It’s not something we’d ever actually explore. I don’t believe. There are boundaries that we don’t even cross.
But for Keira...
I shake my head, dispersing the thought. What is it about this woman that has both of us acting so uncharacteristically? Cyrus with his fucking flowers, me with these thoughts I shouldn’t be entertaining.
“She’s different,” Cyrus says quietly, as if reading my mind.
For once, I don’t have a response, because he’s right. Keira is different. I’ve never felt this desperate anticipation to see a woman again after the Hunt. Never felt this raw need clawing at my insides, urging me to claim and keep rather than use and discard.
I knock again, harder this time.
Keira opens the door, and my entire body goes rigid. She’s wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her hair is tousled, her eyes heavy with sleep, and her lips part slightly when she sees us.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, blinking away her drowsiness. “Is it that time already?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. My feet move of their own accord as I step forward, forcing her to retreat into her apartment. My hands find her waist, fingers digging into the silk as I back her against the nearest wall. The door swings shut behind us.
“Fuck yes,” I growl against her neck, inhaling her scent—sleep-warm skin with traces of vanilla. “And you opening the goddamn door like that is asking for an immediate fucking.”
Her pulse jumps beneath my lips when I press them to her throat. I can feel her heart racing, her body responding to myproximity with an immediacy that satisfies the primal side of me. She’s ours. She knows it. Her body knows it.
“Wait,” Cyrus interrupts. “First, I need to give you these, little dancer.”
I reluctantly step back, keeping one hand pressed against the wall beside Keira’s head. Cyrus extends the bouquet toward her.
Keira’s eyes widen as she accepts them. Something flickers across her expression—surprise, confusion, vulnerability—before settling into a look of being utterly overwhelmed. Her fingers tremble against the cellophane wrapping.
“I—” she starts, then stops, looking between the flowers and us like she can’t quite reconcile the gesture with what she knows of us.
I understand her confusion. This isn’t what we do. We don’t bring flowers. We don’t acknowledge the existence of gentleness alongside our hunger. Yet here we are, contradicting everything we’ve trained ourselves to be—all because of this dancer who’s wormed her way under our skin.
“I should put these in water,” Keira says, clutching the bouquet to her chest like it’s something precious.
I clench my jaw, fighting the urgent need coursing through my body. Every second not touching her feels like wasted time. But I nod stiffly, releasing her from between my body and the wall.
“Make it quick,” I tell her.
She slips past me toward the kitchen, the silk nightgown doing very little to stem my desire. My eyes follow the movement, hypnotized by the glimpses of flesh beneath the translucent fabric.
Cyrus catches my gaze and gives me a single, deliberate nod. I return it, understanding passing between us without words. We both need her. Now.
We stalk after her into the kitchen, watching as she fills a vase with water. The moment she sets the flowers in the water, we converge.
“We’re going to fuck you right here in this kitchen,” Cyrus announces, his hands already sliding the nightgown up her thighs.
Cyrus drops into one of her kitchen chairs, unbuckling his belt with practiced efficiency. “Ace, put her on my cock. Pussy only—we’ll save the double ass fucking for another time.”
Keira’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a silent gasp as I lift her, the silk nightgown bunching around her waist.
Cyrus guides her down onto his length with her back to his chest, groaning as her heat envelops him.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” he growls, clawing at her hips.
I circle around, watching with hungry eyes. “I should suck on her clit while you get ready. Get her really turned on and ready for both of us.”
I groan, not just from pleasure but from the realization that following his suggestion would put my face inches from his cock. Since Keira mentioned that she wants us to touch each other last night, I’ve become hyperaware of our proximity during these encounters. Something that never registered before now seems charged with new meaning.
I look up at Cyrus, hesitating only for a moment before sinking to my knees before her. My tongue finds Keira’s clit, circling the swollen bud while she continues to sit impaled on his cock. The angle is awkward, but fuck if I care. Her taste explodes across my tongue—tangy sweetness mixed with the salt of her arousal.
