Page 73 of Vengeful Melodies
I lift her, pressing her against the tile. Kai’s mouth hungrily chasing hers, then her tits, then her cunt. My cock slides deep, steady, pounding, every thrust making her cry out, making Kai groan and push harder against her from behind.
“Goddamn, Songbird, so tight,” I growl. “You take us so fucking well. You like being our filthy little whore, don’t you?”
“Yes! Fuck! Both of you!” she screams. “Please! I want it all!”
Kai groans, gripping her hips, sliding inside her with me in perfect sync. Our cocks stretch her, fill her, the feeling overwhelming, and I feel him—his cum pulsing against my chest, dripping down us both as we lose ourselves together.
I slip a hand down his back, fingers brushing his cock, teasing, rubbing. He moans into her neck, and I lean down, kissing him roughly, tasting him, claiming him while fucking her hard, throbbing, relentless.
The three of us, fucking, eating, tasting, moaning, cursing, praising, degrading, spiraling together until she shatters first—screaming, clenching, folding against us, and then us, me and Kai, fucking her through it, until I lose it, cumming deep inside, and Kai follows, cursing, thrusting, moaning our filthy names into the steam.
We collapse together, tangled, dripping, panting, skin slick and sticky, mouths tasting each other, her, the water pounding around us, our bodies spent but still thrumming with heat, claiming, and fire.
Chapter Thirty Two
Alix
The sizzle of bacon in the pan fills the quiet kitchen, thick with the smell of smoke and fat, warm and comforting, mixing with the faint, lingering sweetness of Dreya’s shampoo. Takoa leans against the counter beside me, arms crossed, watching coffee drip slow into the carafe. Sunlight slants through the tiny window, catching the silver hoop in his eyebrow, tracing the curve of his shoulder and glinting on his jawline. He’s always calm, but there’s something in the way he’s watching the coffee, and me, and her… like he’s already thinking five steps ahead.
I flip a strip of bacon, the spatula catching a little grease. My eyes flick to Dreya even before she enters—just imagining her, hair wet and curling around her cheeks, that soft, flushed skin from last night’s heat. My chest tightens, throat dry. She’s ours. All of ours. And yet, somehow, completely hers.
“You’re quiet,” I tease Takoa, nudging him with my elbow.
“I’m always quiet,” he murmurs, voice low. But the twitch of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, tells me he’s thinking more than he’ll ever say aloud.
“Brooding,” I add, smirking. “Different this morning.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. I can feel it in the air, in the subtle tension curling around him like smoke.
The coffeemaker gurgles, clicks off. Takoa grabs two mugs, one for him, one for Dreya, adding a careful splash of oat milk to hers, stirring it with a deliberate gentleness that makes my chest ache. Small, intimate gestures like that are dangerous—they anchor her to him, to us. We’re all falling, and I feel it keenly.
Then she appears.
Dreya walks in, one of my black button-ups draped over her small frame, soaked and clinging in places, hitting mid-thigh. Her curls fall loose and wet, plastered to her cheeks, the scent of citrus soap and last night’s heat clinging to her like a second skin. My breath catches in my throat before I can stop it. She’s radiant, messy, wild—and ours.
Bash greets her first, loud and shameless, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Kai sneaks up behind, arms wrapping around her waist, burying his face in her neck. I watch, chest tightening, as my hand instinctively curls around the back of my chair, fingers tapping in quiet frustration and longing.
She sips the coffee Takoa hands her, eyes fluttering closed, small gasp escaping. That simple act—just being here, drinking coffee with us—reminds me why I’m falling apart inside. That and the memory of skin and warmth, of her between us, of last night.
“I wrote something while we were waiting for you to get out of the shower,” Takoa says, voice low, careful, pride hiding behind his quiet tone.
I glance at him. “Already bringing more music into this?”
“Sin with a heartbeat,” he says, eyes flicking to Dreya. “Dark. Slow. Filthy.”
She tilts her head, intrigued, a soft, amused smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s it sound like?”
Kai pipes up behind her. “Play it later. I want to add a bass solo.”
I smirk at him. “Drums. Real deep kicks. Something that pulses in your chest.”
Bash perks up, already plotting. “Guitar solo after the bridge?”
Takoa sips, unreadable, then finally nods. “Raw. Don’t make it pretty.”
I can’t help but glance at Dreya, tracing her movements—the way she leans into the table, hand brushing my fingers as she lifts her coffee. The world feels electric, spun together with sunlight, steam, scent, sound. Her laughter spills over, soft and melodic, and I realize I’m holding my breath.
Then Kai drops it: casual, daring, impossible to ignore. “So… what are we, Dreya?”