Page 83 of What We Become

“Still want me?” Holden asks against my neck.

“Yes. I want both of you.”

He slicks himself, removes his fingers, and presses against me.

“Relax, wildcat. Let me in.”

I breathe out and push back. Holden works inside slowly, stopping whenever my body tightens, until the overwhelming stretch becomes deep, impossible fullness.

They pause with me between them, all three of us trembling and connected.

“Move,” I beg, because I can’t bear the stillness.

Milo takes my face in his hands and kisses me—messy, desperate, all the noise I’ve been holding back finally finds somewhere to go. I groan.

“Okay?” Holden asks against my neck, his voice barely there.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Move. Please.”

Holden sets the rhythm—slow, deliberate, and controlled. Milo matches him with less grace but more desperation.

“Fuck,” Milo gasps against my mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck⁠—”

I want to agree. I want to form words. But Holden chooses that moment to shift his angle, and the sound that comes out of me is barely human.

Holden’s free hand finds my breast, kneading. His mouth stays at my neck, marking me, claiming me, his breath hot and ragged against my wet skin. I can feel him everywhere—the thick press of him behind me, the sure grip of his hands, the way his whole body holds me steady while everything else threatens to come apart.

Milo’s hands slide down my back, gripping my ass, pulling me harder against him. His eyes find mine, blown wide and dark, all the jokes finally burned away. “You still good, kitten?” he manages, the words torn out between thrusts.

I nod frantically. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare⁠—”

Holden growls and drives deeper, and the sound Milo makes is pure surrender. Soon we’re moving in sync, and everything narrows to this—being held, being filled, being witnessed.

Knox’s gaze meets mine, heavy and heated, his hand moving slowly over himself. Eli watches with his jaw tight, Micah beside him with an arm draped across his shoulders.

“Look at them,” Holden commands, teeth grazing my shoulder. “Look at what you do to all of us.”

I force my eyes to stay open. Their hunger feeds mine. I clench around both men inside me and feel them groan in stereo, the vibration traveling through my spine.

Milo’s forehead drops to mine, his rhythm stuttering. “I’m close,” he warns, like I couldn’t feel him swelling, couldn’t feel the tension coiling in his thighs where they’re pressed against mine.

“Wait,” Holden orders, and Milo whimpers—actually whimpers—but obeys.

Holden’s hand slides from my breast to my hip, then lower, his fingers finding where Milo and I join. He touches us both, slick and intimate, and I feel the shock of it everywhere.

“Now,” he says, and it’s permission and command all at once.

Milo breaks with a cry that echoes off the mountains, his hips jerking forward, his whole body shuddering against mine. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the hot spill of him, and it triggers something in Holden—his grip turns bruising, his thrusts lose their precision, and then he’s groaning against my neck, buried deep, coming apart with my name scraped raw on his tongue.

“Fuck, wildcat. Fuck, you feel so good.”

I collapse forward into Milo’s arms, sandwiched between them and shaking hard. Holden’s forehead presses to my spine, his breath hot and uneven, his arm banded around my waist. Milo’s hands cradle my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones, his eyes on mine with something that looks almost like awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Holy shit, kitten.”

“So good,” I manage, grinning, delirious, my whole body humming.

Holden eases out of me slowly, and I whimper at the loss. He stays close though, his chest to my back, his mouth finding my shoulder and pressing there—gratitude, I think, or possession, or maybe just the only way he knows to say what words can’t carry.