“That’s it, Beautiful,” Clayton praises, slamming his fingers into me as my walls clamp down. I rear back from Rhys, gasping and mewling through the pleasure crashing into my body like a battering ram. Shamelessly, my juices run down my thighs, which Clay scoops up and continues to push back into me, twisting his fingers back and through. My climax lasts forever, stealing all of my energy. I wobble on my hands and knees, thighs trembling and eyes clamped shut.
Thankfully, arms band around me, relieving the need to stay upright. Flipping me around, I’m pulled into Rhys’ lap once more. Although this time, as I’m lowered onto his pierced shaft, it’s with my back pressed against his chest. Before me, Clay stands, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The stretch of Rhys draws a satisfied groan from my lips as Clayton holds my gaze, slowly stripping out of his t-shirt and cargo trousers.
It's all too much already, the way Rhys drills into me from underneath whilst witnessing Clay’s own cock springing freeof his boxers. He’s an Adonis, standing tall with the daylight molding itself to his muscles. His skin is golden, his stance broad and erect cock weeping. Shifting the coffee table back with strong hands, Clay steps over and seats himself upon it, his shins nestled between Rhys’. I can only watch, lost to the prospect of what’s about to happen. Bracing himself, Clay directs his cock towards my entrance.
“Hold her steady,” he directs. Rhys obeys, lifting me by the ribs, holding me high so only the tip of his pierced head is inside of me. Pressing forward, Clay pushes his head inside by sheer will, my head rolling back.
“I don’t…know if I can,” I moan, the fullness already causing me to break out in a sweat. Rhys’ hold on my ribs is joined by Clay’s on my thighs, keeping me lifted while my whole body trembles.
“You can, Babygirl. Just relax, we’ve got you,” he mimics back what I told him earlier. Ever so slowly, I’m lowered and lifted, gentle inch by inch. The stretch burns, the sheer thickness of them together almost too much. But behind my closed eyes, I picture how it must look. The rivals who couldn’t stand to be in the same room, now sitting shaft to shaft, wholly committed to my pleasure alone.
Spitting into his hand, Clay’s fingers work around my slit, slickening the descent. He rubs my clit in delicate circles, drawing a moan from me. I remain in a state of disbelief, my head thrown back. Already entranced by the sensations happening between my legs, a mouth closes around my nipple. I tense up on instinct, the sounds from both men bordering on painful. But when I relax into the feel of Clay’s tongue swirling around my nipple bar, I slide another inch down them. We all groan in unison.
Steadily and slowly, Rhys begins to move. Rearing up from underneath, his cock slides higher inside of me, the bars of hisJacob's ladder running the length of Clay’s shaft. The sensation steals my breath, not sharp so much as overwhelming, a pressure that blooms outward until I’m no longer sure where I end and they begin. My thoughts scatter, dissolving into heat and trust and the wild certainty that I am being held, and anchored, from all sides. I sink into the heat they’re building within my core, sink deeper into them and the impossible safety of being supported when my body threatens to give out beneath me.
I’m dimly aware of hands that never leave me, of voices murmured low and steady against my skin, grounding me when the intensity threatens to tip into panic. They don’t rush, they simply attend to every breath I lose, every tremor I can’t control. The burn eases into something molten and heady, a slow unraveling that pulls me deeper until my spine bows and my pulse roars in my ears.
Distantly, I realize that this is what it means to be chosen. The last breach of trust that needed to be conquered for us three to become whole. At this moment, we’re connected. We’re lovers who mean so much more than words can explain. They gravitate towards me, cherish me, love me, and I feel exactly the same for these rivals-turned-guardians.
Lost to the rhythm Rhys creates for all three of us, our desire builds, my body loosening to take them deeper. It’s consuming. A white-hot rush that pours through me and leaves me boneless, suspended, cradled in hands that never let me fall. For as long as I’m able, I take the pounding Rhys provides, the solid weight of Clay nestled inside, the toying of a tongue on my nipples and teeth at my nape until I’m thrown over the edge. The clamping down affects us all but Rhys doesn’t relent, pounding hard and fast without abandon. My wetness welcomes him, both aiding and fighting against his thrusts.
I can’t contain my cries, the sounds foreign to my own receivers, as my nails claw at Clay’s shoulders. I’m squeezing them too tightly, clenching my own core with the force of a tidal wave, blinding me with its intensity.
On his own roar, Clay explodes inside of me, the sensation of him pulsating also dragging Rhys over that same ledge. He doesn’t slow, pumping spurts of cum in ragged groans until his blue balls are finally empty. Clay grips my thighs, holding me steady as our pace slows to a blissful stop. I can hardly stay upright, fraught with the tremors of what just happened.
“Holy…shit,” I breathe, flopping against the arm of the sofa. My limbs are rearranged for me, a t-shirt used to plug the spill of cum seeping from between my legs, my back finally hitting the cushions. I can’t see straight, my chest heaving and throat beyond dry. “That was…incredible.”
Chuckling low, despite the strain evident on his face, Clay stands and walks to the kitchen, his slickened cock bobbing with each step. Rhys leans over me, brushing my hair back with careful fingers before pressing a kiss to my temple. It’s unhurried, and sweetly reverent. Shifting me, he lies down and his arms wrap fully around my body, pulling me into the solid warmth of his chest. We lie there tangled together, skin still slick with sweat, the world reduced to the beat of each other’s hearts.
“I can never lose you,” Rhys murmurs into the crook of my neck. There’s something fragile in the way he says it, his arms tightening just a little as if he’s bracing against the thought. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am without you.” My brow furrows, my head lifting to capture his lowered gaze.
“Well, that’s bullshit,” I reply bluntly. “You’re Rhys fucking Waversea. You can do anything.”
“I’m serious, Harper,” Rhys almost growls, his jaw tightening. The use of my name is jarring, considering theevidence of our union is seeping down my legs. Then, my frown lifts and I exhale softly. So this is what today was really about.
“So am I,” I state, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “You measure yourself against those who have tried to tear you down. Starting over doesn’t mean you’ve lost who you are, it just means you’re free to embrace it. I fell in love with you long before the truth of your family came to light. I fell in love withyou,” I prod Rhys’ chest, “not the version you wanted the world to see. I know who you are.”
“And who is that?” Rhys sighs, dejected, although he takes my hand in his and holds it safe between us. That move along causes me to smile.
“You’re mine,” I say it simply because it is simple. Rhys studies me for a long moment, searching my face like the answer might be hidden there. Then his hand reaches up to cup my cheek, and he kisses me, deeply and unguarded. His kiss says everything he’s still learning how to believe, the clash of our mouths and tongues colliding. I melt into him, into the man beneath the reputation and the scars, the one who’s been quietly asking to be seen all along.
When he pulls back, his head dips, and I pretend not to notice the glimmer in his eyes or the faint tremor in his fingers where they rest against my skin. He recovers in an instant, far too practiced to let an emotional moment taint what’s happening here.
“Do you know what’s weird?” he asks, the trace of a disbelieving smile playing about his lips. “I kinda like sharing you with Clayton. Only with Clayton,” Rhys is quick to catch himself, a serious glint alighting in his blue eyes. I laugh, brushing my nose against his.
“You and Clayton are it for me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Clay says, returning to our side. Sitting on the coffee table, dressed in his cargo pants only, he holds outa damp cloth and pries my leg off Rhys. I lie there, watching Clay carefully clean between my thighs, wiping away our mess. Tracing his arm with my fingers, I’m filled with warmth, the love I’m harboring struggling to stay contained. Opening my mouth, I’m cut off by the click of the door closing and approaching footsteps. We all shoot upright, Rhys’ hands snapping out to cover my breasts while Clay holds the cloth over my pussy.
“Oh, for the love of Christ!” Eddy Mclean hollers, slapping a hand over his eyes. “They said you’d be gone by now.”
“Who said that?” My eyes widen. Clay reaches back to grab my clothes, hastily helping me to dress while Eddy turns away.
“Whoever’s paying my way now,” he calls back. “I’m here for an end-of-tenancy clean. Get it ready for the next load of assholes who don’t know how to use a trash can or change a sheet.” I know that dig is directed at Rhys, but I take offense anyway. With my bra clipped in place and t-shirt dragged over my head, I’m tugging on my leggings when I realize Rhys isn’t rushing. He’s sitting on the sofa, stark naked and picking at his cuticles.
“Rhys,” I drawl, standing before him once dressed. Clay steps to my side, also fully dressed, his arms crossed while he assesses Rhys. “What’s going on?”
Rhys’ blue eyes raise, far too calm and collected for the bombshell that’s just been dropped. He definitely knows something. Pushing to his feet, Rhys stands butt-naked in his living area and rolls his neck.
