“We feel the same.” Ophelia lifted her head, but continued stroking me.
“Even when you tried to push us away,” Oliver added.
“Especially then,” she murmured.
The orgasm was building at the base of my spine, inevitable and overwhelming. I fought it—one last desperate grab at control—but Oliver felt my resistance and drove into me harder.
“Let go,” he commanded. “Let go, Kiernan. Come for us.”
“I can’t?—”
“You can.” Ophelia’s grip tightened, twisting on the upstroke. “You can. We’ve got you. We’ll catch you.”
“Come,” Oliver growled. “Now.”
I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me like nothing I’d ever experienced—not just a physical release, though that crashed over me in waves, spilling over Ophelia’s hand and my stomach. But more than that. Every defenseI’d built, every barrier I’d maintained, the lies I’d told myself—all of it crumbling, dissolving, washing away.
I was dimly aware of Oliver following me over, his hips jerking, his release pulsing inside me. Of Ophelia gasping, her own hand between her legs, her whole body shuddering with her own climax.
We lay tangled togetherin the aftermath, but I wasn’t done.
The surrender had cracked something open in me—not broken it, opened it. And what poured through wasn’t weakness. It was power. Different from before. Cleaner. Not armor anymore, but choice.
I could give control. Which meant I could also take it back.
“Oliver.” My voice came out rough, but underneath it was control. Command.
He lifted his head, his eyes hazy with satisfaction. “Yeah?”
“Come with me.” I led him into the bathroom, where we both cleaned ourselves before turning to where Ophelia waited.
“On your knees,” I ordered.
He appeared confused, then blinked when it turned into recognition, then heat.
“Kiernan—”
“Did I stutter?” I sat up, ignoring the ache in my body, the soreness that would remind me of this night for days. “On your knees. Ophelia—under him.”
They shifted. Oliver rolled off me and positioned himself on all fours, still half-hard, his body flushed and slick with sweat. Ophelia slid beneath him, her thighs falling open, her eyes locked on mine.
“You’re sure?” Oliver asked over his shoulder. “You just?—”
“I just let you fuck me.” I positioned myself behind him, my hand sliding down his spine. “And it was everything I needed. Now, you need this.”
I reached for the lube and slicked myself—already hardening again, my body responding to the sight of them arranged for me, waiting for me, trusting me.
“This is who I am,” I said as I positioned myself at Oliver’s entrance. “All of it. The surrender and the control. The man who kneels and the man who commands.”I pushed inside him fast and hard, and he groaned, dropping his head.
“Kiernan—” Oliver’s arms trembled.
“Fuck her,” I commanded. “Now.”
He obeyed, sinking into Ophelia’s perfect pink pussy. Her back arched, and she moaned. And then I started to thrust.
The three of us were connected. Oliver between us—inside her, around me. Every thrust I gave him, he gave her. We found a rhythm together, bodies rocking in sync, pleasure building and cresting and building again.
