Chapter 22
Sorcha
Axl’s cock fills my mouth, thick and demanding, and I hollow my cheeks around him. My body is still trembling from Cillian’s orgasm, his cum hot inside me, mixing with Ciar’s. I’m so full, so completely claimed, and it’s everything I never knew I needed.
I work Axl with my tongue, swirling around the head, then taking him deeper. His fingers thread through my hair, not forcing, just guiding. I look up at him through my lashes, and the raw hunger in his eyes makes something primal surge in my chest.
“Fuck, sunshine,” he groans. “You look so perfect like this.”
Cillian is still buried inside me, his hands gripping my hips, and I feel him twitch as he slowly pulls out. The loss of him makes me whimper around Axl’s cock, but then Cillian’s fingers are there, rubbing circles on my clit, and I nearly choke.
“Easy,” Axl murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I’ve got you.”
I double my efforts, sucking harder, faster, my hand coming up to wrap around the base of his shaft. His breathing gets ragged, his hips jerking forward slightly, and I know he’s close.
“Sorcha,” he grunts and pulls out. “Pussy.”
I grin and spread my legs wider as Cillian moves out of the way. Axl flips me over and pulls my hips back, so my arse is sticking up. He sinks into my soaking wet pussy, and I moan loudly as it feels so good.
I grip the sheets beneath me, my body arching as he sets a punishing rhythm.
Every thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, mixing with the dull ache of my bruises in a way that makes me feel utterly alive.
This is what I needed—not gentleness, not careful handling.
I needed to be reminded that I’m still here, still fighting, still fucking winning.
“Harder,” I gasp, pushing back against him.
He obliges, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave new marks. I don’t care. I want them. I want every mark, every claim, every proof that I belong to them, and they belong to me.
Cillian’s hand slides around to my throat from where he’s lying beside me, not squeezing, just holding. The pressure is grounding, possessive. “You’re ours,” he murmurs in my ear. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I manage, my voice breaking as Axl hits a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “All of yours.”
“And we’re yours,” Ciar adds from my other side, his massive hand stroking down my back.
The orgasm builds fast and vicious, coiling tight in my belly. Axl reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, and that’s all it takes. I come apart with a scream that probably wakes half the fucking campus, my whole body convulsing around him.
“Fuck, Sorcha,” Axl groans, his speed increasing. He grips my hip tighter, burying himself as deep as he will go before he pulls out, panting.
“Hey,” I snap.
“Just edging myself,” he says. “I don’t want this to end yet.”
I’m still trembling from the aftershocks when he pulls me up, repositioning me on his lap so I’m straddling him. His cock slides back inside, and the new angle makes me gasp. I’m sensitive, every nerve ending raw and alive, but I don’t want him to stop.
“Ride me,” he commands, his hands on my waist, guiding my movements.
I plant my hands on his shoulders and move, rolling my hips in a rhythm that has both of us groaning. My thighs burn from the fight and now from this, but I push through it. Pain and pleasure blur together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Ciar moves behind me, his chest against my back, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. His mouth finds my shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. Cillian’s hand is still on my throat, and the combination of sensations sends me spiralling.
“I’m close,” Axl grits out, his control fraying at the edges.
“Then come,” I breathe. “Fill me up.”
That’s all it takes. He slams up into me one final time, and I feel him pulse inside me, his orgasm triggering my own. I clench around him, my head falling back against Ciar’s shoulder as I shatter again.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, my body weak and utterly spent.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the thunder of hearts slowly returning to normal. My muscles scream in protest, but underneath it is a bone-deep satisfaction that makes every ache worth it.
“You okay?” Axl murmurs against my hair.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. My throat feels raw from screaming, from taking him, from everything. I’m sore in places I didn’t know existed, bruised inside and out, and I’ve never felt more complete.
“Need to clean you up,” Cillian says, already moving.
“Can’t move,” I mumble into Axl’s shoulder.
Ciar chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest into my back. “Then we’ll move you.”
True to his word, Ciar scoops me up like I weigh nothing, carrying me into the en-suite.
I barely register the movement, my body limp and sated as he sets me down in the shower.
The water hits my skin, hot enough to make me hiss, but Ciar keeps me upright, one arm banded around my waist whilst the other reaches for the soap.
“I can do it myself,” I protest weakly, but even I don’t believe the words.
“Shut up and let us take care of you,” he growls, but there’s no heat in it. Just that rough affection that makes my chest tight.
Cillian joins us, crowding into the space that suddenly feels too small for three bodies but somehow just right. His hands are gentle as they work shampoo through my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp in a way that makes my eyes flutter closed.
“You’re going to put me to sleep,” I mumble.
“That’s the plan,” Axl says. “You need rest. Proper rest, not just a few hours stolen between fights and fucks.”
“Romantic,” I mutter, but I can’t muster any real sarcasm. He’s right. My body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, and that’s before factoring in tonight’s activities.
They wash me with an efficiency that speaks of practice, of care, of something deeper than lust. Every touch is deliberate, reverent even.
When they’re done, Ciar turns off the water and wraps me in a towel so fluffy it could be a cloud. My legs threaten to give out, but Cillian catches me before I can stumble, lifting me again like it’s nothing.
“I can walk,” I protest, but it’s half-hearted at best.
Cillian ignores me and carries me back to my bed and tucks me in like I’m something precious. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin, and I sink into the mattress with a groan that’s pure relief.
Ciar climbs in behind me, his massive body curving around mine, one arm draped possessively over my waist. Cillian takes the other side, his hand finding mine under the covers, our scabbed palms pressing together. Axl settles at the foot of the bed, his hand resting on my ankle.
“Sleep,” Ciar commands, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
“Bossy,” I mumble, but my eyes are already closing.
“You handed it over to me, Red. Get used to it,” he rumbles.
I can’t argue with that. I gave him permission to tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to train.
“Wake me up at dawn. I want to go running,” I murmur.
“Done,” Ciar says and kisses the top of my head. “Now shut the fuck up and sleep.”