Page 237 of What We Bury

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. God—fuck, please—” I shatter, coming so hard that I scream, arching back against Micah’s chest and clamping around them both. The feeling is tidal, huge, and I ride it out, wave after wave wringing more from my body than I thought I had left.

Eli groans, his thrusts deep and animal, and then he’s emptying inside me, hot pulses stoking the aftershocks. Micah loses it not long after, choking out a “Fuck, Sage,” as I take everything they give, greedy for their pleasure.

I’m nothing but nerve endings and need as I collapse between them. I try to catch my breath, but the next set of hands is already on me—huge, callused, reverent. I don’t even notice when the other bodies fade back, making space for him. All I see is Knox. His dark eyes, spread hands, wide palms pressing flat against my ribs like he’s testing if I survived the last round. His fingers paint lazy lines into my skin, rough and careful, and I want to cry at how safe I feel in this cyclone.

“Fury.” His voice is sandpaper and electricity. “You done?”

I shake my head. “No. I can take it. IknowI can take it.”

He grins down at me, just one corner of the mouth curling up. It’s my favorite of all the Knox faces. He’s not a man who believes in second chances, or ever making the same mistake twice. But he gives me every chance. Every time. He leans in and kisses me so slow I think I might die from it, kissing me soft, tasting the salt on my skin, the musk of every man beforehim. He grazes my lips with his teeth, gentle, tentative, like he’s always afraid of breaking something precious.

He sits on the edge of the bed and shifts me with him, hands on my waist, guiding me so I’m straddling his lap. My legs tremble against his thighs. My heart hammers wild and loose in my chest. He settles me, one hand braced at the small of my back, the other sliding down to cup the heat between my legs. I gasp at the contact, the aftershocks still rippling inside me.

“This is different from earlier,” he says, searching my face. “More than three fingers.”

“I know.”

“You’ve had tequila. You’ve had all of them. You’re high on the night.”

“And I still know what I want.”

He waits. Makes me hold his eyes. Makes me prove I’m here.

“Say it,” he says.

“I want you inside me, Knox. I’m choosing this. If I need to stop, I’ll stop.”

Only then does he shift enough for me to position myself over him, his massive head nudging against my swollen opening, slick with cum and arousal.

“Knox. I want you so bad.”

He groans and I lower myself slowly, gasping at the stretch—he’s enormous, filling me inch by inch, the pressure intense, burning but delicious all the same.

“That’s it, Fury—easy—fuck, you feel so good,” he praises, voice rough.

I sink lower, savoring the push and resistance, the impossible stretch. My body is so greedy for him that it molds to his shape, gripping, taking, holding. It’s overwhelming but I don’t want less—I want more, and more again. I ride him slow, all the others watching, every movement of my body a performance for us all. My hair sticks to my damp skin, my legs shake, and every time Irock down I catch a glimpse of how much he loves this—his jaw clenched, his hands tight on my waist, his eyes never leaving my face.

He starts to move with me, lifting me up and down like I’m weightless, his hands spanning my ribs as he matches my pace. It should be impossible, but I take all of him, wanting to prove I can—wanting to be the story he tells himself when he’s alone.

“God, Knox,” I gasp. “Harder. Please.” He grunts and shifts his grip and fucks up into me, and the jolt nearly knocks me off his lap, it’s so intense.

The others gather around, holding me, hands on my thighs, my waist, my shoulders, steadying, guiding, worshipping in touch and sound.

“Taking him like a queen, baby girl.”

“Beautiful, little savage—stretching around that monster cock.”

“Our perfect kitten—gonna come so hard on him.”

“You’re incredible, wildcat—made for this. Made for all of us.”

I don’t last three strokes. It’s that good, that much. I break apart on his cock, volcano-hot, shivering and gasping and clenched so tight I feel sure I’d fall if it wasn’t for the others holding me steady while I scream, I writhe, and then I collapse into Knox’s neck and sob out his name.

“Fuck, Fury.” Knox thrusts once more, burying himself to the hilt, coming with a raw, almost silent gasp. He holds my hips so I take every pulse, my walls fluttering around him, greedy to the last drop.

For a long moment, nobody moves. The room holds its breath—just bodies and heartbeats and the slow, ragged sound of everyone coming back to themselves.

Then Knox shifts, easing out of me and lowering us both down onto the mattress, and that small movement breaks thespell. The others move in around us, finding space, finding skin. Someone pulls the blanket up from the foot of the bed. Someone else kills the lamp. I don’t track who. I’m too undone for logistics.