Page 76 of Carnival Mayhem

The pressure builds inside me, coiling tighter with each thrust. I can feel the pleasure radiating out from my core, spreading through my body like wildfire.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Colt grunts, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper. “Gonna come, angel. Gonna breed that perfect little cunt.”

Nash’s fingers move faster against my clit, his breath hot against my skin. “Me too, little bird. Gonna fill this beautiful ass.”

The pleasure spirals out of control, and I cry out, my body shaking as my climax overtakes me. My back arches, pressing me closer to Nash. I can feel the hot rush of his release inside me. Colt comes a moment later, his cock pulsing inside me, his breath hot against my neck as he growls.

They hold me, our bodies still joined, their hearts pounding against my back. I feel Nash’s lips press against my shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around me, possessive even in the afterglow. Colt’s arms are around me as well, his breath evening out as he holds me close.

I seek Colt’s lips, needing to feel our connection. Our mouths collide, a passionate tangle of tongues and teeth, urgency still burning within us.

Nash’s hands slide up my body, his palms caressing my skin. “You’re beautiful, Flora. Wild and untameable.”

Colt pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “You’re ours. Never forget that.”

I shake my head, my hands sliding up his chest to cup his face. “I won’t. I’m yours. No matter where we go, the two of you are my home.”

Nash nuzzles my neck, his lips pressing kisses along my jawline. “Ours to take, ours to keep.”

I close my eyes, savoring the feel of them surrounding me, their warmth, their strength. I rest between them, their warmth cocooning me as my thoughts drift to how perfectly we fit together. It’s more than just how our bodies connect—something deeper defies explanation.

From that first moment at the masquerade, when Nash called me “beautiful,” I felt it. A pull, like gravity itself, was drawing us together. And Colt, with those knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through my defenses, understood me without a word.

They’re so different, yet they complete each other. Colt’s fierce protectiveness balances Nash’s calculated control. Together, they make me feel whole in a way I never thought possible. My soul recognizes theirs, like puzzle pieces clicking into place after being scattered for too long. I’m home; we are home.

This isn’t just love. Love feels too simple, too ordinary for what we share. This is primal, ancient—like we’ve danced together in past lives, always searching until we find each other again. They fill the broken spaces inside me, not by fixing them but by showing me that my edges match theirs.

34

NASH

Flora moves with practiced grace, perfectly synchronizing with Colt’s as we clean the lockup. There’s something beautiful about how she handles the bleach and rags—no hesitation or fear. Just pure focus.

Today felt cathartic for me, too. I know all too well the demons Flora has carried around. Even if I don’t think about it very often. I experienced similar abuse at the hands of an older kid at a foster home for three years.

I wring out the cloth, watching crimson-tinged water swirl down the drain. Flora pauses her scrubbing, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist to avoid leaving marks.

“Well, I guess Santa won’t stop by tomorrow night.” She gives a hollow laugh. “Pretty sure I made the naughty list.”

“No need to be good this year, angel,” Colt says, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that makes my skin tingle.

“We prefer you naughty,” I add, catching her eye across the room.

Flora’s cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head to hide her smile. “Lucky me.”

“Very lucky,” Colt agrees, moving behind her to kiss her neck.

I watch them together, my chest tight with emotion. Even covered in bleach and wearing latex gloves, Flora looks ethereal. Her laughter echoes off the concrete walls, transforming this grim space into something lighter.

“You two are terrible influences,” she says.

“Guilty as charged,” I respond, tossing her a fresh rag.

I focus on methodically cleaning each surface, appreciating our comfortable silence. There’s something intimate about working together like this—no words needed.

We’ve fallen into a natural rhythm, passing supplies back and forth without asking. The harsh chemical smell of bleach fills the air, but it can’t diminish the warmth I feel watching them work.

Flora’s ponytail swings as she scrubs, and Colt’s muscles flex as he hauls another bucket. The tension from earlier has melted away, replaced by this strange peace.

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