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I breathed through it, probably sounding like I was in labor, but I focused on Ilya’s expression. He winced a few times, but mostly his eyes were wide with wonder and shining like his heart might burst. Bron worked his lube-slicked cock into me with slow, determined pressure. When they were both in, they held still. Bron nipped the back of my ear.
“That’s a lot of cock in one little girl,” he observed. You feel—” His breath hitched. “You feel like a fist forcing us together.” His hips stirred, and he slowly moved. I could only imagine how it felt to them, tight and slick, sliding against one another inside my pussy. Ilya’s short panting breaths made it sound as though he was struggling hard not to come.
“Ilya, look at me,” Bron demanded.
The younger man’s tortured gaze slid from my eyes, over my shoulder to Bron.
“Try not to think about how it feels yet. I don’t want this to be over.”
“Yes, Bron.” His gaze fastened on Bron, and they figured out a rhythm that stole my breath. I clawed at the pillow under my hands because it was either the pillow or Ilya’s shoulders, and I didn’t want to draw blood. It wasn’t that it was excruciating, it was just a lot to manage.
My breath came in quiet sobs that were half discomfort and half grudging pleasure, and my clit rubbed against Ilya, my hips crushed between theirs. The hand on the back of my neck had shifted to my hip, and Bron had a firm hold of me there, keeping me still while the two of them rocked above and below me. They picked up speed and the liquid sound of our movements made me wince. Bron groaned in my ear, and I shuddered, trying to ignore the pain and the tight knot of desire building.
“You are ours, Queenie. You may be married to him, but you belong to both of us now, and we are never letting you go.”
I whimpered, wanting to argue, but my thoughts were too jumbled to form words. Time seemed to still, leaving me in a never-ending loop of thrusting and retreating, three people in one body, breathing each other’s air, sweat mingling. A soft body pinned between two that were impossibly hard, nailed in place by two massive cocks vying for space inside me.
My eyes closed against the intensity of the orgasm that was building, the rolling hips, the roving hands, the grazing teeth. I hated them for knowing my body so well and using it against me. I hated this, yet never wanted it to end.
“I can’t hold back anymore,” Ilya gasped.
“Wait,” Bron growled.
“I can’t.”
Bron bit the back of my neck, and my racking shudder pushed my orgasm past the point of no return. I teetered on the edge for a long, awful moment, making me feel like I was in freefall, and yet I couldn’t be more trapped. I fought them, suddenly needing to escape, but two sets of hands grabbed a hold of me, their fingers not gentle.
“Oh, fuuuck,” Bron groaned, as though he’d been defeated. Ilya’s helpless sob was the last thing I heard before my orgasm crashed into me. Someone swore bitterly, and then their cocks jerked hard inside me, sliding against each other as I writhed between them, trapped and so deliciously helpless. My vision blurred, went white, my ears ringing, but I didn’t care about anything more than the pleasure they were wringing from me—how much it hurt, how good and awful it felt, as my body trembled and spasmed around them.
My body shook long after the storm passed, aftershocks rocking me, making both men groan and curse.
They kissed me, fighting over my mouth, my head turned to the side to accommodate them, not satisfied with only owning my pussy.
“I love you,” Ilya said, kissing me, then pulling Bron’s head down to get him, too.
Bron stiffened but then gave in, kissing him back with a passion that surprised me, but seemed to surprise them even more. Bron held the back of Ilya’s head, and then, somehow, they were kissing me too, all of us a mess of emotion, sated and a little shell-shocked. He gazed down at Ilya, his expression frank. “I love you, Ilyusha.” His voice caught, as though saying the words aloud hurt. “I don’t know how any of this is going to turn out, but I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time.” He kissed my temple. “I love you, too, little troublemaker.”
I wanted to argue, but I knew in that moment there was no fighting this. I loved them, too. How would I ever convince myself to go back to my family when I could have Ilya and Bron as my own?
Ilya kissed me passionately, his eyes red with tears. He stroked my hair away from my temple. “I love you, wife, and I hope you choose to stay with us. I know it’s not what most women want, but if you choose to stay, we’ll try to give you a good life.”
My fried brain was too stunned argue with them or to even argue with myself, so I laid my head against his shoulder and let myself drown in all the feelings that welled up in me.
It had been a long day, and sleep dragged me down into its clutches.
Much later, my growling stomach woke me. I tried to lever myself up from between the two big, warm bodies pressed against me, but the arm around my waist kept me pinned down and the hand on my breast tightened in disapproval. It never would have occurred to me that Bron was a cuddler, but he hung onto me like I was his stuffed animal, and he was a seven-year-old with nightmares. His other arm pillowed his head and stretched over me, his fingers buried in Ilya’s hair. Our legs were a tangle.
I would have gone back to sleep, contented and warm and sore, but my bladder also wanted to be emptied.
I couldn’t remember being this sore even after some of the more hardcore hunts on the Island. We’d finished the night with a shower, thank god, and after what Bron had done to Ilya, I wouldn’t be the only one still dripping cum at brunch.
Ilya grumbled and shifted, his dark eyes opening slowly and taking a moment to focus.
When had he gotten so sexy? I traced his lips with my finger, and he nipped it playfully.
“Good morning, wife.”
The sound of that made my toes curl with pleasure. My reaction to it was stupid, but could it really be terrible when it felt so good?
“Good morning, husband.”
“Good morning, bodyguard who only wanted ten more minutes of sleep,” Bron grumbled from behind me.
“I think he feels left out,” I said in a playful whisper. “We’re going to have to make sure we call him husband, too.”
“Yes.”
