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His touch slips beneath my shirt again, this time pushing it higher until I lift my arms, letting him peel it over my head. Cool air brushes my skin—but only for a heartbeat—before Oscar’s mouth finds me, tracing a slow path from collarbone to breast.

His tongue circles my nipple before he draws it between his lips, coaxing a gasp from my throat.

“Oscar,” I moan.

He hums against me, the vibration sparking through my nerves. “I love the way you say my name,” he murmurs, shifting to lavish attention on the other breast. “Especially when I’m touching you like this.”

His hand glides down my stomach, fingers teasing the waistband of my shorts before slipping lower. I arch into him, already aching, already soaked with need. When he finally finds me—skin against skin—we both groan, the sound raw and shared.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this” he breathes, eyes locked on mine as his fingers work my clit with devastating control. “Look at you—already shaking for me. So fucking needy. So mine.”

I bite my lip, fighting to keep quiet even as pleasure builds inside me.

It’s like he hears my thought form, leaning in to claim my mouth in a kiss that devours the moan rising in my throat as his finger slips inside me. I grind down against his hand, chasing every flicker of pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” I moan against his mouth, breathless and aching.

Oscar adds a second finger, curling them in a way that makes my vision blur at the edges. His thumb continues its relentless circles against my clit.

I'm teetering on the edge, my body coiling tight as Oscar's fingers work their magic inside me. The pressure is building,my breath coming in short gasps as his thumb fingers my clit with maddening precision. Just as I'm about to topple over that precipice, a sharp knock interrupts the haze of pleasure.

The door swings open without waiting for a response. Z stands in the doorway, his muscular frame silhouetted against the hallway light. I freeze, instinctively trying to cover myself, but Oscar doesn't stop. His fingers continue their relentless rhythm inside me.

“She's supposed to be sleeping,” Z says.

Oscar doesn't even look up, his focus entirely on the way my body responds to his touch. “She will,” he replies, moving his fingers in a way that makes me bite back a moan. “When we're done with her.”

The invitation hangs in the air between them. Without hesitation, he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Is that right, moya koroleva?” Z asks as he approaches the bed. “Are you going to let us wear you out?”

I can barely form words with Oscar's fingers still pumping inside me, but I manage a breathless “Yes” that sounds more like a plea than permission.

Z’s lips curl into a dangerous grin as he reaches the edge of the bed. He strips his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing the intricate tattoos that ripple across his chest and arms. Unlike Oscar’s controlled precision, there’s something raw about Z—a wild, reckless energy that both terrifies and thrills me.

“Don't stop,” Z commands his brother as he unbuckles his belt. “I want to see her come apart for you first.”

Oscar's rhythm doesn't falter. If anything, his brother's presence seems to fuel his determination. His fingers curl deeper inside me, his thumb pressing more firmly against my clit.

“Look at her,” Oscar drawls. “So fucking beautiful when she’s wrecked like this—spread open and desperate for the two of us.”

I'm exposed. Vulnerable. Caught between them in the most intimate way possible. Yet instead of feeling self-conscious, I feel powerful, wanted in a way that makes my entire body hum with anticipation.

Z kneels on the bed beside us, his hand coming to rest on my throat. His touch is gentle but possessive, thumb tracing my jawline as he leans down to capture my mouth in a kiss that's barely restrained hunger.

“Do you like feeling my brother’s hand between your legs?”

I can't find words to answer Z's question as Oscar's pushes me closer to the edge. My hips arch off the bed, chasing the pleasure building at my core.

“Answer me,” Z demands against my lips, his hand tightening slightly around my throat.

“Yes,” I gasp, the word barely audible as Oscar curls his fingers just right. “God, yes.”

Z smiles against my mouth, satisfied with my response. His free hand moves to my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation—Oscar between my legs and Z at my breast—sends electricity coursing through my veins.

“That’s it,” Oscar grits out as I writhe beneath their touches. “Chase that high, solnishko—show us how fucking good you can come.”

Z's mouth replaces his fingers, hot and wet around my nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The combination of sensations is too much. My orgasm crashes through me without warning, my back arching off the bed as I cry out, vision blurring at the edges.