Page 108 of Filled

He’s pounding into Cruz now. The slap of skin is loud in the room. Cruz is babbling, half-sentences almost entirely incoherent, please and yes and Brady and please again.

“You feel good.” Brady’s voice has gone almost soft, a contrast against the brutality of his hips. “So tight for me. Such a good little whore. Going to fuck the cum out of you, gonna make you come, that what you want?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Then come.”

Brady’s hand wraps around Cruz’s cock, stroking him exactly twice.

Cruz comes apart. His back bows. He cries out into the sheets. His whole body clenches, and Brady snarls and bites down on Cruz’s shoulder hard enough that I see his teeth break skin as he buries himself one final time.

“Mine,” Brady grits out against Cruz’s neck, hips stuttering. “Fucking mine. Taking it. Take it.”

I feel Eli’s whole body go rigid behind me.

That word mine pushes him over.

He pulls me down hard, grinds up into me, and comes with a groan that he muffles in my hair. The pulse of him inside me, the sound he makes, the way his fingers dig bruises into my hips. It’s enough. I come with him, clenching around his cock, eyes locked on Brady still buried inside Cruz.

Beside us, Dante’s hand jerks once, twice, and he hisses through his teeth as he comes across his stomach.

For a long moment nobody moves.

The room is just panting breaths, five sets of lungs working overtime. The sheets are a disaster. Cruz has gone boneless on his stomach with Brady draped over his back.

Then Brady lifts his head.

I watch him return to himself, one breath at a time and it’s beautiful for a minute.

His eyes track down Cruz’s body, catching on each bite mark. His pupils contract. His breathing changes.

“Oh god.” His voice has gone thin. “Oh god, Cruz.”

He pulls out fast. Scrambles back. His hand goes to his mouth.

“Cruz, I’m sorry, I?—”

Cruz rolls over, completely unhurried, and catches Brady’s wrist before he can completely retreat.

“Hey.” Cruz’s voice is unsteady but firm. “Hey. Look at me.”

Brady can’t. His eyes keep snagging on Cruz’s shoulders, his collarbone, the marks already going purple.

I sit up slowly, Eli’s hand sliding off my hip. I move closer, careful, the way I’d approach a fighter coming down from a bad knockout.

“Brady,” I murmur.

“I hurt him.” His voice is shaking. “Look at him, I bit him, I said the things I said?—”

“Brady, look at me.” Cruz’s grip tightens on his wrist. Brady’s eyes finally drag up. Cruz holds them. “I loved every second of that. Every bite. Every filthy word. You hear me?”

Brady’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Closes again in confusion.

“Look.” Cruz deliberately rolls his shoulder forward, displays the marks like a trophy. “These? Best thing that’s happened to me all year. I’m wearing these to the gym Monday and I’m gonna grin every time someone looks at me funny.”

“But I said?—”

“You said exactly what I wanted to hear.” Cruz’s mouth tilts. “Hottest fucking mouth I’ve ever heard, Williams. Christ. I’m gonna think about that for weeks.”