Page 34 of The Dead Don't Talk
He pins me harder. Thrusts faster. Groans louder.
“Cry for me, kitten,” he snarls out.
“It … I …”
One hand has a bruising grip on my hip, and the other is tight in my hair— Moros maneuvers me until I’m nearly bent over, Wilson’s length right in my face. His tip nudges my damp lips, smearing precum across them.
“Suck,” Moros demands, and I do.
I drop my lips open wide and take Wilson’s exposed head with an eager tongue.
The distraction is enough for my lower half to go boneless in Moros’s grip, his length sliding easily inside me, pulling the pain out with each thrust. The quiver of my stomach amplifies as he bottoms out, his groan echoed by Wilson’s.
“That’s right, whore,” Moros snarls. “Take us both like the little cockslut you are.”
My stomach clenches, my length throbbing between my legs, abandoned and aching.
I reach for it as I suckle on Wilson, twirling my tongue around his head and beneath the bunched skin.
It pulls a low groan from him that vibrates through his length, and he thrusts deeper, making me gag.
“Oh, yeah, Amo. Choke on me, baby.”
The warm tone is such a contrast to the cold filth coming out of Moros that it makes my stomach flip.
And my heart flutter.
“You’re taking us so well.”
“Don’t talk to him like that. He’s a slut,” Moros pants out, his fingers digging harder into my hips that slap against the assault of my hole. “A dirty fuckhole.”
Wilson’s glide along my tongue softens. “He’s a good fuckhole, Moros. A warm one.”
“Just a hole. Like you.”
His thighs tremble and his length thickens. “Then switch with me, boss. Fuck my hole til I’m gaping from you.”
Moros groans loudly and yanks himself free, making my knees buckle. My teeth scrape over Wilson as I scramble to keep upright and he hisses, catching my shoulders.
“So good, Amo,” he soothes, and pets my head.
I shouldn’t preen at the touch, but I fucking do.
“Bend over, hole.”
From my knees, I watch as Wilson shivers, his nape trapped in a tight grip, and his eyes flutter.
Whoa fuck.
I should be … jealous, right? Possessive? Concerned by the fact that Moros was just inside me, yet judging by the pinched expression on Wilson’s face, he’s now slipping inside him?
But I’m not.
And when they groan in unison, I get harder.
“Get up here, baby,” Wilson breathes out, his body jerking from the slap of Moros’s hips behind him. “Let me fill your hole.”
And just like that, I’m on my feet and bending over, backing up until I feel Wilson’s length touch my most intimate area. The one that’s only been breached by one other. The place I’m desperate to feel him.
