It feels like the night of Callie’s wedding, when Wyatt fucked me for the first time and I realized this was something I could want without apology. That I could have both him and Nina, and surrender to them both without fear.
When he finally pushes in, I groan against Nina’s pussy and she gasps, fingernails digging into my scalp. He’s thick and slow and relentless, filling me in one long, steady stroke that makes my cock pulse against the rug. I grip Nina’s hip with one hand to anchor myself, and I can feel his body taut behind me, holding still to let me adjust.
“Oh god,” Nina breathes. “Please don’t stop.”
I go back to work on her, sucking her clit between my lips as Wyatt starts to move. Slow at first, finding the angle, and then he hits it and my entire body lights up. I moan against her, the vibration making her arch off the rug, and we’re all connected. This circuit of pleasure and want and heat that builds every time he drives into me.
Nina comes first. It always starts with her letting out a sharp breath followed by a shaky moan. I feel it in the way her thighs shake, the way her fingers yank my hair hard enough to sting, the way her whole body goes rigid and then releases and her pussy floods my mouth. She cries out, loud and unashamed, and I work her through it with my tongue while Wyatt fucks into me with increasing urgency that has my cock leaking onto the rug beneath me.
When she comes down, boneless and panting, she reaches for my hand and squeezes.
I push back against Wyatt, chasing the sensation of his cock every time it slides back into me. He hooks his arm around my torso and pulls me upright, my back pressed to his chest, still buried inside me. I gasp at the shift in angle—deeper, fuller, better—and his mouth finds the side of my neck.
The same position. The exact same position as that night. Except this time, Wyatt’s the one holding me. And instead of my own distorted reflection in a dark window, I’m looking at Nina.
She’s watching us, flushed and sated and so full of love it makes my chest ache.
Wyatt’s hand wraps around my cock. His hips roll up into me in slow, deep strokes while he works me with his fist.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Let go.”
I’m shaking now, my head tipped back against his shoulder, and I can’t keep quiet—these raw, broken sounds I’d normally swallow are spilling out of me because there’s nothing left to hide behind.
Nina closes in and presses her mouth to my chest, right over my heart. She kisses her way up to my neck, resting her head on my shoulder as she takes hold of my dick right above Wyatt’s hand, thumb sliding over my tip, slicking the fluid around it. They keep stroking me together, Wyatt’s free hand at my hip, his mouth pressed to my ear, and the three of us are so close I can feel both of them breathing against my skin.
“Let go,” Wyatt says, and I do.
I come hard—harder than I have in months—my whole body seizing as Wyatt and Nina both stroke me through it, his hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep and holding on.
We stay like that for a long moment. His arms around me. Nina’s mouth still pressed to my neck. My body trembling between them.
When I shift in his arms, I realize my face is wet. Not just sweat—actual tears I didn’t feel coming.
“Hey.” Wyatt cups my face, brushes the moisture away with his thumbs. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “Yeah, I’m—that was?—”
I don’t finish.
I don’t apologize for the tears either. Don’t explain them away or laugh them off. I just let him see me—open, wet-faced, more wrung out than I’ve ever been in front of another person, at least no one besides the two of them.
It occurs to me that I’ve never let a man hold me like this. Not after. Not without immediately rebuilding the walls or seeking escape.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I just pull him close, and he comes, and we’re clinging to each other on the floor of this safe house while the storm rages outside and Nina watches us with that smile on her face—the one that says she knew we could do this, even when we didn’t.
“I love you,” I say against his neck. “Both of you. I love you both so much.”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “I know.”
Wyatt handles the next perimeter check, then we shower. All three of us, crammed into the master bathroom because none of us want to be alone right now. It’s not as big as Nina’s shower, which makes it awkward and ridiculous and perfect—elbows bumping, soap getting everywhere, Nina laughing when Wyatt accidentally gets shampoo in my eye.
Normal. We’re almost normal.
The bed is big enough for all of us. Nina takes the middle—she always takes the middle, I’ve noticed, and I wonder if that’s deliberate or just instinct. I curl around her from one side, Wyatt from the other, our arms overlapping across her body.
The stormy ocean is a steady, ambient roar outside.
