Lovers. Plural.
And she’s sitting on my cock telling me this like it’s not reshaping everything.
But her eyes are steady. Honest. Not apologizing.
Not lying.
So I process.
“I do. You know one of them already.” A soft kiss at the corner of my mouth. “Noah.”
Noah.
My Noah.
My chest clenches.
Not betrayal. Something else.
A door opening I didn’t know was there.
My hips jerk up involuntarily. “My Noah?”
She laughs against my ear, wicked and tender. “Our Noah.”
My cock pulses under her.
She feels it. She rolls her hips again. Slow, obscene, reassuring.
“How many, kroshka?”
I’m asking because I need to know.
Not to judge. But to understand what I’m agreeing to. What I’m bringing danger into. What safety they can actually offer.
“Four.” Her teeth scrape my jaw in a way that makes my spine go liquid. “Five with you.”
I’ve never been enough for one woman.
The idea of being enough for five people is…
I don’t have a word for it.
Then, playful, hungry. “Six when the new one settles in.”
I swallow hard, dizzy with wanting her and the sharp, bright realization that she is not small, not fragile, not meant for one pair of hands.
“Juliet…” I breathe, face buried in her neck.
Her lips drag down my throat. “Come home,” she whispers. “Let them adore you. Let them protect you.”
“Protect me? Adore me?”
“They will,” she promises, dragging her nails lightly down my stomach. “Because you’re mine. And we protect what’s ours.”
I lean her back enough to see her face.
There’s fire in her eyes.
