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“Careful,” I hiss. “That bra part is tight.”

“Maybe you need one of those nursing tops,” Pace mutters, his movements growing more gentle. “You know, with the flaps.”

He’s not wrong, and I’ve been looking at them in the catalog, but with the way they keep growing, I’m not sure what size I’ll be. Together, they slip the tight tank over my breasts. The instant they’re completely free, the heaviness sags against me, and I clutch them to my chest, which also makes them ache. It’s impossible to find any comfort.

Pace’s jaw slacks, and he lunges toward me, but a hand shoots out, grabbing his shoulder.

Lex.

“Slow,” he directs. “It’s not all about the nipple. She needs to get fully stimulated.” His eyes wander over my tits, lids growing heavy. “Massage her first. Start at the back and push forward.”

I feel more than ready. Hot, sweaty. But when Pace’s hands start to gently rub the area just below my armpit, my body loosens, feeling like melted butter. I slump back into Wick’s strong arms.

“That feel good, Red?” he whispers in my ear. His hands make their own passes, skimming from my neck to my shoulders, down over the slope of my breasts—avoidingthe nipple entirely. “You like it when we touch you like this?”

There’s a funny curiosity to his voice, like the thought of a woman enjoying a massage never occurred to him. Probably never has, until now.

“Uh huh,” I mumble, hyperaware of the areas they’re not touching. The brothers take their time—patient and diligent—until I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Fingers are everywhere, rubbing, sliding, and gliding. I’m so sensitive that I can feel each of their warm, excited exhalations tickling against my skin. A steady drumbeat pulses between my legs and I shift uncomfortably, wanting to be touched down there, too.

I dip my hand between my thighs.

“No.” Lex’s command comes with tight fingers wrapped around my wrist. Our eyes meet, and despite the fact this issupposed to be about Lex giving me control over my own body, I get the feeling he’s enjoying his role a little too much. “This isn’t about getting you off, Verity. That’s easy when you’re like this.” His hand releases mine and drops to adjust the hard erection fighting against the front of his shorts. “Trust the process.”

I want to kick him. I really do. And so does my pussy, but Wicker listens, his touch slowing, those long, skilled fingers turning gentle but firm. His thumb glides down the side of my breast, applying a deep pressure. “Too much?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.

“It’s perfect,” I swallow.

“How do they feel?” Lex asks.

“Hot and tingly.” I close my eyes, feeling the sensation rushing to the tips of my nipples. “Painful.”

I’d say heavier, but the boys are supporting their weight with those stupidly big hands. Vaguely, I recall watching the Baroness and her Williams that day by the elevators, months ago, and being completely unable to imagine my Princes ever worshiping me like that.

But that’s exactly how this feels.

Lex asks, “Any pains in your abdomen?”

Feeling a slight pressure on the crown of my stomach, I look and see Pace kissing his way over the top. “No. None.”

Lex’s voice takes on a husky tone. “What do you want next, Verity?”

“For them to suck me.” I gather my breasts in my hands, consumed by the ache. Pace and Wick eye them hungrily. “I want them to take this pressure away.Please,” I beg, unabashed by my own whine.

Lex nods, giving a silent command, and when their mouths descend, latching onto my hardened nipples, I let out a long, delirious exhale. It feels so good. Better than anything I everexpected. Not just sexual—although my pussy is soaked—just this incredible sense of relief.

Resting my hands on the tops of their heads, I encourage them by stroking the back of their necks, guiding them closer. The contrast between them goes further than their complexion and hair color. I feel it in the way they latch on. Pace’s mouth works greedily, using his tongue to work my nipple into a stiff peak, but he gets frustrated when he can’t find a good rhythm and pops off.

“Hey,” I ask, stroking his hairline, “what’s wrong?”

Before he can answer, Wicker flattens his tongue across the top of my areola and then clamps down with a groan, giving me a sharp tug that zings across my nerves.

“Oh,”I gasp, arching into Wicker’s mouth. I take his face in both hands, holding him to my breast. “Yes, that.”

“How?” Pace asks. “How are you doing that?”

It’s disappointing when Wicker releases me, cutting off the growing buildup, until I see him sling his arm over his brother’s shoulder. With spit-slick lips—and a little too cockily—he explains, “It’s like Lex says, this isn’t just some titty we’re playing with. This is a titty ready to be milked. It’s not about the outside, it’s about the inside, drawing that delicious liquid to the surface.” I watch as Wick places a wide hand on the back of his brother’s head, encouraging him back on my breast. “Think about how you fuck her. Slow. Persistent,” he says. “You need to coax it out of her.”

“He’s right,” Lex says. The doctor steps in, instructing his brother how to hold my breast, taking me from the front with both hands. “Lift it up and get the angle right. Good, yeah. Now, use your fingers to pull down along the sides, stimulating the ducts.”