Page 123 of Craving Consequences

Van shifts on the sofa, legs braced wide, arms reaching for me. “Climb up.”

It’s tricky pushing to my feet without dislodging Lachlan. My thighs burn and I wince as blood rushes through the cramping muscles. But I hobble forward the single step with Lachlan following my move. One hand stays splayed across my abdomen, keeping me firmly flush against him while the other presses between my shoulder blades, guiding me.

I’m panting. My body is slick with sweat and my throat aches. It’s not sexy at all, but the way Van is watching me, I may as well have been a supermodel.

“There you go,” he praises sweetly, hands moving beneath my thighs and lifting me into place. “You already look so perfect stretched on one cock. Let’s see if your greedy cunt can handle two.”

The cushions sag with our combined weight. I have to grab his shoulders to brace myself as my knees plant down on either side of his hips.

Lachlan presses tighter behind me, his breathing hot on my neck as he keeps himself in place. Keeps steady as Van works the head of his cock to my entrance.

I choke on a gasp when it brushes my soaked slit. My pussy clenches, desperate to feel the stretch. To feel them both in me.

“Sit, Everly,” he tells me once he’s in place.

I do. My hips obey without question. My body wants the thing my brain can’t even fathom as I sink myself over and down every rigid inch and ... I think I scream.

The raw agony lodges in my throat. It roars between my ears in a shrill of clanging bells as my body is torn in the most incredible, painful, perfect way.

Both men groan in unison as they break me. As I seize and ... spray. As my body jackknifes under their hold and the world collapses on its axle.

“Fuck me,” I sob. Beg. “Fuck me. God, harder!”

Needing the momentum. The friction. And they comply. They ram into me, cocks grinding together inside me, separated only by a thin membrane. But it’s something else. It’s something sharp and blinding.

“Don’t stop...” I wheeze, hips driving back, wild and reckless, meeting every slap of their bodies as my orgasm spikes, rising all over again. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop...”

I can’t breathe. I’m barely aware of their words, their vicious growls as they use me. Their hands are at my breasts, lips suctioned on my nipples. Fingers between my folds, prolonging every second of this torment until I am wailing. Shuddering. My thighs are wet, slipping over Van’s hips as I ride him like my life depends on it. My core is expelling hot spurts of release that seem to go on forever as I continue to fall. Continue to use them to reach heights I never thought humanly possible.

It won’t stop and I can’t take anymore. I’m shaking hard enough to break a bone and my molars are on the verge of cracking. I’m so sensitive and raw, heightened with every touch, every grind of my hips, every slip of their fingers, lap of their tongue sends fresh currents through me.

I am a broken mess of a thing clawing at the solid heat beneath me, body bucking uncontrollably with a mind of its own. Greedy and hungry for the agony they’re putting me through. I’m merely a puppet on frayed strings, convulsing with a pleasure so immense it’s pure pain.

There is nothing to hold on to. No thoughts. Just wave after wave of blistering, all-consuming bliss.

“No more,” I pant even as my body spasms with a fresh, micro climax that crackles up my spine. “I can’t...”

“Shh, breathe, baby,” Van’s quiet voice cuts through the chaos, low and soothing as he folds me against his chest. “We got you.”

His heartbeat is too steady, too even against my cheek. My hypersensitive skin prickles beneath the loving glide of his palm. The whisper of his lips. The second set of lips brushing my shoulder. I am too aware of their flaccid cocks still wedged inside me. Still semi solid despite having cum already. Lachlan is no longer stroking my clit, but his fingers stay at my lips. Tips pressed into my fluttering switch, guiding my orgasms.

Very gingerly, Lachlan pulls free. The expulsion of his fluids is immediate as my used channel contracts with the loss. The area burns and throbs as I return to my senses, but I’m still shuddering too hard to pay close attention.

I’m lifted off Van and I get a brief peek at the mess I created. At the glossy, wet stain soaked into the cushion, runningdown his cock, soaking his lap. There’s so much of it and I almost feel embarrassed when Van lifts his face.

There is no amusement in his expression.

His eyes are wild, bright with a fever that reminds me of a wolf caught in the scent of a wounded rabbit. It’s the starved heat of a feral beast. I know that look. I’ve seen it often enough. But I can’t ... I’m so tired and I’m pretty sure I’ll have a stroke if I cum again.

Behind me, Lachlan holds me up. His arms are steel and silk forged across my middle. His lips are lit matches falling across my neck. But he’s not holding me for the sake of keeping me on my feet. His palms are lifting to my breasts.

“I can’t...” I protest, too weak to fight when Van slips off the couch and kneels before me.

“Not for you,” he hisses through his teeth, eyes fixed on my dripping center.

“Let him taste you,” Lachlan orders, cradling the weight of my breasts. Skimming the nipple with his thumbs. “Let him clean your mess.”

I give a shudder even before the first sweep of Van’s tongue. I watch, helpless and tender as he lifts his lashes and fixes his gaze to mine.

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