Page 88 of No Save Point

“So fucking perfect,” Carter whispers against my skin, his voice full of reverence, full of something deeper than just lust.

Tate slows his thrusts, groaning, his hands still gripping my hips, still keeping me where he wants me as he pulls himself from me, my body shuddering at the loss, still throbbing. His hands are firm but careful as he moves me, pulling me away from Carter’s mouth, guiding me until my back meets the soft sheets beneath me. I can barely keep my eyes open, can barely focus on anything but the heat of their bodies surrounding me. My chest rises and falls in sharp, shaky breaths, my mind fogged from how completely they’ve taken me.

Carter’s lips press against my stomach, his breath fanning over my skin as he moves lower, his hands gliding down my sides. His touch isn’t desperate this time, it’s tender. Tate does the same, his lips finding the curve of my neck, his tongue tracing a line down my collarbone, his hands framing my face for a moment before trailing down, brushing over my breasts, rolling my already sensitive nipples between his fingers. My body responds instantly, my back arching, a soft gasp slipping past my lips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Carter whispers against my skin, his lips pressing over my hip bone, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me open just enough to kiss higher, just enough to taste me again.

Tate’s fingers slide into my hair, his other hand resting over my ribs, his voice lower, raspier. “Took us so fucking well, pretty.” His lips find the spot right below my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re ours, aren’t you?”

I can’t even form words, can’t do anything but nod, can’t do anything but feel them. Their lips, their hands, the way they take their time kissing, tasting, covering me in their touch. Carter’s mouth moves lower, Tate’s lips move higher, and I let them have me. Every inch. Every part. Tate’s fingers slide down my stomach, claiming every inch like it belongs to him. Carter’s still kissing my body, still tracing soft patterns over my thighs, my ribs, my arms. Their touches are slow, their hands gentle, but my body is exhausted, trembling from the way they’ve ruined me over and over again.

Tate’s fingers tighten around my jaw, tilting my head up toward him, his lips brushing over mine, his voice low. “You can’t take our cocks anymore,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding through my soaked pussy before moving back up my body. “But you can take our cum.”

My breath catches, even as my muscles protest, as my body begs for rest. I don’t deny either of them. I just blink up at him, dazed, as he and Carter both move onto their knees beside me. Carter’s hesitant, his lips parting, his brows furrowing slightly as he watches Tate grip his cock, pumping it in slow, even strokes. “Tate, I don’t thi—”

“Shut the fuck up and touch yourself.”

Carter exhales shakily, his hand finally wrapping around his own cock, and my stomach tightens at the sight, both of them touching themselves above me, their eyes raking over my ruined body. Their hands stroke slow at first, their gazes devouring. I feel every flick of their wrists like it’s happening to me, like I’m the one being touched, being pleasured, being wrecked all over again. I can’t help it, I finally open my eyes fully, taking them both in, my breath coming in shallow little gasps as I watch them pump their thick, aching cocks, as their hands glide over, as their muscles flex, as their groans fill the air. Carter’s eyes fall down to meet mine.

Tate doesn’t break eye contact at all either. His jaw clenches, his muscles tensing, his hips stuttering forward slightly, he groans, deep and rough, his cock jerking in his hand as a thick shot of cum shoot across my stomach, my hips, my soaked, swollen pussy.

I moan, my thighs twitching, my nails digging into the sheets as the warmth of him coats me. “Fuck, angel,” he breathes, his hand still moving over his cock, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. “So fucking pretty covered in me.”

Carter is next. He tries to hold back, tries to keep control, but the second he sees me like this, sees me covered in his brother’s cum, his grip tightens, his breath shatters, his hips buck forward, he spills all over my tits, my throat, my parted lips. I whimper, my tongue darting out to taste him, my body aching, spent, but completely, utterly theirs. Carter lets out a broken sound, his cock pulsing in his hand, his cum still dripping onto my skin, his free hand smoothing over my cheek, his touch sweet.

Tate grins, dragging a finger through the mess on my stomach, bringing it up to my lips. “Now, that’s a good girl.”

The three of us are tangled together, bodies still warm, limbs draped lazily, exhaustion weighing heavy but satisfaction even heavier. Carter’s fingers trace gently over my hip. Tate is behind me, his body heat pressing against my back, his lips brushing against the top of my ear every now and then, like he wants to say something but won’t. I let my eyes flutter closed, feeling the rise and fall of Carter’s breathing beneath my cheek, the steady pulse of Tate’s heartbeat against my spine. My body is ruined, my mind is a mess, but I’ve never felt more at home than I do right here, with them.

Then Tate ruins it. “So, pretty,” he teases, a smug little edge curling through every word. “Think you’ll last longer in our next round, or are we gonna have to carry your ass through it again?”

Carter groans, not even lifting his head. “Dude. She’s literally still shaking.”

“I’m just checking,” Tate laughs, brushing a kiss against the side of my neck like he didn’t just say something completely stupid. “Gotta keep her on her toes.”

I peek up at Carter, catching his expression, half exasperated, content and I can’t help but grin. “You two are the worst,” I mumble, voice hoarse from overuse.

“Objectively true,” Carter says, his fingers tightening just slightly on my waist. “But I’d argue we’re also the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Oh, the best,” I deadpan, even as my grin widens. “You mean besides the part where I can’t feel my legs?”

Tate chuckles behind me, shifting just enough to drape his arm across my stomach, his palm splayed over my ribs like he owns the space. “I take full responsibility for that.”

“Yeah,” Carter mutters. “Of course you do.”

“Relax,” Tate hums, and now his voice dips lower, quieter, dragging shivers across my skin. “You both loved it.”

God, he’s not wrong. “Maybe,” he adds, rolling me gently onto my back, his grin all teeth and trouble. “But you can’t get enough of us.”

Carter shifts beside me, brushing his thumb along my jaw as his gaze softens. “Not that I’d ever let you go.”

My throat tightens at that, just a little. I look between them, my troublemakers, my chaos.

“You’re right. I can’t.”

I’ll never get enough. Not of Carter. Not of Tate. Not of the beautiful, messy thing we’ve created together. Maybe it makes me twisted. Maybe it makes me theirs. But fuck, I’ve never felt more alive. Maybe that’s the point.

Life was never supposed to be neat. It was never supposed to be clean lines and carefully drawn boundaries. It’s supposed to shattered and stitched together again by the people crazy enough to love every broken piece. There’s a violent kind of beauty in being wanted this way. In being kept.

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