That stillness.
“Yes,” I say. “I want it. Both. Give me both.”
The pressure against my ass increases. He enters me slowly, the second cock thinner at the tip and thickening as it pushes in, and I can feel both of them now, separated by the thinnest wall of my body, pressing against each other inside me. The fullness is staggering. My mouth falls open and nothing comes out.
Then he starts to move them at different speeds.
The cock in my pussy strokes deep and slow. The one in my ass pulses in short, shallow thrusts. A tendril finds my clit and works it in a third rhythm entirely, tight circles with a texture he’s roughened on purpose, and my brain short-circuits trying to track all three sensations at once. I stop trying. I grab fistfuls of his surface and hold on.
“Harder.”
He thickens inside me. Mid-stroke, both cocks swell, the girth increasing by a fraction, then another fraction, and the stretch pulls a ragged moan outof my chest. He’s adjusting in real time, reading my responses and pushing right up to my limit without crossing it.
“More,” I beg.
He gives me more. His strokes deepen, the angle shifting as his form reshapes around me, and one thrust hits so deep that my vision blurs. His tendrils tighten on my nipples, rolling them between textured surfaces, and the tendril on my clit speeds up until my thighs are shaking.
The orgasm builds from everywhere at once. There’s no single point of origin. It’s my clit and my nipples and the cocks filling both holes and the heat of him surrounding every inch of my skin.
I come so hard my spine locks.
My whole body clenches around both cocks, and Oz makes a sound I’ve never heard from him, a deep harmonic groan that I feel in my teeth.
He keeps thrusting, keeps fucking me through it with those same polyrhythmicstrokes, dragging the orgasm out until I’m gasping and jerking in his grip.
When he comes, I feel it. A flood of warmth inside me, thick and pulsing, filling me past capacity. His cum spills out around both cocks and runs hot down my thighs. He’s still coming, still pulsing, and the fullness triggers a second orgasm that rolls through me like an aftershock, my body clenching around all of him, milking his cocks while he holds me suspended and shaking.
He eases out slowly.
His cum slides down my legs in thick iridescent streams, teal and gold catching the morning light through the window. I’m trembling and my legs are useless. If he lets go, I’d drop straight to the floor.
But he doesn’t. He reshapes around me, his whole body becoming a cradle, conforming to every curve and hollow. My head finds the solid warmth of his chest. His hum starts up, deep and steady, vibrating throughmy sternum.
A tendril smooths my hair back from my forehead.
“Your shoulder finally released,” he says. “Both sides. I’ve been working on the left one for weeks.”
I laugh, then press my face against him and breathe.
“I want people to know,” I say. The words come out before I’ve fully formed the thought, but I mean them. “About you. About us. I’m tired of hiding.”
Oz goes still.
That language I’m learning to read.
“You want to introduce me.” He says it slowly. “To people. On purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Because you want them to see us together.”
“Yes. And because I want to stop pretending you don’t exist.”
Oz’s colors shift, deep teal flooding through the gold, something raw and luminous beneath it.
His body tightens around me, just slightly.
A pressure that says everything his words don’t.
