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It’s crude. Vulgar—making me moan around Percy’s cock, taking him deeper as Hamilton pounds into me with increasing fervor.

“Look at her taking it,” Percy says, his voice strained as he fights to maintain control. “So fierce in the boardroom, so eager for cock out here in the wild.”

Prescott surprises me by leaning down to capture one of my nipples in his mouth, his earlier shyness apparently forgotten. His tongue swirls and teases as his hand explores the curves of my body with increasing confidence.

I’m overwhelmed by sensation—Hamilton filling me below, Percy in my mouth, Prescott’s clever hands and mouth learning my body’s responses. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

I want all of them; want to be claimed by each Porkwell brother.

Hamilton suddenly withdraws as if reading my mind, leaving me whimpering at the loss. “Your turn, Percy. Show our wolf what that architect’s precision can do.”

Percy doesn’t need to be told twice. He flips me over so I’m on all fours and moves between my legs, replacing his brother with a smooth, deliberate thrust that has me gasping.

Where Hamilton is all raw power, Percy is finesse, angling his hips to hit spots inside me that have my toes curling into the sand.

Hamilton takes Percy’s former position, his still-slick cock pressing against my lips. “Open up, Wolfhart. Taste yourself on me.”

It’s filthy and so fucking hot that I comply without hesitation, the tangy taste of my own arousal mingling with his unique flavor as he slides between my lips.

Prescott watches us all with wonder, as if he can’t believe he’s part of this tableau. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers along where Percy and I are joined. When his thumb finds my clit, pressing with just the right pressure, I nearly buck off the sand.

“She’s close,” Percy announces, increasing his pace. “I can feel her tightening.”

Hamilton grins down at me, his cock still in my mouth. “Not yet. I want her to come on Prescott’s cock. Fair’s fair.”

Percy groans but complies, withdrawing despite my muffled protest. Prescott looks startled, then determined as his brothers guide him between my legs.

“I’ve never… not like this,” he admits, positioning himself at my entrance.

I release Hamilton long enough to say, “neither have I. Not with three… not with anyone like this.”

Something passes between us then—a moment of connection amid the raw lust—before he pushes forward, filling me in one slow, deliberate movement that has us both gasping.

“Oh god,” Prescott breathes. “You feel incredible.”

“Move,” I urge him, pushing back forcefully on his throbbing cock. “Please, Prescott, move.”

He does, finding a rhythm that builds on the foundation his brothers laid. Hamilton reclaims my mouth while Percy moves to tease my breasts, all three working in concert to drive me toward the edge.

“Fuck this is too much. I can’t… I’m going to…” Prescott’s pace becomes erratic in the best possible way.

“Let go,” I encourage him, breaking away from Hamilton. “Come for me, Prescott.”

He does, with a shuddering cry that seems torn from deep within him. I can feel his cock twitching as he fills me with his load. The sounds of his pleasure, combined with Percy’s fingers on my clit, send me tumbling over the edge, my body convulsing around Prescott’s still-pulsing cock.

Hamilton doesn’t wait for either of us to recover. As soon as Prescott withdraws, he’s there, flipping me back on the ground and plunging into me with a growl that’s more wolf than pig. “My turn again,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “And this time, you’re going to scream my name.”

He’s relentless, driving into me with a fury that borders on punishing. Percy and Prescott take positions on either side of me, hands and mouths exploring every inch of skin they can reach. It’s sensory overload in the best possible way.

“Hamilton,” I gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “There, right there.”

His smile is triumphant. “Louder, Wolfhart. Let the whole forest know who’s fucking you.”

“Hamilton!” I cry out as he increases his pace, the pressure building inside me again with shocking speed.

“All of us,” Percy corrects, his lips at my ear. “Say all our names. We all want to hear it.”

“Hamilton, Percy, Prescott,” I chant, each name punctuated by a thrust that drives me closer to the edge. “Please, I need…”

“We know what you need,” Prescott says, his fingers joining where Hamilton and I are connected as I take Percy’s cock back into my mouth. “Come for us again, Ruby.”

That does it—the combination of physical stimulation and the tenderness in Prescott’s voice shatters me. I come with a cry that probably echoes through the forest, my body clenching around Hamilton with rhythmic waves of pleasure.

He follows moments later, his release triggering Percy’s as he sinks all the way to the back of my throat and I eagerly swallow him. The three Porkwell brothers collapse around me, a tangle of sweaty limbs and labored breathing on the sandy shore.

For long moments, none of us speak. The only sounds are our combined breathing and the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore.

It’s strange how quickly opposition can transform into something else entirely. Just weeks ago, I viewed these three as enemies—obstacles to overcome in my mission to protect Wolfstone.

Hamilton was the arrogant tyrant, Percy the sell-out artist compromising his talent for profit, and Prescott the tech genius was enabling their destruction.

Now I see the nuances I’d missed before.

Hamilton’s drive masks a deep sense of responsibility for his family legacy. Percy’s designs actually do try to honor the environment in his own way. And Prescott’s innovations could potentially serve conservation as easily as development.

When did they become individuals to me? Not just “the Porkwell’s,” not just “the opposition,” but three distinct beings with their own strengths, flaws, and unexpected depths?

Somewhere between that first confrontation in their office and now, lying here with sand clinging to my back and their heartbeats surrounding me, something fundamental has shifted.

“Well,” I finally manage, staring up at the patches of sky visible through the canopy above. “That wasn’t in the environmental impact assessment.”

Percy chuckles first, then Hamilton, then Prescott, until all four of us are laughing, the sound bouncing off the water and surrounding trees. It should be awkward—enemies turned lovers, naked and sticky with evidence of what we’ve just done—but somehow, it’s not.

“I think we need another swim,” Hamilton eventually says, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His usual arrogance is tempered with something softer, almost affectionate.

“Mmm,” I agree, making no move to get up. “In a minute.”

Who am I now?

For years, my identity has been defined by this fight—Ruby Wolfhart, fierce defender of wolf territory against Porkwell encroachment. It gave me purpose, direction, a clear moral position. The world made sense when it was us versus them.

But now the lines have blurred beyond recognition. I’ve literally and figuratively embraced what I was supposed to be fighting against.

Does that make me a traitor to my cause?

Or is there a way to be both Ruby the wolf advocate and Ruby who cares for these three pigs?

My grandmother always said that the strongest wolves were the ones who could adapt without losing themselves. Maybe this is my adaptation—finding connection where I expected only conflict.

Maybe understanding the “enemy” is the first step toward a solution that serves everyone.

I can’t help but wonder what my pack would think if they could see me now. I’d convinced Alpha Thorncrest to let me bring the Porkwell’s onto our land, promising it was just a strategic move to show them what they’d be destroying.

My plan worked—the brothers are seeing Wolfstone differently—but the twist in the plan was how I’d come to see them.

This intimate connection wasn’t part of the strategy I’d presented to the pack.

Would Alpha Thorncrest see this as a betrayal of trust?

Would the elders who reluctantly agreed to my plan question my loyalty, my judgment, my very place among them?

The pack has been my foundation, my family, my identity since birth. We protect each other, stand together against threats. And the Porkwell’s have always been the biggest threat.

Yet lying here, I realize that if building bridges rather than walls could save our territory, wouldn’t the pack eventually understand? Or would they see only betrayal in my intimate connection with their historic enemies, regardless of the outcome?

The thought of potential rejection by my pack creates a physical ache in my chest. But, I feel the possibility of a new kind of pack forming.

“Well,” Percy finally says, breaking the silence. “That was unexpected.”

I snort with laughter. “Understatement of the century, Porkwell.”

Prescott chuckles, his fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm. “I believe that qualifies as a team-building exercise.”

Even Hamilton laughs at that, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

My life has officially gone off the rails.

But as Percy’s hand finds mine, as Prescott’s gentle breathing warms my shoulder, as Hamilton’s arm drapes almost protectively across my waist—I can’t bring myself to regret it.