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“Yes,” I rasp out, my voice barely audible, the eroticism of his words sending me into a frenzy.
“You’re going to love it when we’re all done with you, Charlotte,” Lyric interjects, surprising me, his voice oozing desire. He kneels by the passenger door, watching us. “We’ll have you begging for more, covered in every kind of pleasure.”
I’m caught in a whirlpool of sensations. The thrill of being desired and used, of being at their mercy, is intoxicating.
The driver’s side door flings open. “You’ll be our little cum slut,” Matty adds, his words sending shockwaves through me. “Filled with our cum and begging for more.”
I can’t hold back my moans at their words, feeling the tension building up again, the pleasure surging and threatening to shatter me once more.
“Come for us again, Charlotte,” Desmond demands, his thrusts growing more urgent. “Show us how much you love being our filthy plaything.”
The intensity spirals, and I’m consumed by another mind-blowing orgasm, the pleasure crashing over me in waves, leaving me gasping for breath.
Exhausted and spent, I rest my head on his shoulder, unable to support myself any longer, while he continues to pump into me from below, seeking his own release.
His final moan is preceded by his release filling me up, just as he promised, his groan filling the air, making my body twitch against him.
For a long minute, we just sit like that, until I remember we have an audience, and I roll my head to look at my other two loves.
“How else did you think you’d enter the house?” Lyric teases, a playful glint in his eyes, as he tosses a dress onto the seat.
“As soon as those stitches are healed, I want to play out that scene Desmond just described,” Matty chimes in, his eyes scanning the car. “Dinner is ready.”
My face falls as I look at the three of them, realizing the plan they cooked up.
“Thanksgiving,” I murmur, a mix of apprehension and excitement settling in.
“Put the dress on, little dove,” Lyric encourages, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I can’t wait for Desmond’s release to slide down your leg at dinner.”
“What?” I turn to Lyric, horror on my face, desperately needing a shower.
“I’m so hungry, I might have to drop my fork and have you for dinner, right there under the table,” Lyric muses.
“I hope you’re hungry, Charlotte.” Desmond leans in, his voice laced with desire. “Because we are.”
“Ravenous,” Matty adds, emphasizing the insatiable hunger in their collective gaze.
The anticipation of the night ahead swirls within me, adding to the electric atmosphere. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the evening that promises to push my boundaries in every conceivable way.
“Good thing I’m starving,” I reply with a mischievous wink.
Chapter Twenty
Healing itches like hell,and I despise it with every fiber of my being. Each morning, I wake with a clenched jaw, an empty pit in my stomach, and a mind ablaze with thoughts of my own vulnerability. I yearn to unleash a primal scream, to flee from this discomfort. However, I remain anchored because, despite my fervent denial, I can still break.
That day in the hangar was my brutal awakening, shattering the illusion of invincibility I crafted for myself. The haunting memories of losing Milo replay relentlessly in the dark of night, jolting me from sleep in a torrent of sweat and tears. The scent of fuel, the deafening whirl of propellers, and the searing pain of the blade piercing my side play out in a cruel loop. Now, though, I no longer need to recuperate in Dom’s makeshift hospital. Instead, I lie in bed with my men, and it feels as though I’m a mere spectator watching another person’s life unfold.
As painful as it is to concede, I must embrace my reality. I’ve been endeavoring to find solace in fleeting moments—unguarded laughter, gentle smiles, and the warmth of a single hug. The scent of baked goods and Desmond’s cooking. I’m striving to remind myself that being fragile is acceptable, that allowing myself to be vulnerable is a valid course, and that it’s all right to navigate each day one step at a time.
I must press onward, even when my body rebels and my heart mends. Every step I take is a testament to my resilience, an acknowledgment that healing takes time.
I have tried to seduce them into more. There are so many scenes I want to play out, like each one they keep texting me.
Every day, my men send me little glimpses of our prospective future, painting a vivid picture of vacations, homes, and the number of children we envision. These details ignite my imagination and fuel my daydreams, though I’m acutely aware that they come at a price. To reach that future, I must confront my inner demons and expose my vulnerabilities to them.
With each passing day, I sense myself drawing closer to them. I stand a little taller in their presence, emboldened by our conversations, and I hold their gazes longer than I ever thought possible. It’s as if the ravages of war have faded into insignificance, and all the pain that once plagued me is now overshadowed by the vibrancy of the present.
It’s been an extended Thanksgiving break, one that has me brimming with emotions as the week flies by in a whirlwind. When Milo returns to school, restlessness stirs within me, a yearning to break free from the confines of the mansion and reconnect with the realities of life.
