narrows to blinding heat, harsh breaths, and the two of them wrapped around me like a cage — the marks ignite.
Not pain. The absolute, blinding opposite of pain.
Two arcs blaze white-hot on my wrist, branding themselves into my bones, and something colossal locks into place, twice over, deep inside my chest. Our bonds snap taut and then settle with a heavy, final thud, like a vault door closing inside me.
The low, gnawing ache I've carried for weeks without a name dissolves in an instant of pure, intoxicating light.
And suddenly they're there. Not just at the edge of my mind anymore, but woven straight through my nervous system.
Torres — steady, scorching, and quietly wrecked.
Luke — all that fierce restraint burned down to something raw, open, and utterly stunned.
I can feel their heartbeat merging with mine, their pleasure feeding straight into my veins and mine into theirs in a relentless, blinding loop.
Three separate threads braided into a single, unbreakable cord.
As I come apart, the shockwave hits all three of us at once, a collective shatter that leaves us gasping into the dark.
We're all shaking with it. Through the newly forged bond, I know with terrifying, absolute certainty that I am not the only one completely undone.
Afterward, we're a tangled heap of sweat-slick skin and slowing breaths. For a long minute nobody says a word, because the bond is humming low and warm in our chests, and for the first time all year, it feels like enough.
Then I sit up. I can feel them—two steady, blazing presences anchored right inside my ribs where there used to be a void—and I am entirely done being the only person in the room who doesn't understand what's happening to my own body.
"Okay." I look between them, my hair a mess, my skin still tingling with residual lightning.
"One of you is going to explain this. Right now.
Because something just locked into place — I felt it — and I can feel both of you like a second and third heartbeat inside my own ribs, and I've had a mystery tattoo on my wrist. I'm done. Talk."
Torres blows out a long, ragged breath, resting his head back against the wall. "I'll start. I owe you this part anyway."
He sits up, and for once, there's not a trace of his usual mocking grin.