Page 32 of CurVy 13

He rips his belt through the loops, the crack sounding in the room. Shoving his jeans down and ripping his shirt off, naked and perfectly chiselled, he stalks towards me.

Oh fuck.

Soon, he is grabbing my hips and flipping us over so I’m straddling him on the mattress. To prove a point—I want him. Well played, arsehole. I don’t need to be pinned down. I want him so fucking badly, I’ll ride him.

With a start, his fingers dimple my hips, and he forces me down the length of his monstrous cock. My pussy spreads wide, the muscles shuffling to accept him.

My body sets ablaze.

My core screams.

Weak with pleasure and pain, reeling from being impaled, I fall forward, my breasts mashing to his bare chest. God, he’s hot and hard.

Sliding his hands behind me, he grips my arse cheeks and grinds me over him. As he does, he bucks, fucking upward, beating yelps of uncertainty from me.

The sounds are obscene and loud.

I can’t even think.

Then he stops.

“What the fuck!” I protest.

Two eyes within the metallic holes shift over my shoulder. I swallow. I realise the sound of the drawer dragging against the floor has stopped.

Shocked, I twist on Donnie’s lap to find Tyler a statue in the open door, staring at us.

His jaw muscles pulse, his teeth grind, and a soft humming sound comes from his throat.

“Tyler,” I exhale his name.

Beneath the dread of what this means, of what I’ve become, is desperate need. I want them both.

I manage to control my heart enough to speak to him. “Come here,” I say softly.

Donnie lifts his hips, rolling me forward, working my clit on his pelvis in that effortless move. I moan but keep my body twisted so I can see Tyler.

God, I need to move.

Sweat slides between my breasts. I’m so fucking hot. Slowly, I circle my hips on Donnie but give Tyler all my attention. “Come here,” I say again, desperation twisting my voice. I reach a hand back for him. “Please.”

“Tyler.” Donnie’s tone is deep and commanding. “Come here. She wants you.”

Stepping towards us, the beautiful lunatic doesn’t remove his eyes from me as he unbuttons his jeans. Leaving them open at the top, the sight of lashes of scars trailing into neat, dark pubic hair causes my eyes to burn.

Is that why he doesn’t remove his clothes?

The mattress dips as he comes up behind me, his thighs on either side of his brother’s knees, his hot body a few inches from mine. I can feel his dark, jealous energy.

We all feel it.

And it’s real.

Not one I’m faking.

Dammit.

I lean back towards him, seeking his lips, and he dips to me, wanting mine, our first kiss, so close, but Donnie bucks his hips, throwing me forward.

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