“Your turn, Ro.” My voice was lush with ruin, throat dry, a ragged scrape. The command hung in the electrified air, and Rowan’s smile broke sharp and wolfish before he and Archie gently manhandled me to the middle of the wide, butter-soft bench seat. My muscles sang their protest—quivering, rubbery, already half-done—but I let the twins guide me, knees splayed and braced, ass up and slick as a puck after three periods on fresh ice. Archie’s hands bracketed my hips again, a stabilizing force, and I could feel the heat of his body against my back, grounding me in the storm.
Rowan’s presence was a blunt, merciless gravity. The way he took up space, both physical and psychic, had a weight to it—like stepping onto the rink with a wall of defenders bearing down,knowing you’d have to thread the needle or get wrecked. He knelt behind me, his cock flushed and leaking, and there was a terrifying, exhilarating moment as he lined himself up, the blunt head slipping through the soaked mess of me and bumping, deliberate, at my entrance.
“You ready for me, Sage?” Rowan’s voice was velvet-smooth, but I heard the threat edging every syllable.
“She can take it,” Archie murmured, running his fingers through my wild tangle of hair, gripping the roots like reins. “Can’t you, Wildcard?”
“Yes,” I gasped, and the need in my own voice surprised me. “Yes, Rowan—fuck, please?—”
He obliged. The first thrust was a measured push, slow and stretching, letting me feel every inexorable inch spreading me open. The next was cruelly fast, bottoming out in a single stroke that made me see stars, the sound leaving my mouth more animal than human. Rowan set a pace as relentless as his forecheck—driving forward, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in again so hard the bench shuddered and the car’s overhead lights flickered. He was merciless, not out of disregard, but because he knew I’d asked for it. He knew what I needed—my limits, my hunger, the ferocious demand in me that had never really been sated.
Ronan watched, stroking himself with the slow, deliberate rhythm of a man savoring the spectacle. His scent was a sharper, more volatile cut than Rowan’s—juniper and singed cinnamon—and it mingled with the musk of sweat and sex and electric headlights flashing past, creating a heady cocktail that made my brain go light and loose. I was aware, distantly, that the privacy glass was up, that none of this would make the news cycle, that for once I could be as wild and messy as I wanted and no one would use it to tear me down. That awareness, instead of cooling me off, amped up the recklessness in my veins.
Rowan’s hands dug into my hips with bruising force, using me, but in every thrust was also a strange, shocking reverence—as if he was worshipping something in me I didn’t even understand yet. He shifted angles, one hand sliding up between my legs to circle my clit with merciless precision, and I jolted forward, collapsing into Archie’s lap. Archie caught me, arms iron-strong, and murmured little encouragements into my ear: “Good girl. Look at you. Taking two Alphas like it’s nothing. That’s my Wildcard.”
I was already so far gone that it didn’t matter—pride, shame, the old rules about what Omegas were supposed to want or be. All I wanted was for this to never end. Every muscle in my body was electric, every nerve ending singing, and I could feel the telltale heat gathering in Rowan’s cock as he pounded into me with single-minded intensity.
“Gonna fill you up, Sage,” he growled, breath hot at the small of my back. “Bet you can’t wait to feel it.”
“Fuck—yes—” I choked out, fists clenching in Archie’s shirt as my entire body arched back into Rowan’s thrusts. I wanted it, wanted every drop, wanted to be filled and used and claimed by them like I was the last puck in a championship shootout.
Rowan drove in one last time, holding deep, and I felt the wet warmth splash inside me as he came with a guttural, unrestrained roar. For a moment, we were both trembling, locked together by the force of it, and I could feel his knot swelling, fighting for purchase. But he drew out, careful and practiced, so the swelling just dragged in a slow, obscene slide that made me clench and whine.
Then there was a low laugh from Ronan. “She can take more. Look at her, already hungry for the next shift.”
He was right. My thighs were jelly, my mind a haze, but the emptiness was worse than the pain. I needed it, needed him,needed the confirmation that I could take whatever they dished out and still come out on top.
Ronan barely gave me time to breathe. He crowded in behind Rowan, hands unceremoniously yanking my hips up higher. His cock, already slick with precum and anticipation, pressed against my still-aching hole and forced its way in with a brutal stretch that had me sobbing into Archie’s chest.
“Easy,” Archie rasped, but he was smiling, clearly delighted at the chaos.
“Not so easy,” Ronan countered, voice all tease and edge. “She likes it rough. See?” He punctuated the last word with a vicious thrust that made my vision swim.
And he was right. I did like it, ached for it, wanted the pain and pleasure melded together in a way that only he seemed to understand. Ronan’s pace was faster, more reckless than Rowan’s calculated precision. He fucked me with the wild, off-script genius that made him such a nightmare to defend on the ice—never quite predictable, always three steps ahead, and never afraid to take the risk that no one else would.
I came again almost instantly, the sensation so intense I didn’t even hear my own scream. I blacked out for a moment, then came back to myself with Ronan’s hand twisted in my hair, forcing my head up so he could see my face as he railed into me. “So fucking pretty,” he said, his tone gone raw and reverent. “So fucking perfect.”
His knot began to swell—faster than Rowan’s, desperate and urgent—and I could feel it stretching me wider, the ache bordering on pain. I bucked against it, desperate to feel every second, and Ronan’s laugh was pure delight as he forced the base inside, locking us together tight.
He ground against me, humping the knot in sharp little jerks, and the friction made me go off like a grenade, third orgasm tearing through me so hard I sobbed with relief. The heat of hiscome was immediate and overwhelming, mixing with Rowan’s and dripping down my thighs in thick, sticky rivulets.
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the car, the syncopated gasp of our breathing, and the distant city noise muffled by the privacy glass. Then Ronan slowly, carefully, pulled free, the knot popping out with an audible, wet squelch that made the twins both snicker and Archie simply shake his head in disbelief.
“Fucking hell,” I managed, voice completely destroyed. My whole body was shaking, every muscle overtaxed and trembling, but I felt more alive than I ever had in my life. “You guys trying to kill me?”
“That would be a tragedy,” Rowan said, gently petting my back as if calming a thoroughbred after a grueling race. “We need you for playoffs.”
Ronan grinned, lips against my bare shoulder. “Besides, you’re not dead yet, princess. Still got a job to do, remember?”
It took me a second to parse his meaning, but then Archie slid down the bench and opened his knees. “Bring her over,” he said, the command lighting up every latent sub in me. The twins helped me crawl forward, Rowan’s hands never leaving my waist, Ronan’s grip steady on my shoulder.
They positioned me on my knees, face hovering above both their cocks—still flushed, still shining with the evidence of our earlier chaos. My hands moved on autopilot, fingers wrapping around both shafts at once, thumb brushing over the swollen knots at the base. Rowan’s was still hard, purple and angry; Ronan’s a little softer, but pulsing with post-release sensitivity.
I started with Rowan, stroking him in short, practiced bursts, tongue flicking to catch the beads of precum at the slit. He groaned deep in his chest, hand finding my hair and tugging me closer. I took him into my mouth, swallowing him down with a hunger that felt almost spiritual. The familiar taste—smoky andsalt-iron—filled my mouth, and I reveled in the way his hips shuddered, how close he was to losing it completely.
“Fuck, Sage, just like that,” Rowan gritted, his voice a low growl. I worked him harder, one hand twisting at the base, the other fondling the knot, massaging until it began to soften just enough for him to thrust deeper.
He came with a wordless hiss, filling my throat in hot, salty pulses, and I swallowed every drop, pride blooming in my chest
