His control fractures on theplease.
He shifts me, changing the angle just a little, and slides into me with agonizing slowness, like he’s calibrating every fraction of movement. His jaw clenches. A vein jumps in his neck.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he grits out, breath hot against my cheek. “I stop the second you say.”
I test it. When sensations spike a little too sharp, I grab his wrist and choke out, “Wait.” He freezes instantly, chest heaving, every muscle trembling with the effort ofnotmoving.
When I whisper, “More,” he exhales a broken curse and obeys like it’s a commandment.
He rides the line perfectly, relentless in how he matches me. The pressure coils and coils in my clit until it snaps; when it does, it rips through me so hard my vision goes white. My core tightens, and everything explodes. He follows with a strangled groan, buried deep, coming apart with all that carefully leashed control shredding at the edges.
“Fuck, kitten,” he gasps into my neck. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I’m still catching my breath when Maverick slides in, all hot skin and hungry eyes and a smile that’s turned a little wild.
He kisses me like he’s drunk on me—messy, adoring, a little too eager. His hands roam everywhere: cupping my face, tracing mythroat, skimming down to grip my hips like he can’t believe this is real.
“Look at you,” he says, voice wrecked. “Our girl. Taking us like you were built for it. You were, you know. You were created to take each and every one of our dicks. Such a perfect little Firebird.”
When he sinks into me, there’s no pretending he has Storm’s restraint or Atticus’s precision. He’s shaking, breath catching in sharp, uneven bursts. Every thrust gives him away—too honest, too open, all worship and no disguise.
He whispers the filthiest, sweetest things in my ear, a nonstop stream of praise and obscenity that makes my toes curl. It’s too much and not enough and exactly right.
I come again, dragged under by the combination of his voice and his body and the way he says my name like it’s his favorite sin. He breaks right after me, laughing a little, moaning a lot, clinging like he thinks I might vanish.
By the time he’s done, I’m limp and buzzing, nerve endings half-melted. I don’t think I can take anything else.
Then Conrad touches my ankle.
Just that. Just his fingers, sliding from my ankle to my calf in one long, slow stroke. My whole body lights up like a live wire.
“You sure?” he asks, eyes storm-dark, voice low like he’s afraid of the answer. “You can tap out, Phoenix. Nobody’s keeping score. You’ve got nothing to prove. It won’t change anything, Princess. You’re still ours.”
I haul my gaze to his face. He looks like he’s been standing on the edge of a cliff this whole time, waiting for someone to say jump or don’t.
“I’m sure,” I say. My hand finds his chest, slides down over the scar under his ribs, lower still until I’m wrapping my fingers around him. His breath stutters, eyes slamming shut for a second as his body goes taut. “I want you, Conrad. I want all of you. Fuck me, right now.”
The last of his restraint snaps.
He comes over me, big and solid and impossibly gentle as he settles between my thighs. He kisses me like he’s signing a contract, slow and deliberate, before lining us up.
When he pushes into me, it’s deep and sure and so right my throat closes around his name. He holds still, panting, watching my face like he’s braced for any hint of regret.
All he finds is yes.
He moves with a steady, claiming rhythm, one hand catching mine and pressing it into the mattress over my head like he’s staking out territory in cotton and skin. “Mine,” he rasps, the word torn out of him when the tip of his dick hits the end of me.
“Yours,” I gasp back, every muscle tightening, my body arching up to meet him.
The last climb is brutal and perfect. Every thrust, every kiss, every whispered “you’re safe” spoken into my skin stacks until the whole world narrows to the burn in my muscles and the pressure under my ribs.
When it breaks, I shatter.
Pleasure detonates, ripping through me in waves that leave me shaking and half-sobbing, fingers clawed into his shoulders. The room blurs. The only things that feel real are the weight of him, his voice in my ear, the other three pressing in around us with hands on my skin, grounding me.
Conrad goes with me, body locking up, a raw, helpless sound spilling against my mouth. He comes apart like he doesn’t know how to hold himself together without me anymore.
When it’s finally over—really over, no more edges waiting in my nerves, no more cliffs to jump—I collapse back into the mattress, lungs burning, muscles loose.
