Page 100 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and I barely have time to process it before Wyatt’s behind me, his lips on my neck. Holt’s hands are sliding up my sides, palming my breasts and squeezing.

They’re everywhere, all at once, and I’m drowning in it. Hands in my hair, on my skin, lifting my shirt over my head. I shiver as the cool air hits me, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of their bodies.

Hank places me back on my own two feet but he doesn’t go far. Holt kisses me, his lips softer but just as demanding as Hank’s. Wyatt’s fingers trace the edge of my bra, and I arch into him, wanting more. Needing it. They don’t waste any time. My bra is gone, then Holt’s shirt, then Wyatt’s.

Hank’s hands are on me again, rough and calloused and so damn good. I’m not sure when he took his shirt off, but his skin is hot against mine, and I can feel the tension in his muscles as he holds himself back.

“Hank,” I whisper, and he groans, like my voice is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. He dips his head to my chest, his beard a delicious scrape against my skin as he pulls a nipple between his lips.

“Fuck, baby,” Holt says, pulling my pants down my legs. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, glancing up at me with a mischievous grin. “These too?”

“Yes,” I say, and it comes out more like a moan. They’re off in a flash, and then I’m naked, and they’re still mostly clothed, and it’s the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

Wyatt kisses a path down my spine, and I sag against him, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure of it all. Hank takes my lips, deep and hungry, before handing me off to Wyatt and Holt. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t Hank letting the others have me first.

Wyatt catches me easily, his hands warm and sure as they slide over my skin. He presses his lips to my shoulder. Holt’s hands skim up my sides, his touch softer but just as possessive. “Let us take care of you, baby.”

Wyatt tilts my chin up, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s slow and deep, stealing every last thought from my head. Holt’s mouth moves over my collarbone, nipping and soothing in equal measure. He moves lower, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

“Please,” I gasp, and they both groan, like the word is a shot of adrenaline straight to their dicks.

Wyatt doesn’t make me wait. There’s the hard, insistent press of him at my entrance, a teasing second of unbearable anticipation—then he thrusts in, filling me in one smooth, unrelenting stroke. A ragged cry escapes me, the sensation sharp, overwhelming, pleasure and intensity coiling tight in my core.

Holt is right there, his hands gripping me, steadying me as my body trembles. His lips claim mine, swallowing every sound. And then I feel him, pressing against my ass, a slow, insistent stretch that sends a shockwave through me. My body is a live wire, every nerve alight.

“Fuck,” Holt rasps against my mouth, his voice raw, wrecked, as he pushes in, inch by inch.

And then they move. They set a perfect rhythm. I’ve never felt anything like it, never been this full. I can’t tell whereone sensation ends and another begins, can’t separate my own pleasure from theirs. I’m gasping and moaning and begging, and they’re right there with me, bringing me higher and higher.

Hank watches, his eyes dark and stormy, his desire a tangible thing. I can see the strain in his jaw, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He’s waiting, holding back, but I can tell it’s killing him.

Wyatt shifts, hitting a spot that makes me see stars, and I shatter, crying out as they drive me through it, their bodies relentless and powerful and exactly what I need. It’s too much, and not enough, and I’m still coming when Holt groans my name and thrusts deep, spilling into me. Wyatt follows, his rhythm faltering as he gives in to his own release.

Wyatt and Holt both ease out of me. Their hands stay on me, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to my shoulders, my spine, anywhere they can reach. I’m still shaking, still breathless, my body thrumming in the aftershocks of everything we just did.

Hank hasn’t moved from where he’s been watching. His gaze is dark and unreadable. I expect him to say something, but he stays silent.

He isn’t angry like I thought he’d be.

If anything, he looks hungry.

Before I can fully process it, Hank is on me, lifting me with ease, pulling me from between them like I weigh nothing. The next thing I know, my back is against the floor, my body stretched out beneath him. His broad hands spread me open, his eyes locked on mine.

A low sound rumbles in his chest—approval, satisfaction, and something deeper. His palm ghosts over my belly, lingering for a moment over the small curve of my baby bump. A hint of tenderness flickers in his expression, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the heat in his eyes as his hand drifts lower.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice rough, reverent.

And somehow, those two simple words crack something open inside me.

Then he groans, low and guttural, and then?—

Oh.

Oh, my God.

His mouth is on me.

His tongue is hot. Demanding. Absolutely relentless.

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