Page 249 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"Okay," I breathe. "More."

Whiskey pushes the rest of the way and I feel it everywhere. In my spine, my thighs, the base of my skull. Plague groans, his hips twitching involuntarily.

I cry out.

His hands tighten on me and Plague captures my mouth, swallowing the sound, his tongue finding mine as his hips begin a slow, shallow roll. Whiskey pushes when Plague pushes, and the pressure and fullness force a broken moan out of me.

"I'm all the way in," Whiskey rumbles as I fall apart in his arms, my limbs going to noodles. "Good girl…"

Fuck, I love when he calls me that.

I grab Plague's hair with one hand and Whiskey's forearm with the other, holding on for dear life as they fuck me relentlessly, their knots bumping against my holes but not breaching just yet.

I don't know if I can take that.

"Wait," I manage to choke. "Wait, I need⁠—"

Plague freezes mid-thrust, his hands locking on my hips. Behind me, Whiskey exhales hard through his nose but doesn't pull out, just stops moving, his forehead dropping against the back of my head.

"Too much?" Whiskey asks.

"Not too much." I try to think through the fullness and the heat radiating everywhere at once. "Just… maybe a different angle." I gesture vaguely, because words are a struggle. "Plague on his back. Me on top. You behind me."

It takes some creative maneuvering, which shouldn't be sexy but somehow it absolutely is. Plague lies back against the pillow fortress, and Whiskey eases out of me, making me hiss out through my teeth.

I crawl forward and sink back down onto Plague, bracing my palms flat on his chest as Whiskey's weight settles against my back, his padded stomach warm against my spine.

The reality of how much alpha is currently involved in this situation becomes suddenly very vivid now that I'm sandwiched between the two of them. Pinned, actually.

Plague reaches up and cups the side of my face, pulling my focus back.

"Look at me," he says quietly.

I do, just as Whiskey finds his angle and pushes into me again. I bury my face into Plague's neck with a whimper.

"Fuck," Whiskey gasps above me, his hands bracing against the headboard so he doesn't crush me between them.

Every thrust pushes me into the other, and back, and the pressure is unreal as their knots start to press at my holes again. They're swollen enough that if I don't take them now, I might not be able to at all.

"Do it," I manage.

Plague knots me first in a slow, burning press. I lock around him with a pop that makes me cry out.

"Ivy—" he growls, his entire body going rigid beneath me.

Whiskey's forehead drops against the back of my neck.

"My turn," he rasps.

"Slow," I beg.

"I know, wildcat."

He pushes and the pressure doubles.

I bury my face in Plague's throat, teeth clenched, whimpering. Whiskey's knot is fucking ridiculous, stretching me past what I thought my body could take, and for one horrible second I think it's not going to⁠—

It locks.