2. Adam #2
Chloe's head falls back against his massive chest. She grinds down, circling her hips like she did with Chris. The wet slap of skin on skin mixes with her increasingly desperate sounds.
Harry's free hand cups one of her bouncing tits, pinching the nipple. "Come on my cock, stepsister. Milk me with that greedy cunt."
She does. Her whole body seizes as another orgasm crashes through her. Harry follows with a deep groan, holding her down as he fills her. When the pulses stop, he turns her around on his lap to face him. Cups her jaw with one huge hand and kisses her slow and deep, like he's savoring every second.
I clear my throat, voice rough with renewed arousal. My cock stands at full attention again. "How about dinner?"
The words hang there. Chloe pulls back from Harry's mouth, lips swollen, eyes glassy with pleasure. Come drips from her well-fucked pussy onto Harry's pants. She looks thoroughly claimed. Owned. And from the small smile playing at her lips, exactly where she wants to be.
The chef will be bringing courses soon. The thought of sitting at that dining table with her naked and leaking our combined loads makes my territorial side purr with satisfaction.
But first, I cross to her. Pull her up from Harry's lap and into my arms again. Her curvy body melts against my broad chest. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gray eyes.
"You did so well, baby. Took all three of us like you were born for it." My thumb traces her lower lip. "But we're nowhere near done with you this trip. That was just the beginning."
Chris steps closer, tucking himself away but leaving her completely bare between us. His hand lands possessively on her ass. "Our perfect little virgin sacrifice. Though I suppose we can't call you virgin anymore. Not after you let your stepbrothers ruin the hole they wanted."
Harry rises behind her, towering at six-seven. His presence fills the space. One large hand strokes down her spine. "Dinner first. Then we'll see how many more times we can make you scream before we reach the mountains."
Chloe shivers between us. Not from cold. The lounge smells like sex and leather and bourbon now. The train rocks us gently as it carries us west through the darkening Illinois night.
Farmland rolls by outside the windows, but none of us spare it a glance.
Her stomach growls suddenly. The sound breaks the tension into something almost domestic. She laughs, that sharp sarcastic sound I've heard in her head for years but rarely witnessed. "Dinner sounds good. I worked up an appetite."
I kiss her forehead. "Good girl. Let's get you cleaned up enough to sit at the table. Though I want you feeling us leak out of you the whole meal."
Chris's low chuckle vibrates through the car. "Leave the shirt off. I want to look at my marks on those tits while we eat."
Harry pours fresh bourbons for all of us, including a smaller one for her. "You'll need it. Something tells me the chef's courses aren't the only thing getting devoured tonight."
We move as a unit toward the dining table set for four. Chloe walks on shaky legs, completely naked, come trailing down her inner thighs with every step.
Her black hair cascades down her back. Those green eyes dart between us, sharp and observant even in her post-orgasm haze.
I pull out her chair like a gentleman. When she sits, she winces slightly at the soreness. Good. I want her to feel us for days.
The private chef appears with the first course as if summoned by some invisible signal. He doesn't bat an eye at her nudity or the obvious smell of sex in the air.
Professional discretion at its finest. Plates of seared scallops and some fancy reduction land in front of each of us.
I sit across from her. Chris to her left. Harry to her right. Three sets of eyes devour her while we pretend to focus on the food.
"Eat," I command, voice direct as always. "You'll need your strength."
She picks up her fork. Her hand trembles just slightly.
Chris leans in, voice pitched low so only we can hear. "Does it hurt, baby girl? That sore little pussy we all stretched out? Or does the pain just remind you how thoroughly your stepbrothers claimed you?"
Her cheeks flush darker. She takes a bite, but her eyes flick to me. "Both."
Harry's large hand disappears under the table. From the way she jolts, I know he's touching her again. Teasing her pussy with those massive fingers while the chef brings out the next course.
"Good," Harry murmurs, taking a sip of bourbon. "Because I'm taking you to the observation dome. And I'm going to fuck you slow and deep until you forget every time I ever walked out of a room on you."
The dirty promise hangs in the air. Chloe's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. Her thighs part slightly under the table, giving Harry better access.
I watch her face. Three years of thinking we hated her. Three years of her trying to talk to us at holidays only to get grunts and silence in return.
Now here she sits. Naked. Full of our come. Getting fingered at the dinner table by one stepbrother while the other two watch and eat scallops like nothing unusual is happening.
"Look at me," I say.
Her green eyes snap to mine. I hold her gaze, refusing to look away first. Just like always.
"You belong to us now."
Her breath hitches. Harry's fingers must be doing something particularly wicked under the table because her knuckles whiten around her fork.
Chris cuts a piece of scallop with precise movements. "That's right. You'll get fucked whenever one of us needs that tight body. Think you can handle being our shared stepsister slut?"
"Yes," she whispers. No hesitation.
The word sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through me. I reach across the table and grip her chin, pulling her forward for a hard kiss that tastes like wine sauce and her own sweetness still on my tongue.
The chef clears the first course and serves braised short ribs with root vegetables. None of us have touched our food much. The real feast sits between us, naked and leaking and moaning softly as Harry works her closer to another peak.
"Eat your dinner," I tell her when I release her mouth. "After that..." I smirk, leaning back in my chair. My tattooed arms flex as I pick up my own fork. "After that, I might fuck you again."
Her eyes go wide. The dirty image clearly affects her. She squirms in her seat, riding Harry's fingers now instead of just accepting them.
"Fuck," she breathes. The curse sounds perfect coming from her innocent mouth.
"That's the plan," Chris says mildly. His brown eyes hold hers with that long, unblinking stare that makes lesser people nervous. "You'll take us together. One in your pussy, one in that virgin ass we haven't touched yet. But not tonight. Tonight we stretch you properly first."
Harry's quiet rumble joins in. "Come for me again, Chloe. Right here at the dinner table like the dirty girl you are. Show your stepbrothers how easily you fall apart for us."
She does. Her head tips back. A keening sound escapes her throat as another orgasm rolls through her small frame. The chef, bless his discretion, times the next course perfectly to arrive after she's stopped shaking.
I watch her try to compose herself. Black hair messy. Lips swollen. Chest marked with Chris's sucks and bites. Pussy puffy and dripping onto the expensive leather seat.
Mine. Ours. Finally.
The train sways through the night. Nebraska waits somewhere ahead. Then Colorado. The Rockies. That luxurious cabin where we'll have her completely isolated for days.
But right now, in this glass and wood and leather world hurtling west, we have her. And dinner is just the intermission.
I raise my glass of bourbon. The others follow suit.
"To family reunions," I say, voice blunt and direct as always.
Chloe laughs. That real laugh that's been hiding behind her polite mask. She clinks her smaller glass against ours, green eyes sparkling with a mix of exhaustion, satisfaction, and anticipation.
"To not hating each other anymore," she counters.
Harry's rare dry smile appears. "To fucking on trains."
Chris just watches her with that quiet intensity. "To what's coming next."
We drink. The short ribs grow cold on our plates. None of us care. The chef will understand. Or he won't. It doesn't matter.
What matters is the curvy, black-haired, green-eyed girl sitting naked at our table. The one we've all wanted since the moment she walked into that wedding as a nineteen-year-old in a dress that should have been illegal.
The one who just took all three of us in the lounge car like she was made for it.
I stand up. Walk around the table. Pull her from her chair and into my lap right there at the dining table. My cock presses against her ass, hard again and ready.
"Change of plans," I announce to my brothers. "Dinner can wait. I need to feel her come on my cock one more time."
Chloe grinds back against me instinctively. "Yes."