I lose track of time, getting caught up in what we’re going to be doing, and miss the Alpha’s question but not the stilling of his fingers.
“You good ma’ wife? No regrets from ya?”
I sit up so I can see him. “So ready, it's not funny.”
I hear a hum rain down from above me, and a second later, a hand pushes my legs apart. Carefully. Hesitantly.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Listen carefully, husbands. I’m giving you both full consent to copious amounts of sex, probably getting knotted by you at the same time. No names. No bites. No talk of tomorrow. Nothing but getting sweaty together. Does that work for you?” I ask, innocently but with a healthy dose of self-assurance too.
I’m not naive. My body is my own. My mind, too, and who I choose to share either or both with is my choice.
I get two fingers plunged inside my pussy as answer, and I collapse forward as dark chocolate finger fucks me all the way up to wherever these men are staying.
Sadly, due to the lack of space in the elevator, or perhaps it’s because they’re both aware there are cameras somewhere, my other fuck buddy pulls his fingers out of my mouth and stands protectively in front of us.
The lift doors open into opulence. Similar to my hotel, this one is full of history and style, coming together in sultry and eclectic tones of black, gold, and marble.
“Fancy,” I tease as we go towards someone’s bedroom. Though it’s easy to guess it belongs to the Alpha who’s toying with my pussy, since his scent is everywhere. But it’s his presence, his dominance, that is the most evident.
And that’s where our talking comes to a stop.
The Alpha removes his fingers before settling me back on my feet near the door and walking inside the room without looking back at me. A message in itself—go if you need to, otherwise get in here.
I wait, leaning against the door frame, watching. My second husband lets his clothes drop as he makes his way across the room before turning to sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread, fully naked, cock in his hand.
The other grabs a bottle of whisky and drinks it straight. I nearly get lost watching him swallow. He leaves the bottle and takes a seat in the large leather chair next to the bed.
I flick the main lights off, dipping us into the darkness the night provides; the outside lights provide enough for us to see by. Easily. I can see each twist of the Alpha’s hand as he works himself, and also the conceited, cocky stare from my dark chocolate Alpha.
His look is full of want and expectation. Of dominance too.
If I want this, he’ll expect me to leave my sass at the door.
And yeah, it’s a bit of a flip from where we were, but at the same time, he’s well within his rights to be whoever he wants to be. The way he waits, not saying a word or influencing me, is as telling as who he is as the clan tattoo on the other Alpha’s chest.
There’s a lot going on, hints at who they are, but nothing concrete or concerning about what they do outside of here. What I care about, what strikes deepest is him firmly placing the final decision back to me. The way he quickly and unashamedly reverts to triple-checking only reinforces he might want my submission, but he also views me as an equal, a person strong enough to make decisions based on what I want too.
It’s a rare trait for an Alpha to have. It confirms to me how strong his personal morals are, appeasing that suspicious side of me too.
I like it. I want to discover more of his secrets. And his friend’s, who has been equally quiet, held back, even while he strokes himself. Not once has he lost his patience or swayed me with his natural assertions. These two are a surprise, and I imagine that, outside of here, they’d be dangerous, though I hope they show me how powerful they are together in here too.
I hold my second husband’s stare for a moment; my gaze drops to the confident way he strokes himself. And as if to prove a point, he stops the motion while his hand is at the top of his cock, stretching it, highlighting how fucking perfect it is. I lick my lips before I move back to the other Alpha. By far, he’s the strongest Alpha, under his gaze, I feel my certainty grow that I’m where I should be.
I peel off my dress, climb out of my panties, then sink down to my hands and knees. Toeing off my heels, I wait.
He twirls his fingers, the very ones that have been in my pussy, before dragging them over his lips. And I do what he wants, slowly turning around. I dip my shoulder down, spread my thighs wide, and present.
From behind me, a dangerous chuckle and words nearly lost under his accent. “Such a pretty feckin’ view. Now, get that sweet cunt of yours to me.”
Irish. The heavy brogue of the way he announces his words is fuel to my already smoldering desire. I adore an accent.
Climbing up to my feet, I approach the leather chair lovingly holding the huge Alpha. All night, everyone’s been using Irish accents, embracing the whole St. Paddy’s Day thing. I’ve heard thicker ones than his, fake ones, too. Some I haven’t been able to understand, others that are laughable, but his is authentic.
I walk closer to the dark chocolate Alpha, stopping in between his widely spread thighs, being brazen as I start unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it open. His chest is as wide as I am, defined muscles barely moving when I trail my hand over his skin to push his shirt off his shoulders.
Like the other Alpha, he wears a family crest tattooed over his heart. I don’t focus on it, because tonight we’re just people.
He slides his hands down my spine, light as feathers, and I coil like a cat around the sensation, pressing my tits up.
