"God, look at you," I groan, picking up the pace. "Taking my cock so well. Such a good girl."
She's making these little sounds with every thrust, half-moans, half-whimpers that drive me fucking crazy. Her head is turned to the side, and I can see her eyes are locked on something.
Plague.
He's sitting beside us on the bed, his cock hard again despite having just come. And Ivy's staring at it with obvious hunger, her tongue wetting her lips.
"You want his cock in your mouth, don't you?" I ask, grinning.
She nods frantically, unable to speak as I continue to thrust into her.
I slow my rhythm, leaning over her to speak directly in her ear, her spine dipping beneath my bulk and her soft breasts brushing the mattress. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to my cock when the slight shift in position changes the angle I'm fucking her at. "Go ahead, baby. Suck him off while I fuck you. I know you want to."
Plague's eyes widen at my words, but I can see the desire there too. The want.
"Come here," I tell him, gesturing for him to move closer. "Give our girl what she wants."
Plague hesitates for just a moment, then shifts on the bed, positioning himself in front of Ivy. His cock bobs near her face, and she immediately opens her mouth, taking him in with a moan of satisfaction.
"Fuck," Plague breathes, his hands tangling in her hair. "Your mouth..."
The sight of her like this—on her hands and knees, taking my cock from behind while sucking Plague—is the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. I pick up my pace, driving into her harder now. My hands grip her hips tighter, probably leaving bruises, but I can't help myself. She feels too good, too perfect.
"That's it," I growl. "Take us both."
She whimpers around Plague's cock, the vibration making him groan. Her body is trembling with the effort of holding herself up between us, my massive frame pressing her closer to the mattress even with my hands gripping her hips to support her. But she doesn't stop, doesn't ask us to slow down. She wants this as much as we do.
My knot starts to swell at the base of my cock, catching slightly on her entrance with each thrust. She feels it too, her body tensing in anticipation.
"You want my knot?" I ask, my voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Want me to lock us together?"
She manages a nod and a muffled noise that must be "yes."
That's all the permission I need. With a final, powerful thrust, I drive my knot inside her, locking us together as I come with a roar. She screams around Plague's cock as her own orgasmcrashes through her, her inner walls clenching around me like a vice.
Plague follows a moment later, his hands tightening in her fiery hair as he spills down her throat. She swallows every drop, her body still shaking with aftershocks.
We stay like that for what feels like hours. Me locked inside her from behind, Plague's softening cock still in her mouth, Plague trying not to make eye contact with me as I flash a grin at him, all of us breathing hard and trembling with the aftershocks.
When my knot finally goes down, I pull out carefully, immediately gathering her into my arms. She's limp with exhaustion, completely spent. I cradle her against my chest, rubbing her back in soothing circles.
"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask, pressing kisses to her hair.
She nods weakly, a satisfied smile on her lips. "More than okay," she whispers.
Plague moves closer, his hand coming to rest on her hip. "That was..." he starts, then trails off, apparently at a loss for words.
"Incredible," I finish for him.
We arrange ourselves around her, creating a protective cocoon of warmth and alpha scent. She falls asleep between us almost immediately, her breathing deep and even. For a while, I just watch her. The way her lashes fan across her cheeks, the soft curve of her mouth, the way she fits so perfectly between us.
But as the post-orgasmic haze fades, reality starts to creep back in. What the fuck did we just do? And more importantly, what the hell happens now?
I glance over at Plague, who's staring at the ceiling with that carefully blank expression he wears when he's thinking too hard about something. The tension is back in his shoulders, the walls already rebuilding themselves.
After about an hour, he carefully extracts himself from the bed like a graceful cat. I watch as he pulls on his pants and a shirt and moves toward the sliding door that leads to the small balcony, making no sound as he slips out. He's retreating. Getting distance from what just happened. From what we just did.
From me.
