Chapter 39 #2
Wyatt’s tongue is a wicked instrument, teasing cruelty from mercy and then back again, and his hands grip me like I’m a relic, breakable and vital.
I dig my fingers into Jesse’s arms when he lets me, into anything that won’t disappear under my grasp. I want to stay right here, suspended, ruined, built new.
When it’s too much, when my legs go shaky, and my lungs pitch and I’m slurring desperate nonsense, Wyatt groans and stands, and Marshall slips out.
He’s flushed, lips swollen and slick, the rapture in his eyes edged with glassy disbelief. He kisses me, tasting the evidence of his effort, and I taste myself on him and want to shudder out of my skin.
I’m ready. Beyond ready.
Jesse collects me, lifting and turning, and then I’m on his bed, and Marshall’s got my knees open wide with careless confidence.
He’s there again, unhurried but relentless, and with every push deeper, I forget every damn rule I ever wrote for myself.
I reach for Jesse out of wild, animal need.
He shucks his own shirt, the muscle and density of him making my mouth dry, and then he climbs onto the bed beside me, kneeling up so he can brush hair from my face.
When I think he’s finally going to press his mouth to mine, he just breathes me in, his nose at the curve of my jaw, his lips a threat against my cheekbone.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs.
My pulse catches, sharp and bright, and when he kisses me again, it’s not a demand but a benediction. My whole body tries to catch fire at once.
I arch into Marshall’s thrusts, into Jesse’s hands, and I’m given over, torn gently apart, held together only by the scaffolding of their shared want for me.
Marshall sets a brutal pace, fucking into me with hard, possessive strokes that make the headboard slam into the wall. He’s rougher now.
One hand closes around my throat, not choking, just holding, making everything brighter. Sharper.
Jesse cups my cheek, thumb brushing my lip. “Taste me.”
I part my lips.
He slides into my mouth, thick and hot. “Fuck, Abilene.”
His hand tightens in my hair as I take every inch, every pulse. Marshall keeps fucking me deep, rolling me onto my side so Wyatt can press in behind me, hands on my hips.
And then, just as I think I’ve gotten used to all the sensations, Wyatt slides inside my rear, slick and thick and devastating.
The world collapses to a single shattering pulse: the stretch, the friction, the dark, savage pleasure tearing through my spine.
I claw at the mattress, at Jesse’s arm, animal noise torn from my throat, every boundary burning away into raw need. Wyatt’s hands are iron, holding me open, and when he rocks in, slow, cautious at first and then deeper, my body goes bright and wet and wild.
Marshall grins, teeth bared, sweat beading at his temples. He drags a hand down my belly, guiding, and his cock pounds into me, a counterpoint to Wyatt’s careful grind.
I’m being fucked from both sides. The pain is real, glorious, a bloom that sweetens and softens as they find a rhythm together, twin pistons hammering me apart.
Jesse is saying something, maybe my name, maybe a prayer, but all I can do is open wider and take deeper, take everything, be the vessel, be the prize, be the wild, wanting thing they see and claim and feed.
Jesse’s cock fills my mouth, my throat, the stretch as much a relief as a challenge, and above me, his face is rapture distilled to man, the hunger and awe and fuck of it all.
He cups my jaw, his hips rocking forward to meet my lips, and he doesn’t look away. I feel stripped—not just bare but honest, exposed from the inside out.
I ride the ache, the fullness, the molten thread that ties everything together. It’s too much and exactly enough.
My body is a battlefield, every inch a site of want and warring desire, my own moans meeting Jesse’s shudder and Marshall’s. Their hands and voices and bodies close around me, a ring of heat and wanting.
I can’t stop shaking; I want to crawl out of my skin or drag them in with me, tear down the borders between self and hunger.
“That’s it, baby,” Jesse whispers, and the words detonate, reverberating under my ribs.
Marshall is relentless, his body slick against mine, all muscle and wild, driving need. Every thrust slams me forward and deeper onto Jesse’s cock, which is rock hard against my tongue and teeth and lips.
Wyatt’s breath hitches, and he bites so gently into my shoulder I nearly convulse, the pain and pleasure shocked together into a single dazzling current.
Marshall fucks me with a purpose. I’m certain now that he’s going to break me, and I want it, I want the splitting and the shattering, the total undoing.
Jesse’s cock pulses against my tongue, his hands tight on my head, needy, losing his own grip.
I want to see them fall apart for me. I want to be the cause, the reason, the ruin.
Marshall’s thrusts speed up, sharp and final, until he groans my name and spills inside, the heat of it a volcanic rush. It tips me just so, and the world lifts out from under me, every muscle incandescing, the whole of my body stripped to nerve and light.
I come shuddering, mouth locked around Jesse, squeezing Wyatt until he fills me up.
The shaking doesn’t stop all at once. It ebbs in waves, smaller each time, until sensation settles back into shape and I can feel the room again.
The sheets tangled under my hands, breath cooling on my skin, the solid, living weight of them all around me.
Marshall stays where he is, forehead pressed to my shoulder, breath heavy. Wyatt’s arms are still firm, anchoring me, like he’s afraid I’ll drift if he lets go.
Jesse eases back just enough to look at me, eyes soft now in a way that makes my chest ache worse than the want ever did.
No one rushes.
No one speaks.
Hands remain where they belong. Warm, sure, unafraid of the quiet.
Eventually, Marshall lifts his head and brushes his mouth against my temple, a kiss so gentle it almost undoes me all over again.
Wyatt’s thumb traces a slow line along my hip. Jesse tucks a curl of hair behind my ear, careful, like it matters.
It does.
I’m wrecked. Open. Still humming.
When I finally breathe again, really breathe, the truth settles into me as calmly as sleep waiting just beyond the edge of consciousness:
This wasn’t reckless. It was inevitable.
And whatever comes next, questions, consequences, daylight, I’ll meet it knowing exactly what I stepped into.
And why.