Page 206 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
Fuck.
Could she be more perfect?
Brennan’s jaw locks.
“Give it to her.” My voice is pure command.
He comes with her name on his lips, and she takes every drop like she was born to it. I grip her hips and drive into her, thumb finding her clit again.
“Whose are you?” I growl.
Because her mouth is full of Brennan, she can’t really answer, but as she frantically nods, her response sounds something like a scratch, sexy version ofyours.
“Now you’re going to come.”
Brennan eases from her mouth while I tighten my grip on her hips, lifting her and pulling her back down.
Her head is tipped back, and she’s offering her breasts once more, her nipples pouty and begging for the attention that Brennan lavishes on them.
We drive her to the edge and keep her there for a few moments while she whimpers.
“Please.”
Our wife knows exactly what power she holds when she begs. And she knows how much we love it.
“Dorian!” Her voice has turned from a plea to a quiet demand.
Which means part of her thinks she’s still in control. How adorable. “Not yet.”
Brennan grins wickedly, curling his fingers into one of her breasts and sucking her nipple into his mouth.
I fuck her more intensely, until she surrenders into broken sobs.
When she’s completely broken, Brennan pinches her free nipple, making her cry out.
“Now.”
Before I’ve finished my command, she shatters, orgasming around my cock, clamping down harder.
Though I try to hold back, I’m lost in the power of her pussy.
Going rigid, I arch up into her and my orgasm pulses from me in powerful spurts that make the world around me go black.
No woman has ever held this control over me.
And happily I turn it over.
I hold onto her for long minutes, until all of us have a small chance for recovery.
Then Brennan helps her up and carries her to our bathroom where the three of us shower and clean up. As Brennan bathes her pussy with a warm cloth, she uses the shower nozzle to clean me.
Less than twenty minutes later, we’re in bed, and she’s naked, lying on her back, cradled between the two of us, where she’ll always sleep, protected and nurtured.
Calypso lands on a chair, curls in a ball, and ignores us completely.
Business is waiting—the campaign, the never-ending ledger of favors and debts —but none of it matters.
Not compared to this.
