Chapter 36: The Aftermath of the Nightmare
The nightmare came for her again that night, but this time it was different.
She woke with a gasp, her heart slamming against her ribs, the phantom echo of rough hands and harsh laughter still ringing in her ears. The dark pressed in around her, suffocating, and for a terrible, disorienting moment she didn't know where she was. She was back in the capital. She was back in that room with the stained sheets and the men who took and took and took.
Then she felt the weight of the bodies around her.
Alexsi's arm was a steel band across her waist, his chest a solid wall against her back. Andrey's massive frame was curved around her from the other side, his breath warm and even against her hair. She was sandwiched between them, cocooned in heat and muscle and the steady, reassuring rhythm of their sleeping breath.
The fear didn't fully recede, but it dimmed. It became a distant echo rather than a deafening roar.
She tried to slow her breathing, to match the rise and fall of Alexsi's chest, but the images from the dream clung to her like cobwebs. The feel of hands on her skin, the taste of fear in her mouth, the helpless, screaming silence of a girl who had learned that no one was coming to save her.
"Mila."
Alexsi's voice was rough with sleep, but alert. He shifted behind her, his arm tightening around her waist, pulling her closer. "You're shaking."
She opened her mouth to lie, to say she was fine, that it was nothing. But the words wouldn't come. All that came out was a small, broken sound, something between a sob and a whimper.
"We've got you," Andrey murmured from her other side, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "We've got you. You're safe. You're here with us."
"I know," she whispered, and the words felt like a prayer. "I know."
But the shaking wouldn't stop. It had taken root in her bones, a fine tremor that she couldn't control. She pressed herself closer to Alexsi, trying to burrow into his warmth, and he let her, his arms folding around her like a shield.
"Tell us what you need," he said, his lips brushing her temple. "Anything. Anything at all."
She was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the crackle of the fire in the stove and the soft patter of snow against the window. Then, in a voice so small it was almost swallowed by the dark, she said, "Make me feel safe. Please."
Andrey's hand stilled in her hair. Alexsi's breath caught.
"Are you sure?" Andrey asked, his voice low and careful. "We don't have to. We can just hold you."
"I know." She turned in their arms, facing first one, then the other. In the dim glow of the dying fire, their faces were all sharp angles and soft shadows, their eyes dark with concern. "But I need to feel it. I need to feel something good. I need to feel you."
Alexsi cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones. "We'll go slow. Tell us what you want. Tell us if you need to stop."
"I will," she promised.
He kissed her. It was soft at first, almost tentative, a question rather than a demand. She answered by pressing closer, her lips parting, her tongue sliding against his. Andrey's hand came to rest on her hip, a grounding weight, and she felt the heat begin to build in her belly, slow and molten.
They undressed her with reverence.
Alexsi's hands were steady as he pulled her nightshirt over her head, his eyes never leaving hers. Andrey worked the drawstring of her sleep pants loose, easing them down her hips, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her thighs. The air was cool against her bare flesh, but their heat was everywhere, surrounding her, sinking into her skin.
"You're so beautiful," Andrey breathed, his gaze tracing the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. "Every inch of you."
She felt a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. "I want to feel you too. I want to touch you."
They let her. Her hands found the hem of Alexsi's shirt, tugging it up, and he raised his arms, letting her strip it from him. His chest was a map of old scars and hard muscle, his skin warm and smooth beneath her palms. Andrey's shirt followed, and she marveled at the sheer scale of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms.
She touched them both, learning the landscape of their bodies with her fingertips. Alexsi's skin was taut over his ribs, the muscles of his abdomen ridged and firm. Andrey's chest was a wall of solid flesh, his nipples dark and sensitive beneath her teasing fingers. They let her explore, their breaths shallowing, their bodies responding to her touch.
"Mila," Alexsi groaned when her hand brushed the hard line of his cock through his sleep pants. "You're going to kill me."
She smiled, a small, wicked thing. "Not yet."
Andrey laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her bones. "The woman has a cruel streak. I like it."
She pushed Alexsi's pants down his hips, his cock springing free, thick and hard and flushed. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, learning the weight and feel of him. His head fell back, a low curse escaping his lips.
Then Andrey's hands found the waistband of his own pants, and he pushed them down, his cock jutting out, even bigger than Alexsi's, intimidating and beautiful. She reached for him too, her hand barely able to circle his girth, and he hissed through his teeth.
"Fuck, Mila. Your hands are like heaven."
She stroked them both, alternating, her fingers slick with the beads of moisture gathering at their tips. She was drenched herself, her thighs slick with arousal, her cunt aching with a hollow, hungry need.
"I want you," she breathed, looking at Alexsi. "I want you inside me. From behind."
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. "Whatever you want. Get on your hands and knees."
Andrey moved behind her, guiding her into position, his hands gentle on her hips as she settled onto her hands and knees in the center of the bed. The sheets were cool beneath her palms, the air heavy with the scent of sex and wood smoke.
Alexsi moved behind her, his hands finding her hips, his cock nudging at her entrance. She was wet, so wet, and he slid in with a slick, obscene sound that made her gasp. He stretched her, filled her, his thick length pressing deep, and she felt the familiar, exquisite burn of being taken.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Yes."
"Mila," Andrey said from in front of her, his voice thick. He had moved to kneel before her, his cock jutting from his body, glistening with her spit. "Look at me."
She lifted her eyes to his, and saw the hunger there, the desperate want. He was stroking himself, his massive hand working his shaft, his eyes fixed on her.
"Show me how much you want this," he said. "Open your mouth."
She obeyed, her lips parting, her tongue extending. He stepped closer, the head of his cock pressing against her lips, and she took him in, her mouth stretching wide to accommodate his girth. He was so big, so thick, and she had to relax her jaw to take him past the head.
"That's it," he groaned, his hand tangling in her hair. "Fucking perfect. Take it, my love."
Alexsi began to move behind her, his hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine. She moaned around Andrey's cock, the vibration making him shudder.
"Christ," Andrey gasped. "Do that again."
She did, sucking hard, her tongue curling along the underside of his shaft. Alexsi's rhythm picked up, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, and she was caught between them, filled front and back, taken and claimed in a way she had never been before.
Their moans mingled with the crackle of the fire, a symphony of wet sounds and heavy breathing and quiet curses. She felt the heat building in her core, coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure almost unbearable.
"Close," she gasped, pulling her mouth from Andrey's cock. "I'm so close."
"Come for us, Mila," Alexsi growled, his hand sliding around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it with practiced precision, rubbing hard, pushing her toward the edge. "Come for us and let us feel you."
She shattered.
It was quiet, as these things sometimes were. A sharp intake of breath, a violent shudder that rippled through her body, and then a slow, cascading wave of pleasure that rolled through her in undulating pulses. Her cunt clenched around Alexsi's cock, gripping him tight, and he groaned, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, Mila, that's it. That's everything."
Andrey's hand was in her hair, pulling her head back, and he fed his cock back into her mouth, thrusting in a desperate, needy rhythm. "Swallow it," he commanded, his voice thick with impending release. "Swallow it all."
He came with a roar, his cock pulsing in her mouth, hot and thick and salty as he spilled down her throat. She swallowed greedily, drinking him down, and the sight of it, the feel of it, sent Alexsi over the edge.
He buried himself deep, his hips grinding against her as he came, his release flooding her womb, hot and copious. She felt every pulse of him, every thick, wet spurt, and the feeling of being filled so completely made her shudder with aftershocks.
They collapsed in a sweaty heap.
Alexsi pulled out of her, his cock slipping free with a wet sound, and he fell beside her, his chest heaving. Andrey withdrew from her mouth, collapsing on her other side, his massive body shaking with the force of his release. She lay between them, spent and trembling, her body humming with a contentment she had never known.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The fire crackled. The wind moaned against the windows. And she lay there, sandwiched between the two men who had claimed her, body and soul.
"We need to clean her up," Andrey said eventually, his voice rough.
Alexsi nodded, pushing himself up. He went to the stove, where a pot of water had been heating, and poured some into a basin.