Page 127 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
I’m already desperate. “Please.” My voice breaks. “Please, Brennan, Dorian—make me yours.”
Brennan’s mouth descends, and he licks and sucks me with relentless skill, driving me to the edge.
Then finally Dorian joins him, pinching my nipples, twisting just enough to make me cry out. The pain blends with pleasure, a heady mix that drowns me. My first orgasm hits fast, a wave crashing through me, and I scream, pulling against the cuffs.
They don’t stop.
Dorian replaces Brennan, his tongue delving deep, while Brennan moves to my side, his cock brushing my lips. “Open for me, Isla.”
I do, taking him in, the taste of him grounding me as Dorian pushes me toward another climax. The room fills with my whimpers, their groans, the sounds of our union.
I’m trembling, sweat-slick and undone. And still they’re not finished with me.
Dorian steps back, his eyes glinting with wicked intent. “You’re perfect like this, little one.” His voice becomes a low growl. “Ours to take.” Then he reaches into a drawer by the bed and pulls out a black silk blindfold.
Oh Lord.
My pulse spikes as he leans over me. “You’ll feel us, but you won’t know who’s claiming you.”
I swallow hard, my body trembling with anticipation.
“Give us your consent?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Isla
“I’m waiting, little one.”
I can’t focus on anything but the blindfold.
“Tell me yes,” Dorian urges. “Let us know you want this.”
“I…” How have I become this person?“Yes.”My voice cracks on the word.
“That’s our good girl.”
The reward of his smile makes my heart flip. I’m getting to the point that I’d do anything for a glimpse of his approval.
He kisses my forehead, and then Brennan does as well before Dorian secures the blindfold snugly in place.
My world goes dark. Every sound, every touch, is heightened.
Both sets of cuffs hold me fast even though I strain against the leather.
My helplessness sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
Brennan’s voice comes from my left, and it’s rough withapproval. “You’re so ready for us, Isla.” He trails his fingers down my stomach, teasing, and I arch into his touch, desperate for more. “Aren’t you?”
Shakily I exhale.
The bed shifts, and there’s a rustle. Of clothing? Then there’s a soft thud. Maybe fabric hitting the floor.
A hand grips my hip, firm, possessive, and I tense, unsure who it is.
“You’re ours,” a voice murmurs.
Dorian’s?But the words are gruff, and the blindfold is disorienting.
