Page 166 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Silas slows a little, rolling my lips over the head of his cock, not quite letting me off. His hands so gentle on my face that I feel like I’ll break.

Then, without warning or apology, he starts to fuck my mouth in earnest, hips pistoning, his cock hitting the back. I’m choking, spit painting my chin, the obscene noises echoing through the entryway.

I’m still half-wrecked from Cody. The table beneath me is shaking, the world is shaking, everything is glorious and unhinged and I can’t even pretend to care.

Not with Silas’s cock filling my mouth, not with the look on his face, animal and awed.

He fucks my throat like it’s the first and last time. His hands gentle only when I gag, his jaw flexing as he watches me come apart.

It’s worship and desecration at the same time. I grip his hips, nails sinking into denim, desperate for air and sensation both.

He lets me up for a single, gasping breath before shoving back in, and this time I’m ready, relaxing my throat, letting him take, letting him use me.

Silas groans, the lowest, hoarsest sound I’ve ever heard from him, and then he arches, spine turned to steel, hips jerking in one, two, three final humiliating thrusts.

He unloads against my tongue and collapses, palm braced on the table, every muscle in his arm shuddering. Salty, obscene, raw, the taste of his come is all I know for one vivid second, and I want every drop, greedy and grateful.

He isn’t gentle, but when he finally releases my jaw and pulls out, he swipes his thumb across my spit-covered chin, smears it with a low sound that’s almost tender.

I’m destroyed. I can’t even feel shame.

Just this sticky, elemental joy.

Duke pulls me upright as he crashes onto the table, setting me in his lap like I weigh nothing, and wraps both arms around my waist. He’s hard against my bare ass, denim rough and hot and insistent.

He licks a stripe up my neck, a slow, savoring taste, then bites down at my shoulder. I yelp, shrieking laughter half mad, and he just grins up at me like he wants to make me shatter into a million pieces.

He’s already got his cock out, stroking it with a fist made for violence, a tiny bead already pearling at the tip. I want to taste it, I want to taste all of them, want to be the center of every need and every devouring gaze.

Duke bounces me on his lap, letting the tip of his cock paint heat across my inner thighs. He positions me over him, then pauses, making me whine with suspense.

“You want it?” he says, but it’s not a real question.

My hips are already rolling, chasing what I need, and I dig my nails into his forearm as I line him up.

He kisses me, messy and sweet, and I’m almost moved by the affection bleeding through the filter through my own, raw need.

Then he sheaths himself inside me with one smooth, brutal thrust.

I gasp, clawing at his shoulders as he bottoms out, the stretch so perfect it resets every nerve like a page torn free.

He’s so thick, so hot, and the angle is ridiculous, and all of it, all of it, is made worse by how much I want him to fuck me senseless in front of the others.

Cody is so close I can taste him; Silas stands behind, one huge hand bracing my back. And then Duke starts moving, the motion intense, every snap of his hips echoing wet and obscene through the foyer.

He manhandles me, lets me bounce on his cock, lets the sounds of skin and need and want layer over each other, hotter and messier and more reckless every second.

He palms my breast and uses it to pull me down harder, mouth hot at my throat, and I’m not sure if I want to scream or sob or fucking beg for mercy, but Duke is insatiable. He’s a machine.

He bites up my throat with wet, animal kisses and bounces me higher, careless of the leverage, like he’s genuinely trying to snap everything inside me.

Every time he bottoms out it hits somewhere new, brightening stars behind my eyelids. He knows exactly what he’s doing; he wants to ruin me for anyone else.

He’s already succeeded. I try to look for Cody, but I can’t get my head to turn, and then I feel a hand at my chin.

It’s Silas, tilting my face up so I can see him. His thumb traces circles over the hinge of my jaw, and his blue eyes are molten, hungry and proud.

Like he’s seeing what he’s always suspected but never let himself name.