“Your turn.” Chris’s voice is hoarse. “On your back. I want to see your face when you come.”
They arrange me between them on the soft rug, the fur impossibly plush against my oversensitized skin. Chris settles at my side, turns my hips toward him and lifts one of my thighs, while Wyatt stretches out on my other side, finding my breast with his mouth.
Chris slides down my torso, hand holding my leg high while he licks me clean, his tongue delving inside me to taste the mess they’ve made. The intimacy of it, him licking their combined releases from my body, makes me clench around nothing. When he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, I arch off the rug with a cry that echoes off the high ceilings.
The orgasm builds slowly this time, gathering strength like the storm outside. Wyatt sucks my nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before biting down gently. Chris adds two fingers to his tongue’s work, crooking them against my G-spot, and I’m climbing again.
“Come for us.” Wyatt’s breath is hot against my breast as he slides his hand down to grip my hip. “Let go. We’ve got you.”
I obey. I fall apart between them, my whole body clenching and releasing, wave after wave crashing through me until I’m shaking and tearful and making sounds I’ll be embarrassed about later. They work me through it, don’t stop until I’m boneless and gasping.
But before I have a chance to come down, Chris slides back up and slots his tip at my entrance. Across my torso he nods at Wyatt. “Both of us. I want to share her pussy with you.”
Wyatt pauses his caresses for a moment and looks down at me. I’m still muzzy from the most recent orgasm so can barely form words but his look seems to require some response.
“I just want you,” I say. “I don’t care how.”
He presses tighter to me, gripping my thigh beneath Chris’s big hand and angling my hips just so until I feel his tip pressed alongside Chris’s. Then they’re both pushing into me. They go slowly at first, their faces twin masks of concentration. The stretch is minor at first, then grows and grows as if they’re both getting even harder from the contact or even the very idea of what we’re trying to do. They’re going to fuck my pussy at the same time. Something it never even occurred to me was possible.
But the deeper they go, the more intense the stretch, the more my body craves it, until I’m clawing at their shoulders, panting, and not sure whether I’m trying to retreat or impale myself on them both all in one stroke.
It should be too much. It should be impossible.
It’s not.
Wyatt pushes in alongside Chris, and I’ve never felt so full in my life. Every nerve ending is firing, every inch of me stretched around them both, and I can feel them—feel each other—with zero barriers between any of us.
“Jesus.” Wyatt’s forehead drops against mine. “Nina. Fuck.”
“Move.” I’m barely breathing. “Please. Move.”
They do. Slowly at first, figuring out the rhythm, trying not to slip out. It’s clumsy and awkward and perfect. I’m so full I can barely think, and when they start to find their stride—when they figure out the push-pull that lets them thrust in alternation—I lose the ability to speak entirely.
Chris’s mouth is at my ear, murmuring filthy things about how good I feel, how tight I am around them both. Wyatt’s kissing my mouth, swallowing my moans. Their hands are all over me—and all over each other, I realize. Touching across my body, reconnecting, rebuilding.
The orgasm that builds this time is different. Slower, deeper, coming from somewhere primal. I feel it gathering like the storm outside, and when it finally breaks, I sob with the force of it.
They follow me over the edge almost in unison, both of them pulsing inside me simultaneously. I feel every twitch, the wet heat of them mixing together inside me.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs on the soft rug. I’m barely conscious, floating in some post-orgasmic haze where nothing exists except warmth and satisfaction and the weight of two men pressed against me.
They’re touching each other across my body. I can feel it—Wyatt’s hand on Chris’s arm, Chris’s fingers tracing Wyatt’s jaw. The tension that’s been crackling between them for days has finally broken, replaced by something softer. Something healed.
“Hey.” Chris’s voice, low and rough. “You okay?”
I make a vague noise of assent. Words are beyond me.
“She’s out.” Wyatt, amused.
“Not out.” I manage to crack one eye open. “Just... very thoroughly fucked.”
“Good.” Chris presses a kiss to my shoulder. “That was the goal.”
I let my eyes close again, drifting. Their voices wash over me, quiet conversation I’m too exhausted to follow. Something about the safe house, about Rafael, about what happens next. Logistics. Planning. The world outside this bubble.
But then I hear it. Wyatt’s voice, softer than before.
“I love you too. You know that, right?”
