Page 126 of Unstitch

‘What’s he doing?’ Darcy asks, all big, curious eyes and flushed skin beneath me as she takes in my reaction

Max beats me to it. ‘Prepping this fine little arse with a couple of fingers. He’s getting so good at it.’

‘I’ve always been a fast learner,’ I say with a wince-slash-laugh as he twists his fingers.

‘So advanced,’ Max croons, pulling out and replacing his fingers with the obscene mass of his crown, which he drags slickly over my entrance. ‘Don’t worry, there’s enough lube on it to run a brothel for a year.’ He drops his head and whispers in my ear, breath warm on my neck and voice ominous enough to strike fear into my heart.

‘But—stay still, dammit—remember when you’re stuffed so full of me you think you might split open that this is what you chose tonight. You walked away from safe, and “normal”, whatever the fuck that is, and vanilla. You chose this, my boy, and you’ll take whatever I give you.’

My boy. Jesus. It’s exactly the same turn of phrase Dad used, and I should be horrified by that in itself, just as I should be horrified by the memory of how scathing and contemptuous it felt earlier. Now, though, on Max’s lips, as he rubs his grotesquely large dick against this most private, vulnerable part of me and prepares to commit an act I’ve been told is worthy of hellfire, it really fucking works, and I hope my groan tells him that. I’m so hard inside Darcy it’s astounding.

‘Give it to me,’ Darcy says, her voice breathy, and I can tell she’s in that same state of dizzying need that I’m in, where Max’s words and this position have whipped her into something approaching delirium. ‘Whatever he gives you, if it’s too intense, give it to me. I’ll be your outlet—I want it all.’

I stare down at her in wordless admiration. This cascade effect, this symbiosis between us, is everything to me. She’ll take the pain, the physical intensity, the emotional overwhelm. She’ll be my vessel; she’ll let me pour into her body the same profound love and bottomless desire Max intends, I have no doubt, to pour into mine.

‘Thank you,’ I mouth, and she smiles beatifically.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Max grits out. ‘My absolute favourite little sluts. Fuck, I love you. Hang on.’

He follows his hang on with a drive so aggressive that I make the kind of choked up grunt I’d make if he punched me in the stomach, and I shunt straight into Darcy, who moans far more prettily, her eyes wide with shock.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I tell Max.

Fuck me. He hasn’t just notched his crown inside me—the whole bloody organ must be more than halfway in. This escapade is less like a game of dominos and more like operating heavy machinery, his dick being the cast-iron lever that, when engaged, wedges everything else into place. I’m pretty sure he could operate entire railway systems, shunting sidings and whatever the fuck else into place with that monster.

I’m burning, my flesh screaming where he’s stretching me, but I’m so hard, too, and it’s all some magical muddle of sensation that feels greater than the sum of its parts.

‘Trust me,’ he says, which I’m sure he means sincerely but is pretty fucking funny, if you consider what he’s doing to me right now, and he goes one more time. He ruts into me, and another few key inches of prime digestive real estate burn like they’ll never be the same again, and I inadvertently fuck Darcy harder.

Max’s body is a furnace behind me, above me, radiating heat, while beneath me Darcy’s expressive face and beautiful body take our combined onslaught.

And then, finally and impossibly, he’s in, and he slides his palm over my stomach and down to the place where Darcy and I are joined, his fingertips brushing the wet flesh there, and his huh tells us everything we need to know about how miraculous he, too, finds this.

‘So shall I—’ I start to ask, and he kisses across my shoulder.

‘You worry about Darcy,’ he says, ‘and I’ll worry about you. You won’t have much choice, anyway.’

I won’t, it turns out. When he starts moving properly, my body becomes a channel, taking his thrusts and harnessing that energy and delivering it to Darcy with brutal thrusts of my own. Max’s moves become my moves; I’m effectively letting him fuck Darcy by proxy.

But if a channel sounds passive, my experience is anything but, because these two people who love me, who’ve waited for me to become a man who’s free to love them in the way they deserve, are pouring their adoration into me and wringing it out of me.

Like every other fucking thing Max does, he’s filling me up to the point of overwhelm and pushing me to the point of insanity, and it’s so much I can barely breathe. Darcy was right. She’s my outlet, she lets me drive that insupportable intensity into her body, and she takes it all.

We’re a machine, the three of us, slick and oiled and rhythmic, a grouping that’s as electric in practice as it is unlikely in theory. Our bodies work in sync, the air filled with Max’s grunts and Darcy’s moans and my own sounds of frantic, primal need.

Darcy comes first, thank fuck, because I’m seconds away from losing myself inside her. I fuck her through it, my movements rough, involuntary, thanks to the pounding I’m getting from behind. I now speak Darcy Orgasm like it’s my mother tongue, and this one is special. Powerful.

Her eyes squeeze shut; her cries are raw, unfiltered, as she bucks beneath me, and when her inner muscles clench around mine I am a goner. Max is pounding me in a place so deep, so good, I can survive it no longer. I’m pure sensation, front and back, my body singing. And when I let go, emptying myself into Darcy, Max makes damn sure he fucks out every last drop before he lets himself go with a roar of triumph that sounds a lot, to my blissed-out ears, like I told you so.

After we’ve unplugged ourselves from each others’ bodies, we lie in a hot, sticky, sated mess, arms and legs intertwined, Darcy’s arms tightly around me and Max’s heartbeat pulsing against my temple, both ways of reminding me they’re here to stay.

The threads of that fucking cloak of shame have well and truly unravelled now in the hands of these two gorgeous, golden people. All that time, I thought I was adequately sewn together, but they found my loose ends.

They pulled, and they haven’t stopped pulling. They’ve laid me bare now, and, miracle of miracles, they like what they’ve uncovered beneath all those impossibly neat seams of tightly stitched, repressed bullshit.

They tell me they love it, in fact.

EPILOGUE - DEX

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