“Hold still,” Carson murmurs, stepping behind me. His voice is low and careful, soothing even as it sends a fresh shiver down my spine.
He undoes the ties at my wrists with practiced fingers, careful not to jar my aching arms. Then he peels my shirt and bra away completely, baring me to the warm air and the eyes that never stop watching. Their eyes track every move I make.
Once my arms are free of fabric, Carson fastens the restraint again, this time letting my hands rest at the small of my back. Restrained. Exposed.
Hunter steps closer, his breath warm on my shoulder. “You still good, princess?”
I nod, too overwhelmed to speak.
Graham’s hands find my waist. Large, rough, grounding. His touch is firm but reverent. “Turn her around.”
Carson guides me gently, turning me until I’m facingGraham again. I meet his eyes, and they stop me cold.
They’re dark with restraint, burning with intensity. Hunger. Possession. Mine.
His hand comes up slowly, thumb brushing along my bottom lip in a touch so reverent it makes my knees wobble.
“You still good?” he murmurs, repeating Hunter’s question. “Give me your color.”
“Green,” I breathe, the word catching in my throat. “So green.”
Graham growls low in his chest. He undoes his belt and pushes his jeans down just enough to free his cock, and fuck—he’s thick, flushed, and already leaking.
My lips part in awe, and his expression tightens.
“Hunter,” he says. “Support her. I’m not holding back.”
Hunter moves behind me again, settling his arms around my waist, holding me as he moves us against the back of the couch. It brings my feet off the ground, and Carson kneels beside me, one hand on my thigh, soothing, steadying.
Then Graham steps forward and guides his cock to my entrance, dragging the tip through my slick folds.
I gasp, arching toward him.
He doesn’t thrust—he claims—pressing forward in a slow, unrelenting slide until I feel impossibly full. My legs shake; my knees would totally be buckling right now if my feet were on the ground, but Hunter holds me firm.
My moan breaks the air, sharp and desperate. “God—Graham?—”
“You’re doing perfect,” he rasps, pulling back only to sink into me again, harder this time. “So tight. So fucking good.”
Every thrust pushes me closer to the edge, but Graham doesn’t speed up. He builds it—slow and punishing—until I’m trembling, whining, begging for more.
“Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you’re ours.”
I barely manage a nod, tears stinging my eyes from how good it feels. “I’m yours.”
He snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.
“No,” he growls. “Say who you belong to.”
“All of you,” I breathe. “Carson. Hunter. You.”
Graham snarls and thrusts deeper, his knot starting to swell. “That’s right.”
I feel the pressure building—him thickening, locking inside me—and I spiral.
I come with a cry that tears from my throat, stars dancing behind my eyes. My body clenches around him, and that’s what undoes him.
He follows me over, groaning as he buries himself fully, his knot swelling, locking us together.
