He shoved my thighs apart, and I let him—let him position me however he wanted, let him expose me completely. The vulnerability of it was almost unbearable. I’d never been spread open like this, never been looked at with such naked intent.
“Ophelia,” Oliver said. “Keep him busy.”
She traveled down my body, trailing kisses as she went. When her mouth closed over my cock, hot and wet and perfect, my hips bucked off the bed.
“Don’t come,” Oliver warned. “Not until I’ve given you permission.”
I bit back a desperate sound.
He reached for the supplies on the bedside table—the same ones I’d used on him weeks ago. He slicked his fingers, settled between my spread thighs, and looked at me with a question in his eyes.
“Safeword?” he asked.
“Red.”
“Use it for any reason.Any.I need to hear you say you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He pressed one slicked finger against me—not pushing in, just applying pressure. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this.”
“Say please.”
The word stuck in my throat. I’d never—in all my years of dominance, I’d never begged for anything. I’d commanded. Demanded. Taken what I wanted because I was the one with the power.
“Kiernan.” Oliver’s voice cut through my hesitation. “Say it.”
“Please.” It came out rough, scraped raw. “Please, Oliver. I need—I need you to?—”
He pushed his finger inside me.
My body tensed with the intrusion. Ophelia’s mouth worked harder, drawing my attention between the stretch of Oliver’s finger and the wet heat surrounding my cock. The dual sensations tangled together, pain and pleasure blurring at the edges.
“Breathe,” Oliver said. “Don’t fight it. Let me in.”
I forced myself to exhale. To unclench. To surrender the last defense I had.
He worked me with patient ruthlessness, his finger sliding deeper, searching for the spot that would drive me mad.
“There.” I arched off the bed as lightning shot up my spine. “God—there?—”
“That’s what I was looking for.” He smiled with satisfaction.
He pressed against it again, and my vision whited out. Ophelia swallowed around me, taking me deep, and I was drowning in sensation—overwhelming and still desperate for more.
“More. Please—more?—”
A second finger joined the first. The stretch burned, then eased, then transformed into pure pleasure as he found that spot again and again. I was making sounds I’d never made before—whimpers, moans, desperate pleas that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried.
“Look at you.” Oliver’s voice was reverent and wrecked all at once. “Falling apart for me. For us. Do you have any idea what it means to see you like this?”
“Oliver—”
“No more walls. No more control. Just you.” He added a third finger, and I cried out. “Just us.”
“I love you.”The words spilled out without permission. “God, Oliver—I love you—I love you both?—”
