I wrap my legs around his back and lock my ankles and pull him deeper and the sound we make together fills the room from floor to ceiling.
"You feel me, baby?" His mouth against my ear, teeth on my lobe. "After Atlas? Right where he was? My cock sliding through his come inside you?"
"Yes—fuck—Zero, yes—"
"Good. That's mine now. Every drop of it. His come. My cock. Your tight little ass squeezing me like you never want me to pull out." He bites my neck—hard, over the bond mark, not Bane's spot,his—and the pain-pleasure of it shoots straight to my cock and I'm hard again, trapped between our stomachs, leaking against his abs with every thrust.
Atlas is beside me. His hand finds mine on the pillow. Laces our fingers. Holds on while his brother fucks me into the mattress. On my other side, Bane is watching—his hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking slow, his thumb running over the wet head on every upstroke, his eyes dark and patient, waiting his turn. The sight of Bane touching himself while watching Zero take me apart—his lips parted, his chest flushed, his cock thick and hard in his fist—does something to my brain that short-circuits everything.
"Bane—" I reach for him.
"I'm here, Maxie." He catches my hand. Kisses my knuckles. His cock twitches in his other hand. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Zero's rhythm picks up. Brutal now. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise—the old bruises barely healed from the last time, layered under new ones, a map of possession written on my body in purple and yellow and fresh red—and his cock is hitting my prostate on every thrust and I am going to come again without being touched and he knows it.
"That's it, baby. Come on my cock. No hands. Just me inside you. Let me feel you lose it."
I come with a shout that tears my throat—my cock untouched between us, pulsing against his stomach, my ass clenching around him so hard he swears and his rhythm breaks.
"Fuck—Max—I'm—"
He pulls out. Fast. Moves up my body in one fluid motion—knees on either side of my chest, one hand in my hair, the other wrapped around his cock. He's right there. Flushed and thick and leaking and his hand is moving fast and his eyes are black and locked on mine.
"Open your mouth, baby."
I open.
"That's it.Fuck—that's it. You're gonna swallow everything I give you. Every fucking drop." His hand tightens in my hair. His cock is inches from my lips, the head dark and swollen and wet. "I want you to taste how good you made me feel. How tight that ass was. How wet you were for me. You taste all of it and you swallow it like a good boy and you don't spill a fucking—"
His voice breaks. His hips jerk. The first pulse hits my tongue—hot, thick, bitter-salt—and I close my mouth around the head of his cock and take the rest. He groans like something is being ripped out of him, his hand fisting my hair, his cock twitching against my tongue as he empties into my mouth in long heavy waves. I swallow around him—once, twice—and the sound he makes when he feels my throat working is a sound I will never forget.
Animal. Wrecked.
Mine.
"Jesus—fuck—Max—" His thighs are shaking against my ribs. "Swallowing me like that—you—fuck—"
I don't stop. I keep my mouth on him, tongue flat against the underside, swallowing everything he gives me until the pulses slow and his grip in my hair loosens and his body sags forward. He stays there—breathing, shaking, his cock softening against my tongue, his forehead dropped against the headboard above me—and I let him slip from my mouth and press my lips against his hip bone and hold him while he comes down.
"Thank you," I whisper. Against his skin. My lips still against his hip bone, my voice raw and ruined from taking him. I kiss him there, an open-mouthed kiss that I hope he feels at the base of his spine. "Thank you for letting me taste you."
He goes still. Completely still. His hand is still in my hair and his fingers tighten—not pulling, just holding, the grip of a man who's been undone by the wrong sentence.
"Max—"
"I mean it. I wanted it. I wanted all of it. Every drop of you."
A sound comes out of him that I've never heard before. Broken. Small. The sound of a man who fucks like a war and falls apart at a whisper. His body folds forward—forehead against the headboard, one hand braced on the wall, the other still tangled in my hair—and he shakes. Not the post-orgasm tremor. Something deeper. Something that lives underneath the performance and the filth and the hands that grip hard enough to bruise.
I press my mouth to his hip again. Hold it there. Let him shake.
He makes a sound against the headboard. Not a word. Almost a word. Almost the thing he's been carrying all night.
He shifts back down. Kisses me. Soft—the softest kiss Zero has ever given me, his hand at my jaw, his mouth careful on mine. He can taste himself on my tongue. I know he can. He kisses me deeper for it—like he wants it back, like he wantsto chase the proof of what just happened between us. Then he rolls off and settles at my left and Atlas's hand finds his shoulder across me and squeezes once.
Brothers. Alphas. Pack.
Bane.
