"Hey," he murmurs.
A laugh escapes me. Broken and wet. "Hey."
He kisses me. Deep and warm and unhurried—the way he kissed me in the facility, like we have all the time in the world. His tongue slides against mine and his hand trails down my chest, my stomach, fingertips tracing the line of hair below my navel and then lower. His hand wraps around my cock and strokes—slow, firm, his thumb dragging through the precome at the tip—and my hips buck.
"Bane—" Into his mouth. My hand gripping his hair.
"Let him." Zero again. "Let him take care of you first."
Atlas makes a low sound behind me and a shiver tears down my spine.
Bane's mouth leaves mine. Travels down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Open-mouthed kisses, wet and deliberate. He reaches my chest. Takes my nipple between his teeth—gentle, then harder, a bite that makes me gasp—and his hand tightens on my cock, stroking faster.
Then his mouth keeps going. Down my stomach. Down the line of hair. His breath ghosting over the head of my cock. Atlas wraps his arms around me from behind, holding me steady.
"Can I?" Bane asks. Looking up at me through his lashes. His lips an inch from my throbbing tip.
Fuck, he looks so hot. On his knees in front of me.
"God, yes—"
He takes me in his mouth.
The heat is immediate. Wet and tight and devastating—his tongue flat against the underside, his lips sealed around the shaft, sinking down until his nose presses against my pelvis. I cry out—loud, raw, my hands fisting in his hair, gripping, holding on. Bane's mouth is obscene. The suction, the rhythm, his tongue working the ridge beneath the head on every upstroke. He moans around me—the vibration traveling up my cock and into my spine—and I realize he's hard, straining against his pants, getting off on tasting me.
Holy fuck.
Atlas watches from behind me. His arms still around my waist. His cock still pressed against my lower back, throbbing. I can feel his restraint—the tension in his body, the grip of his hands on my hips, the way his breath has gone shallow andragged against my neck. He's watching Bane's mouth on me and he's not jealous.
He's hungry.
"Fuck—Bane—I'm going to—if you don't stop—"
He pulls off. Slow. A string of spit connecting his lip to my cock. His eyes blown. His jaw wet.
"Not yet." Zero's voice cuts through the haze. "Don't let him come yet."
Bane sits back on his heels. His hand replaces his mouth—loose, light, just enough contact to keep me on the edge without pushing me over. I whimper as he keeps stroking me.
"Atlas." Zero again. "Get him ready."
Atlas's hands slide down my hips from behind. One hand moves between my thighs. His fingers find the slick—I'm soaked already, my body producing enough that his fingers glide without resistance.
"You're drenched," he breathes against my ear. His voice wrecked.
His thumb circles my hole. Presses. Sinks in. I gasp, my hands gripping Bane's shoulders where he kneels in front of me. Atlas works me open—one finger, then two, curling, stretching, his other hand steady on my hip. He finds my prostate within seconds and strokes it and my vision whites out.
"Fuck—Atlas—right there—"
He adds a third. Stretching me wider. His mouth against my ear, his breath hot, his cock throbbing against my lower back through the fabric.
"He's tight," Atlas says. To Zero. Like I'm not between them. It makes my cock leak.
"Bane." Zero's voice drops. "Fuck him open. Get him ready for Atlas."
The words hit the room like a match. Atlas withdraws his fingers—I whine at the loss—and his hands find my waist,walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. I sit. Then lie back. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin, cedar-scented, and Atlas shifts to the side of the bed. His hand finds my hair, his mouth pressing against my temple.
Bane strips the rest of the way. His cock springs free—long, thick, flushed. I've had him inside me before, but this is different. This is Bane in the light. Bane with his brothers watching.
