Page 195 of The Sin Binder's Vow

And when I come, I don’t float.

I shatter.

Back bows. Mouth open. Soundless scream. My legs tremble so violently I almost fold in on myself, but they hold me down—he holds me down. Both of him. Lips on my throat. Hands on my waist. Whispers against my ear that I barely catch—

“You’re mine.”

“No one touches you like this.”

“Never letting you forget this.”

I don’t get a break. I barely have time to breathe before I’m flipped, spread beneath them again, and Silas—the original—grabs my jaw and kisses me like he’s marking territory. His cock rubs against my thigh, hard and leaking, and the duplicate pulls back just enough to watch, eyes glowing with the same hunger.

“Which one of me do you want first?” Silas growls against my throat.

I laugh, breathless. “You think I’ll survive one of you?”

They both grin.

“No,” the second says.

“But that’s what makes it fun,” adds the first.

He enters me without ceremony. One hard, slow push that makes my entire body arch off the bed, and his mouth is at my ear again, breath hot, voice guttural.

“You’re so fucking wet. Is that for me, or just because you liked being worshipped by both of us?”

I try to answer, but he starts to move—deep, hard strokes that steal every word before I can form it. My nails rake down his back. The second Silas kneels behind me, kissing the curve of my spine, the edge of my shoulder, murmuring praise like he’s got nowhere else to be except worshipping me while I’m being fucked by himself.

And gods help me—I love it.

I come again with a scream, clutching the Silas inside me like I’ll drown without him. And when the second one shifts lower, dragging his tongue along the spot where we’re joined, I nearly black out.

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

The other version lifts his head, licking his lips, eyes shining. He presses a kiss to my thigh, then to my knee, then trails up until his mouth is at my ear, lips brushing over the shell of it as the other Silas drives into me from behind now, pulling me up to my knees.

“She wants more,” he murmurs, voice all shadow and promise. “She’s greedy tonight.”

“I like her greedy,” the first says. “I want to see how much she can take.”

They move like they’ve rehearsed this. Like they knew this night would happen. One hands me back and forth to the other, and I let them. I let them ruin me. Every time I get close to catching my breath, they do something else—another touch, another taunt, another kiss that turns my bones to fire.

When Silas pulls out, the second one’s already behind me, sliding in with a hiss, and my scream is ragged—because I can feel him, even if he’s not real in the way the first is. Because the illusion is made from the original. His magic. His need. His obsession.

And I take it all.

His hand wraps around my front, fingers finding my clit like he knows it by memory—and of course he does—and the moment he starts rubbing, slow and vicious, I’m shaking. Splintering. My body lights up with pleasure, raw and ugly and endless.

“Please,” I gasp, and I don’t know what I’m asking for. Mercy. More. The end of me.

The second Silas groans, deeper this time, and the illusion starts to flicker. He’s not fading yet, but the magic is unstable, stretched thin by how much I’m giving him. By how much I’m taking.

The first grabs my face, kisses me again, and I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I love you,” the one at my ear whispers suddenly. Quiet. Serious.

It unravels something in me. Not the orgasm—gods, that’s already close—but the way he says it. Like he can’t help it. Like it slips out between groans and laughter and all that affection he hides behind grins and ridiculous lines.

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