Riding on top wasn’t Kit’s favorite position. Sue him, he didn’t like doing all the work. But each bounce jostled the clamps, igniting fresh pleasure-pain. Sensation radiated from his abused nipples to his slick, full ass.
His cock jumped with every movement too. Dripping precum intensified the feeling of air on skin. The chain between his wrists clinked as he braced himself against Darius’s chest.
Two pairs of hands slid up Kit’s ribs, along his hips, sometimes urging his thighs up, sometimes ruthlessly shoving him down. James was just as close as Darius, a possessive presence at Kit’s back. Biting Kit’s shoulder. Tugging the clamps. Cupping his leaking cock and never quite stroking hard enough.
“Before or after he comes, do you think?” James asked over Kit’s shoulder.
The question didn’t really make sense, but Darius answered, “Before. This time. He gets so sensitive.”
“What are we doing before I come?” Kit asked, muddled.
He tried to rock up, but Darius pinned him down, speared in place. James’s fingers returned, freshly wet in Kit’s crack. He pushed against Kit’s rim, stretched around Darius’s huge cock.
“Perfect little slut,” James said sweetly. “Can you take both of us at once?”
Kit’s entire body tensed, pulling a low groan from Darius. He was already so full. It sounded impossible.
But he wanted to be their perfect little slut.
“I don’t know,” Kit managed. “But I’d love to find out.”
“I believe in you,” Darius said, supportive and filthy, and pulled Kit down over his body. “I’ll take the clamps off first.”
“If you have to,” Kit complained, squirming persuasively. He wanted the clamps on—but this was why he was willing to try impossible things. Because he trusted James and Darius to guide him. They were trying something new and intimidating, and Darius wanted to reduce distractions.
So, the clamps came off. Darius eased them off carefully, but all the care didn’t reduce the pain of the blood rushing back in. Kit whimpered, hissing profanities.
The sting lingered as James’s slick finger pushed past his rim.
“Oh my god.” Kit clenched involuntarily, which only heightened the stretch. “Fucking hell.”
It wasn’t bad. That might be the most overwhelming part. His body liked it so much.
“Sorry, babe,” James said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’ll be easier if you relax.”
“We’ll take our time,” Darius added, which sounded more like a threat than a promise.
Kit had almost composed himself when James’s finger moved. That was when Kit gave up, devolving into a mess of moaning nerves. Each soothing noise fucked into him too.
James and Darius weren’t talking past him now. They were talkingtohim, making sure he was okay, telling him how good and pretty and hot he was. How beautifully filthy. That was more overwhelming than the second finger pushing in.
Darius wasn’t moving, except when James’s fingers and Kit’s clenching forced a reflexive thrust. His voice deepened. Every time he twitched, Kit’s own cock twitched in reaction.
Kit was surrounded. Owned. Protected. Everything was perfect.
Almost perfect. If Holden was here, and…
Not Bishop. Kit was still mad at Bishop.
Almost perfect was incredible enough, and Kit slowly relaxed into the overwhelming stretch and pleasure. No more urgency. Just darkness, warmth, trust. Gentle lips against the blindfold.
“He’s ready,” Darius rasped.
James’s voice was unsteady in Kit’s ear. “Kit?”
“Yeah.” Kit took a deep breath. “Ready.”
The mattress shifted as James adjusted his position. His chest burned against Kit’s back—then he settled, straddling Darius’s thighs behind Kit.
