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Oscar works me through it, slowing his movements as the aftershocks ripple through my body. Z lifts his head to watch my face, his pupils blown wide with desire.

“Fucking stunning,” he mutters. “But we’re not even close to being done with you.”

Z’s eyes darken, and the look he gives me sends a fresh surge of need through my veins, even though I'm still quaking from the last orgasm. Beside him, Oscar slowly pulls his fingers from me, glistening and wet, then licks them clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue that makes my breath hitch all over again.

“My turn,” Z demands, stripping off the rest of his clothes like he’s seconds from tearing through them. The way he looks at me, like he’s about to devour me, makes my breath stutter.

Oscar shifts to make room but doesn't leave. Instead, he moves beside me, propping himself on one elbow to watch as Z positions himself between my thighs. There's something intimate about the way they share this space—not competitive but complementary.

“Is this okay?”

I nod, unable to form words as his cock presses against my entrance, thick and hard. He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. My body, still sensitive from Oscar's attention, clenches around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Z hisses through clenched teeth, his hips stilling once he's fully seated inside me. “So fucking tight.”

Oscar's hand cups my cheek, turning my face toward him. His kiss is gentle compared to Z's intensity, but no less passionate. I moan into his mouth as Z begins to move, setting a rhythm that's just shy of punishing.

“You’re taking my brother so well,” Oscar continues, his voice a sensual caress against my ear. “Does it feel good, solnishko? Having him inside you while I watch?”

I can barely form words as Z's thrusts grow more insistent, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through my already oversensitive body. “Yes,” I manage to gasp, my fingers clutching at the sheets beneath me. “God, yes.”

Z grips my hips with bruising intensity, shifting the angle to drive into me with even more force. Unlike Oscar’s measuredcontrol, Z fucks like he does everything else—with raw, untamed passion.

“Look at me,” he commands, one hand sliding up to grip my jaw. “I want to see your eyes when you come on my cock.”

Oscar’s lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing the pulse hammering beneath my skin as his hand closes over my breast. The difference between them is intoxicating—two men, one storm, both completely focused on my unraveling.

“She’s close again,” Oscar murmurs. “Aren’t you, Vesper?”

I nod, frantic, the words lost to the need spiraling out of control inside me. Zaire drives into me with relentless precision, every thrust harder than the last, his thick cock stretching me with a pressure that borders on unbearable—until it’s everything I need.

Oscar’s fingers find my clit, his touch expert and relentless, circling just right—dragging me higher with every pass. The dual onslaught of pleasure is threatening to detonate all at once.

“Don’t you dare hold back,” Z snaps, voice rough with command. “You come when I say. I want to feel this sweet cunt tighten all over my cock while I own every fucking inch of you.”

His pace shifts—no longer teasing, no longer patient. He fucks me like he means to break something open, every thrust deep and relentless, his hips slamming into mine with a force that steals the breath from my lungs. I’m already close, teetering on the edge, when his fingers find my clit.

He doesn’t ease into it. He circles it with purpose, fast and firm, each stroke sending shocks of heat through me. The pressure builds sharp and immediate, a wildfire licking up my spine, burning me from the inside out.

My back arches, a strangled cry ripping from my throat as I claw at the sheets. “Z—please?—”

“Don’t beg,” he growls, voice like gravel and flame. “Take it.”

His cock drives into me again, harder this time—perfect, punishing—while his fingers never let up. The dual assault has me unraveling fast, hips rocking desperately to meet every ruthless thrust, every flick of his fingers.

“Now,” he commands, low and brutal. “Come for me. Let me feel you break.”

The orgasm hits like a freight train—sudden, violent, glorious. My vision whites out as my body clamps down around him, pulsing hard, pleasure crashing through me and stealing the air from my lungs. He groans, deep and guttural, as he feels me seize around him.

His rhythm falters—just enough for me to know he’s close too—as he watches me come undone beneath them. Utterly wrecked. Still aching. Still begging for more.

Oscar’s lips find mine again, swallowing my cries as the climax rips through me, fierce and consuming. My inner walls tighten around Z’s cock, milking him with every pulse of aftershock. A guttural string of Russian curses spills from his lips as he thrusts harder, chasing the edge of his own release with savage, desperate urgency.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Z chants, his movements becoming erratic. With a final, powerful thrust, he stills, his body tensing as he empties himself inside me. His face drops to my shoulder, breath hot against my sweat-slicked skin as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing. Z presses me into the mattress, a comforting heaviness that grounds me as I float in post-orgasmic bliss. Oscar's hand strokes my hair, his touch gentle and soothing.

“What about you?” I manage to ask. His arousal is evident, straining against his jeans.