And then—
Something inside me snaps. Like a rubber band stretched too tight, like a high-voltage wire finally sparking, like my last ounce of self-control getting through straight into the abyss.
A sound escapes me—raw, shattered, somewhere between a moan and a gasp.
They hear it. And it’s all the permission they needed.
Nathaniel’s fingers finally find my breast. Talon’s hand slips under my waistband, his palm pressing lower—sliding, dipping,finding.
“That's it,” Talon breathes. His voice is a slow, sinful drawl, thick and dark and soaked in smug satisfaction. I missed that sound. His fingers press just enough to make my back arch, to force more of me into his hands.
“There you are, Skye,” Nathaniel rasps. “Feel it. Focus on the way it feels.”
Oh, I’m feeling it. I’m feeling it so hard my soul might just ascend—or descend—honestly, I don’t care where it goes as long as it doesn't stop.
My thighs betray me before my brain can stage an intervention, parting like the Red Sea, except there’s no Moses here, just three men who have absolutely no interest in leading me to salvation.
No, these heathens are here toruinme.
Talon’s fingers dip into my pussy, moving in and out. Cassian bites my lip, a sharp, possessive tug that sends a violent shiver down my spine. Nathaniel pinches my nipple just right.
It’s too much and yet—fuck—it’s never enough.
I don’t know how my undead body can hold this much pleasure, how I’m not combusting into pure ash, but I don’t care. I will never fucking care again.
“More,” I whisper, my voice raw and wrecked, a single syllable that should be illegal in every single dimension.
And then I hear it. My own voice.
Wait.
I freeze. My throat. My lips. My fucking body.
I can speak.
The realization doesn’t just hit me—it dropkicks me through the ceiling of reality. Then—zap—another divine smite, right to my neurons.
My eyes are closed.
I am no longer in the void.
I am back. Back in the land of the living.
And holy shit.
Everything sharpens in an instant.
The heat.
The pleasure.
The weight of them pressing against me like they cannot live without me.
A whimper escapes before I can stop it—an undignified, pitiful little sound.
Don’t let go.
Because if they do, I might slip away again.
