Kayden groans low beneath me. "Fuck, that's it. Ride it out. You feel like sin."
His hips lift again, deeper this time, and I gasp, my hands bracing against Asher's stomach for support. His body is like stone under my palms, unmoving but present.
Kayden's rhythm picks up. Not fast, but steady. Every stroke presses into that tight, forbidden place, spreading fire through my limbs and down my thighs.
I start to move with him, slowly, experimentally, and he meets me halfway, matching every roll of my hips with a controlled thrust.
"There you go," Kayden groans. "Ride me like you mean it."
My breath stutters. I feel so exposed, held between them like this, one inside me, the other watching every reaction. In this moment, in this dark, molten pocket of surrender, I belong to both of them.
Kayden thrusts up harder and my mouth parts in a cry, one I barely hear because Asher's thumb slides across my lower lip, then into my mouth. I take it without thinking, tongue curling around the digit, eyes fluttering closed.
"That's it, gorgeous thing," Asher murmurs, and something inside me unravels.
Heat and pressure build. My body is stretched and burning and wanting more. So much more.
As if hearing my thoughts, they respond. Kayden's rhythm softens just as Asher shifts. A rustle of fabric. A subtle shift in energy.
I lift my eyes, meeting Asher's gaze, and it's pure command. Heat coils low in my belly even before he speaks.
"Part your lips," he says.
The words alone make me tremble.
I obey, mouth opening slowly, breath catching in my throat.
Asher lowers his pants with methodical precision. It's controlled, as everything he does. He steps closer, his cock hard and heavy, tip already glistening as he presses it against my lips.
"Look at me," he says, fingers tightening in my hair. "Take me in. All of me."
I hold his gaze as I open my mouth to accept him. The first push is slow, deliberate, filling my mouth inch by inch. The taste of him, the heat, the tension, steal every coherent thought.
Behind me, Kayden groans. His hands are firm on my hips, but his thrusts are slow, a languid pressure rolling through me, matching Asher's rhythm.
Asher pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts deeper. Controlled. Intentional. The kind of movement that saysminewith every stroke.
He repeats it again, deeper still, and I struggle to breathe. He holds my head in place with one hand, the other sliding down, wrapping around my throat. An act of absolute possession.
His thumb strokes the side of my neck as he pushes forward again, deeper, holding just long enough to steal my breath before pulling back. Then again, deeper, longer, my lips stretching, my throat adjusting to the fullness.
Kayden's voice rumbles behind me, low and ragged. "She's trembling."
"She's present," Asher replies, still calm. "Exactly where she needs to be."
I whimper around him, and Asher stills, buried deep in my mouth. His hand flexes at my throat, feeling the sound travel through every muscle and nerve like a current.
My thighs are shaking. My arms barely hold me up.
I'm surrounded. Claimed from behind. Filled from the front.
There is no space left for shame or thought, only them. Their rhythm. Their heat. Their absolute control.
I blink up at Asher, eyes wide and watery, throat stretched full, breath snagging in my chest.
His hand at my throat tightens a little. Not enough to hurt, but to remind that he feels everything. That he's testing me, my resolve and my surrender. That we're playing the game of punishment and forgiveness, of connecting through the most visceral expression available.
"Breathe through your nose," he says.
