Chapter 2: Heat Frenzy
Kael’s rhythm was a brutal, pounding claim, each thrust jolting Emma’s body against the soft, crushed clothes beneath her. Her mewls were lost in the cacophony of rough breaths and the slick, wet sound of their joining. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, his green eyes fixed on where their bodies met, watching himself disappear into her, again and again.
“Tight little fucking pussy,” he grunted, his voice strained. “Gonna take all of me.”
“Not… just… you,” Emma managed to gasp, her head thrashing side to side. Rhys’s mouth was still on her breast, his tongue doing things that made her vision splinter. Jax’s clever fingers had found her clit, circling in time with Kael’s thrusts, building a coil of pressure so sharp it felt like glass in her veins.
Kael snarled, a purely animal sound, and drove deeper, hilted himself inside her with a final, shuddering roar. Heat flooded her, his release triggering her own. She came with a choked scream, her inner walls clenching around him in frantic pulses, her back bowing off the ground.
Before the last tremor had even faded, before the full, spent weight of him could settle on her, he was pulled away.
“My turn,” Jax said, his warm tone at odds with the fierce hunger in his golden eyes. He didn’t even try to be gentle. He rolled her onto her stomach, the moss cool against her fevered skin. He lifted her hips, his hands replacing Kael’s on her flesh. She was dizzy, oversensitive, her body singing from the last climax.
He entered her from behind in one smooth, powerful surge. It was a different angle, filling her in a new way, his pace immediately a steady, deep piston that had her scrambling for purchase in the fabric beneath her hands. He leaned over her, his sun-streaked hair falling around them, his mouth at her ear.
“You like that, yeah? Taking us all?” he murmured, his breath hot. He punctuated each word with a thrust. “Our sweet, filthy little cat.”
“Fuck, yes,” she sobbed, pushing back against him, driving him deeper. The pleasure was a relentless tide, pulling her under again. Jax was stamina incarnate, his rhythm unbreaking, each stroke igniting fresh sparks. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit once more, and that was all it took. She came a second time, a shorter, sharper peak that left her trembling and gasping, her cries muffled by the cloth in her mouth.
He lasted longer than Kael, his control a testament to his skill. When he finally spilled inside her with a low, rumbling groan, she was limp, dripping with sweat and their combined release.
The cool air on her wet skin was a shock. She felt emptied, used, perfect.
Strong, silent hands flipped her onto her back again. Zane. His gaze was a physical touch, intense and assessing. He didn’t speak. He simply hooked her legs over his massive shoulders, lowering himself over her. His cock, thick and veined, nudged at her abused, dripping entrance. She was so full, so stretched, she whimpered at the initial pressure.
He pushed in, and the stretch was exquisite, a bright border of pain that melted into overwhelming fullness. His pace was slow, deliberate, each withdrawal almost complete, each penetration a profound, claiming invasion. He watched her face, reading every flinch, every sigh. This wasn’t about conversation or competition. This was raw, primal communion. He shifted her hips, angling himself, and on the next deep drive, he hit a spot that made her see white.
She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that scared birds from the distant trees.
He found a rhythm targeting that same spot, again and again, a brutal, perfect punctuation that shattered any coherency left in her mind. Her third climax ripped through her, a tsunami that left her blind and shaking, her nails clawing at the earth. Only then did his control fracture, his hips stuttering, a hot, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he filled her yet again.
She was boneless, adrift. The scent of sex and sweat and pine was a thick blanket. She heard the creek bubbling, a distant, sane sound from another world.
Then Rhys was there.
While the others had been driven by possession or play or power, Rhys had waited. He had watched. Now, he moved like smoke. He didn’t mount her. He nudged Zane aside with a surprising strength, his amber eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Zane, spent, yielded with a low grunt.
“You’re not done, little queen,” Rhys murmured, his voice like a dark caress. “They’ve just warmed you up.”
He knelt between her splayed thighs, his lean frame elegant. His touch was different. Where the others had been hard, he was knowing. He traced the sensitive insides of her thighs, his fingers slick with her juices and their cum. He watched her face as he slowly circled her swollen clit with a feather-light touch that made her jolt.
“Please,” she begged, hoarse. She didn’t know what she was asking for.
“Shhh,” he soothed. Then he lowered his mouth.
His tongue was a revelation. It wasn’t hungry or rough. It was precise, tactical. He mapped her with flat, languid strokes, then focused on her clit with a flickering, relentless pressure that had her hips bucking off the ground. He slipped two fingers inside her, crooking them, finding a rhythm that matched his tongue. The combined sensation was too much. It was a slow, coiling build, not a frantic race.
“Rhys… I can’t… it’s too…”
“You can,” he said, his breath hot against her. “You will. Come for me.”
He increased the pressure, the speed. The coil snapped.
Her fourth climax wasn’t a sharp peak. It was a deep, rolling quake that started in her core and radiated outwards, a sustained, helpless pulsing. A gush of warmth followed, soaking his chin and her thighs. She squirted, the release shocking in its intensity, a helpless surrender to the mastery of his mouth. She cried out, a broken series of sobs, her body convulsing under his hold.
He didn’t stop. As the waves subsided, he gentled his touch, then built her again, his persistence terrifying. He brought her to a fifth, then a sixth climax, each one wrenched from her until she was sobbing his name, her voice raw, her body no longer her own.
Around them, the other men watched, their arousal renewed, the competitive fire stoked. Kael’s eyes were narrowed. Jax licked his lips. Zane’s hands were clenched into fists.
Rhys finally lifted his head, gleaming wet in the moonlight. He looked at the others, a silent challenge in his gaze. Then he looked down at Emma, wrecked and trembling beneath him.
“Who do you want now, Emma?” he asked quietly, his voice the only sound besides the creek and her ragged breaths. “Who gets to feel you next? You choose.”
Her body was a map of their possession—bruises from Kael’s grip, bite marks from Jax on her shoulder, the deep, satisfying ache Zane had left inside her, and the tingling, sensitive aftermath of Rhys’s expert mouth. The heat in her blood was a low, constant thrum, unsatisfied, demanding more. The night was still dark. The decision, as it had always been, was hers.
She turned her head, her eyes finding Kael’s in the shadows. The tiger’s aggression, his raw claim, called to the chaos still churning inside her. She licked her cracked lips.
“Him,” she whispered, nodding towards Kael. “Again. I want to feel him… after that.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Kael’s face. Rhys merely inclined his head, a subtle acknowledgment, and moved aside. The game was far from over.