He does, finding a rhythm that builds on the foundation his brothers laid. Hamilton reclaims my mouth while Percy moves to tease my breasts, all three working in concert to drive me toward the edge.
“Fuck this is too much. I can’t… I’m going to…” Prescott’s pace becomes erratic in the best possible way.
“Let go,” I encourage him, breaking away from Hamilton. “Come for me, Prescott.”
He does, with a shuddering cry that seems torn from deep within him. I can feel his cock twitching as he fills me with his load. The sounds of his pleasure, combined with Percy’s fingers on my clit, send me tumbling over the edge, my body convulsing around Prescott’s still-pulsing cock.
Hamilton doesn’t wait for either of us to recover. As soon as Prescott withdraws, he’s there, flipping me back on the ground and plunging into me with a growl that’s more wolf than pig. “My turn again,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “And this time, you’re going to scream my name.”
He’s relentless, driving into me with a fury that borders on punishing. Percy and Prescott take positions on either side of me, hands and mouths exploring every inch of skin they can reach. It’s sensory overload in the best possible way.
“Hamilton,” I gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “There, right there.”
His smile is triumphant. “Louder, Wolfhart. Let the whole forest know who’s fucking you.”
“Hamilton!” I cry out as he increases his pace, the pressure building inside me again with shocking speed.
“All of us,” Percy corrects, his lips at my ear. “Say all our names. We all want to hear it.”
“Hamilton, Percy, Prescott,” I chant, each name punctuated by a thrust that drives me closer to the edge. “Please, I need…”
“We know what you need,” Prescott says, his fingers joining where Hamilton and I are connected as I take Percy’s cock back into my mouth. “Come for us again, Ruby.”
That does it—the combination of physical stimulation and the tenderness in Prescott’s voice shatters me. I come with a cry that probably echoes through the forest, my body clenching around Hamilton with rhythmic waves of pleasure.
He follows moments later, his release triggering Percy’s as he sinks all the way to the back of my throat and I eagerly swallow him. The three Porkwell brothers collapse around me, a tangle of sweaty limbs and labored breathing on the sandy shore.
For long moments, none of us speak. The only sounds are our combined breathing and the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore.
It’s strange how quickly opposition can transform into something else entirely. Just weeks ago, I viewed these three as enemies—obstacles to overcome in my mission to protect Wolfstone.
Hamilton was the arrogant tyrant, Percy the sell-out artist compromising his talent for profit, and Prescott the tech genius was enabling their destruction.
Now I see the nuances I’d missed before.
Hamilton’s drive masks a deep sense of responsibility for his family legacy. Percy’s designs actually do try to honor the environment in his own way. And Prescott’s innovations could potentially serve conservation as easily as development.
When did they become individuals to me? Not just “the Porkwell’s,” not just “the opposition,” but three distinct beings with their own strengths, flaws, and unexpected depths? Somewhere between that first confrontation in their office and now, lying here with sand clinging to my back and their heartbeats surrounding me, something fundamental has shifted.
“Well,” I finally manage, staring up at the patches of sky visible through the canopy above. “That wasn’t in the environmental impact assessment.”
Percy chuckles first, then Hamilton, then Prescott, until all four of us are laughing, the sound bouncing off the water and surrounding trees. It should be awkward—enemies turned lovers, naked and sticky with evidence of what we’ve just done—but somehow, it’s not.
“I think we need another swim,” Hamilton eventually says, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His usual arrogance is tempered with something softer, almost affectionate.
“Mmm,” I agree, making no move to get up. “In a minute.”
Who am I now?
For years, my identity has been defined by this fight—Ruby Wolfhart, fierce defender of wolf territory against Porkwell encroachment. It gave me purpose, direction, a clear moral position. The world made sense when it was us versus them.
But now the lines have blurred beyond recognition. I’ve literally and figuratively embraced what I was supposed to be fighting against.
Does that make me a traitor to my cause?
Or is there a way to be both Ruby the wolf advocate and Ruby who cares for these three pigs?
My grandmother always said that the strongest wolves were the ones who could adapt without losing themselves. Maybethis is my adaptation—finding connection where I expected only conflict.
