Page 70 of Devour the Dark

“Not yet, Captain.”

“I can’t…” I exhale, slow my frenzied pace. Wendy moans, drags her fingernails across my face.

“I’m so close,” she says.

Roc leans forward again and devours her mouth. The wetness of their tongues meeting burns heat through my abdomen, sinking lower and lower.

It almost hurts, how badly I want to come.

I lean my head back against the bed and breathe out at the ceiling, squeezing my cock as cum leaks out.

“Make our Darling come, Captain,” Roc orders. “While I fill you up.”

That’s all I needed to hear.

I fist myself, stroking fast, hitting Wendy’s clit with every pump.

Her breathing quickens, her body tensing up and then?—

She lets out a loud, shrill moan, trembling on top of me.

I can’t hold on any longer. I pump hard and fast and blow all over her pussy, making a complete mess of her.

Roc’s rhythm grows more frenzied and he pulls back, looming over us both as he comes inside of me.

I can’t see Wendy’s face, but I imagine it’s no different than mine—reverence, awe, pride in having him and giving him pleasure.

When the Crocodile comes, everything that makes him terrifying fades away, replaced by the unguarded pleasure of being a man.

He stays inside of me for several beats, his breathing labored, his chest glistening, his hair damp and unkempt. His tattoos, dark against his skin, slick with sweat.

Finally, he pulls out and stumbles back. He disappears into an attached room, returning with a warm, wet cloth. He cleans Wendy first, then me, and I can’t help but flush.

No one has ever…he’s never…

I must show my dismay because he grabs me by the wrist, just below my hook, and says, “Stop fidgeting and let me take care of you.”

Wendy and I are both still, letting him clean us.

When he’s done, Wendy climbs off my lap, stumbles around the bed, and collapses into it. She breathes at the ceiling. I tuck myself into my trousers and button up my pants.

Wendy props herself up on her elbows and looks between us. “I enjoyed that. The three of us.”

“Are we…” I can’t seem to say it. I want to say it. I want confirmation. And maybe, like Wendy, I want reassurance. “Are we...the three of us…”

I steal a glance at Roc.

He’s still shirtless, but his pants are on, and he’s threading his belt through the loops on his pants.

“Do we have to put a label to it?” he asks.

My heart drops.

He’s avoiding looking at us now.

How can he give us aftercare one minute and then pretend we’re just hooking up the next?

“And if I said yes?” Wendy counters.

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