They touched me with such care it made my throat tight. Cyrus’s callused hands slid over my ribs and my hips, learning the shape of me all over again. Keane’s fingers trailed down my spine, precise and deliberate. Elio’s mouth explored on my shoulder, my collarbone, patient and thorough.
Different touches. Different approaches. All essential.
Look at me, Cyrus said, his hand cupping my face. I met his amber eyes—fierce and certain and completely present. Can I…
He didn’t finish the question, but I understood. Permission asked, not assumed.
Yes, I breathed.
His mouth claimed mine while his hands mapped my body—rough palms against soft skin, heat building between us. When his fingers slipped between my thighs, finding me already wet, I gasped against his lips.
Mari, he groaned. You’re so ready for us.
Keane’s hands were on my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked hard and sensitive. His mouth found the side of my neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver.
Elio positioned himself between my legs, his pale blue eyes meeting mine as his hands gripped my thighs. I want to taste you again, he said. Want to feel you come apart on my tongue.
Please, I managed.
Elio’s mouth descended, and I barely managed to exhale before his tongue met me—a slow, certain stroke that made my hips jerk in response. He wasn’t hurried. He was deliberate, like he was memorizing every reaction, cataloging what made me gasp and what made me tremble.
Cyrus stayed close, his lips still on mine even as his hand stroked along the curve of my thigh. Every pass of his fingers stoked the heat Elio built. He was my anchor—his hand on my hip firm, his mouth returning to my throat to kiss the skin over my pulse.
Keane shifted behind me, murmuring something low that I couldn’t quite hear but felt in the tremble it sent through my spine. He kissed along my shoulder, his hands cupping my breasts again, but this time slower—a kind of worship I hadn’t known I needed until now. His magic shimmered faintly, cool silver against the heat in my body.
I arched without meaning to. The world narrowed to Elio’s mouth, Cyrus’s heat, and Keane’s steady touch. I was suspended between them, their magics brushing against mine—not colliding but interlocking as a fire warming my skin. Portals hummed faintly like breath against my back while illusion flared along my thighs in soft, phantom trails. My necromancy responded instinctively, not with death but with presence, pulling their magic into alignment.
Elio added fingers—two, curling expertly—and that was it. The world fractured. Pleasure surged through me so sharply I cried out, shaking as the orgasm tore through my body.
Cyrus held me. Keane’s arm circled my waist. Elio kept moving, gentle now, coaxing me through the aftershocks like he wanted to pull every last tremble from my bones.
That’s it, Cyrus murmured. Let go. We’ve got you.
I did.
Elio kissed his way up my body, his mouth finding mine. I tasted myself on his lips—salt and heat and something almost holy. He cupped my jaw as he kissed me, not to control but to center me again.
What do you want? Keane asked softly, his voice gone hoarse. Tell us.
I looked between them. Three men waiting for my direction, ready to give me whatever I needed.
I want all of you, I whispered. Not taking turns. Together.
Understanding flickered in their eyes.
Cyrus traced a rune across my stomach then met my gaze. A mix of heat and reverence passed through his amber eyes before he shifted, settling beneath me, his solid build a furnace of strength and control. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as I rose over him.
Take what you need, he said, his voice rough with restraint.
I did. I lowered myself slowly, inch by inch, until he filled me completely—the stretch of him sharp and perfect. My body clenched reflexively, already tightening around him.
Fuck, Cyrus groaned, his hands gripping my hips. You feel incredible.
Keane moved behind me, his hands gentle as they prepared me. His fingers slick with oil, he worked me open carefully, patiently. He didn’t rush. He never did. Precision was his language, and right now, every touch was a question he already knew the answer to.
Breathe, he murmured, his voice steady as a spell. Let me in.
When he finally pushed inside—deeper with every careful stroke—my whole body trembled. The sensation of being so full pulled a choked moan from my throat.
