4. Jolie #3
I gasp. It's pressure. Stretch. The feeling of being filled for the first time, even by just his finger, and my body clamps down on him instinctively.
"Easy," Jarvis murmurs. He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then higher, his breath hot against my core. "Relax for me, little one. Let me in."
He works his finger deeper, curling it slightly, and I feel him everywhere. Jett is suckling hard at my breast, milk flowing freely now, the relief so profound it's almost spiritual. Jarvis is inside me, stretching me carefully, preparing me for something I know is coming.
"You're tight," Jarvis says. His voice is rough, strained, and I realize he's holding back.
This controlled, powerful man is holding back for me, and the knowledge sends fresh heat through me.
"So tight. We're going to have to stretch you properly before we take you. Can't hurt our girl. Can't rush this."
He adds a second finger.
I whimper, my hips shifting, and he pauses immediately.
"Too much?"
"No," I breathe. "No, it's good. It's so good."
"Tell me if it changes," he says, and begins to move his fingers in a slow, scissoring motion that makes my eyes roll back.
He's stretching me. Opening me. Preparing my body for both of them, and the thought should terrify me.
They're huge. I've seen the outlines in their jeans, the heavy bulges that promise more than I think I can take.
But Jarvis is so careful, so attentive, and Jett's mouth is so hot and demanding at my breast, that I can't find the fear. Only trust.
"Look at her," Jett says, lifting his head. Milk drips from his chin, obscene and erotic, and he doesn't wipe it away. He lets me see it. Lets me see how much he's drinking from me. "She's loving this. Our little milkmaid is loving every second."
The word sends a shock through me. Milkmaid. It should sound ridiculous. Demeaning. But coming from Jett's mouth, with his eyes burning into mine and his hands cupping my breasts like they're sacred, it sounds like a title. Like a claim.
Jarvis looks up from between my legs, his fingers still working inside me, stretching me with patient precision. His dark eyes catch mine, and he smiles. It's small, barely there, but it transforms his face from stern to devastating.
"My perfect little milkmaid," he says, and the ownership in his voice makes my core clench around his fingers. "That's what you are. Ours to feed from. Ours to care for. Ours to fill and keep and protect."
I don't flinch or try to cover myself.
I arch into him, lifting off the bed, and the moan that tears out of me is pure surrender and acceptance. I'm not broken or a freak. I'm theirs, and they're mine, and for the first time in my life my body feels like a gift instead of a burden.
"Yes," I whisper. "Yours."
Jarvis's fingers still inside me. Jett's mouth goes quiet at my breast. For a moment, the room is frozen, suspended in the weight of what I just admitted.
Then Jarvis moves.
He's up and over me in one fluid motion, his body covering mine, his hands capturing my wrists and pinning them above my head against the pillow. His strength is overwhelming. His weight is perfect. I couldn't move if I wanted to, and I don't want to.
His thumb presses against my lower lip, tracing the shape of my mouth while his dark eyes bore into mine with a possessiveness that makes my heart stutter.
"Tomorrow," he says, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrates through my chest. "You don't bind yourself. We relieve you. Whenever you need. However you need. This body belongs to us now."
His thumb pushes slightly between my lips, and I taste salt and myself and him, all mixed together.
"Say it," he commands. "Or I'll keep you here until you do."
I look up at him, this enormous, powerful man who has decided I'm worth keeping, and I feel the last wall inside me crumble.
Not the one around my heart. That one's still standing, battered and warning me not to trust too fast. But the wall around my body, around my shame, around the secret I've carried since I was sixteen. That wall is dust.
"It belongs to you," I whisper against his thumb. "Both of you."
Jarvis's eyes flash. He leans down until his forehead touches mine, his breath hot and fast against my lips.
"Good girl," he breathes. "My good girl."
Jett moves up beside us, his hand finding my breast, his mouth finding my neck. They surround me again, these two men, these forces of nature who walked into my life and refused to let me hide.
And as I lie there between them, pinned and claimed and finally understood, I realize that I'm not sure I want to sell the restaurant anymore. I'm not sure I want to run back to the life I built away from here.
"Thirty days," Jett murmurs against my shoulder, echoing his promise from the stairs. "But who's counting?"
I close my eyes and let them hold me, and I don't know what comes next. I don't know if I'm staying or going. But for the first time in my life, I'm not sure I want to run. And that terrifies me more than anything.