Atlas grunts—a sound that makes his cock jerk on my tongue.
"He'd want a thank-you note."
"He's getting one."
And now it isthis: Atlas in front of me on the bed, kneeling close, slow and filthy, fucking my mouth with a tenderness that doesn't match the act. His fingers stroking me everywhere as he bruises the back of my throat. "Look at you," he murmurs down at me. "Look at you taking us. Look at you. So beautiful. So good. So full, huh?"
I nod around his cock, tears tracking my cheeks.
Bane behind me, on the floor at the foot of the bed, building toward the thing my body is begging for. Hands on my hips so tight I will have marks. Cock dragging slick out of me on every pull and pounding it back in. Bane is doing everything he can to keep his moans to a minimum, leaning down occasionally to growl low in my ear as I arch deeper for him.
I am being used at both ends. I am being filled. I am being held. I am being adored. The fire is everywhere and the burn is climbing and I have never in my life been this present in my body and this far from my mind at the same time.
Atlas’s hand wraps around the back of my head and he holds me as his hips pick up, fucking my throat until spit is dripping off my bottom lip.
“Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come,” Bane grunts.
His knot grows in one final, massive swell. He sinks home one last time. The stretch of his knot locking inside me is everything—pain and pleasure and rightness and belonging—and I cry out around Atlas's cock. His hand fists tight in my hair and holds me down on him and the cry becomes a wet muffled groan deep in my throat.
And then—
Bane leans down.
Mouth at my throat. The spot. The one that has been waiting for him since the cell. His tongue flat and warm against the skin. The slight drag of his teeth, finding the place.
He bites.
The pain is sharp and bright and clean—the small shock, the tightening of my entire body, the deep whine I let out—and Atlas comes down my throat at the same moment with a low groan of his own, his fist still tight in my hair holding me there to take it, his cock pulsing on my tongue. Bane is coming inside me in long hot pulses against the bond he is in the middle of setting, his knot tying us together so deep I feel him in my belly, and—
The heat cools.
Not gone. Banked deep. The screaming pitch of it that has been climbing my spine drops all the way down to a low warm hum, the embers settling into something my body can rest inside.
And then it’s just… connection.
Three threads. Distinct. Woven.
Atlas in front of me, in me, on my tongue, his fist in my hair, in the bond he set into me weeks ago. Zero somewhere downstairs—a bright wire, alert, awake, watching the house from the kitchen below. Bane behind me, locked inside me, his teeth still gentle on my skin, the new thread between us thrumming so loud I can feel it in my fingertips.
A settling. Like a door closing that I didn't know was open. Like a room I lived in for years without realizing one wall was missing until it was suddenly there.
Atlas slides slowly from my mouth.
His thumb wipes my lip. His other hand still cradles my skull, gentling now, smoothing the hair he was just fisting. He's saying something. His voice low and warm. The words won't quite reach me. I am drifting. I am gone. My body has been finally,finallygiven the thing it has been screaming for, and now there is nothing left—no fight, no fire, no thought—just warm and full and held.
I am dimly aware of Bane behind me, still locked inside me, his arms wrapping around my chest from behind, lifting me up off the foot of the bed and easing us both up onto it without unseating his knot, settling us on our sides. His mouth at the bite. His tongue soothing it. A low constant murmur into my hair.I've got you, you're so good, you're so good for me, you're perfect, you're mine, I've got you, I've got you.
I am dimly aware of Atlas at my side. The wet shirt cool against my forehead. Down my chest. Across my stomach where my cum is dry. He is wiping me clean. He is kissing my temple. He is saying things I can't quite hear.
I am dimly aware of being held between them. Bane's chest at my back, warm and solid. Atlas's hand on my cheek, thumb stroking under my eye. The lamp's light yellow on my closed eyelids.
I drift.
Somewhere in the drifting—I don't know how long after—I hear Richard and Margot's bedroom door click shut. The snick of a lamp cord. The rush of waves outside as a gentle storm arrives.
The house settles.
I drift further.
