Page 181 of Bitter Poetry

“Hush, babe. I just need to know how you feel.”

Dante pushes his finger in beside Christian’s. “Fuck, she’s so hot and tight. And fluttering. It’s like she’s coming all the time.”

“I need inside her.” Christian rolls above me, stopping abruptly when Dante plants his palm on his chest. “Move your fucking hand. I need inside her.”

“So do I.”

“Not a problem. It won’t take me long.”

Dante chokes back a dark laugh and moves his hand away.

Christian lines up, strokes deep inside me, and holds still with a groan.

It feels so good: full, hot, pulsing. My hand, finally free, reaches up to cup his face. He turns to press a kiss against the palm. The unexpected tenderness brings a catch to my throat. Then Dante catches my chin, turning me to face him, his mouth on mine, hungry, demanding, stroking the inside with his tongue just as Christian rocks back on his heels, lifts my ass clear off the bed… and pounds into me.

It’s too much. I never want the moment to end. Both of them, here with me in the bed, the two men I love, sharing me, taking their pleasure, and bringing me tenfold.

I’m feverish. The climaxes have pitched me into a kind of heat. The piercing on his cock delivers sweet sin. He grunts, stills, and a hot flood jets against the entrance to my womb, and all the while, Dante devours the last of my sanity with a kiss.

Christian pulls out and drops down on the bed beside me, panting.

Dante lifts his head, rises, and tumbles me onto my hands and knees.

He fills me. I push back to meet every thrust.

I’m alive. More alive than I have ever been in my life. Free. Soaring. For them and only them.

I can’t get enough. Desperation crawls under my skin, adding a wildness to the coupling. I want their scent over me and their cum inside me and my pussy aching where they have been.

No sooner does Dante finish than I crawl over Christian. His cock is already hard and bobbing. Emboldened by the fever within me, I take his cock in my hand and sink down onto it.

“Fuck, babe,” he mutters. His expression is stark, and his eyes hold mine as he cups my breasts and pinches my nipples.

I’ve never done this. Never wanted to, not with the pig.But I like this, being in control, no matter how fleeting it might be, taking my pleasure on my terms.

“Put your hand on my throat.”

Christian smirks.

Dante curses.

“Please.”

He lifts his hand without further hesitation, and his fingers collar my throat.

I groan.

His chuckle has a raw, earthy edge. He likes doing this to me as much as I like it being done.

It’s liberating. When he holds me like this, I can pretend I am free. It centers my awareness on him and only him. My hips rise and fall as I fill myself with him. I add a rotation—damn, that feels good.

“God, she is stunning,” Dante murmurs.

“Damn right, she is,” Christian agrees. His thumb smashes over my clit as I ride him and a starburst explodes behind my eyes. I’m soaring, my pussy falling into hot, sweet, spasmsthat radiate out from my core, making me gasp, making my movements turn erratic as I try to eek every last drop of pleasure I can.

The sparking has not yet stopped when he tumbles me onto my back.

“My turn.”