Two weeks had passed since the weekend that changed everything.

Lucy had barely gone a day without texting Ray and Grant. Their group chat was a secret, buzzing with messages that made her blush behind closed doors—photos traded late at night, teasing promises of what they’d do when they finally got her alone again. She missed them. Desperately.

They missed her, too.

You looked so damn good last time. I can still taste you.

I’ve got plans for that dress, if you wear it.

I’ll be watching. And I want you to feel it.

Her phone buzzed with another message as she stood in front of her mirror.

Grant: That better be what you’re wearing today, baby girl.

She smiled.

The yellow sundress hugged her waist, dipping low to reveal the soft curve of her cleavage. The halter tie at her neck gave her shoulders that golden, open glow. Her gold hoops shimmered beneath her honey blonde waves, and her lips were painted a rich, sultry red. Her winged eyeliner was perfect—sharp enough to slice, her lashes long and dark. Her brown eyes gleamed like melted chocolate under the lights, glowing with just a touch of nerves—and excitement.

She added one last spritz of her coconut vanilla perfume and stepped into her white wedge heels, the kind that wouldn’t sink in Ray’s grass.

She looked good.

Too good.

The kind of good that wasn’t for Eric.

He appeared in the doorway just as she was checking her reflection one last time.

“Wow,” he said, stepping in and kissing her cheek. “You look amazing.”

His tone was soft, distant. Polite.

She smiled. “Thanks. You look great, too.”

He was wearing a fitted black tee that hugged his lean frame, his nicest jeans, and sneakers that still looked fresh out of the box. He smiled at her, but there was something dim in his eyes—like the spark had been gone for a while, and he hadn’t even noticed it.

They hadn’t touched—not really—since that weekend. No kisses beyond the casual, no lingering hands. No sex.

He hadn’t even tried.

And maybe that made it easier.

Because standing there with her body still humming from two weeks of stolen messages, with her chest tight and her thighs already aching for the men she hadn’t seen since they’d ruined her…

Lucy knew without a doubt.

Eric wasn’t hers anymore.

He never had been.

And today would only prove it.

The car ride to Ray’s had been quiet.

Not tense—just empty. Lucy stared out the window as Eric drove, the music low and forgettable, the kind of songs that passed without leaving anything behind. They made small talk, polite and careful, but it didn’t change the weight in her chest. Something between them was ending. She could feel it like a tide pulling back.

The moment they stepped out of the car and into the warm buzz of Ray’s backyard, the energy shifted.

Laughter rang out. A speaker pulsed music from the back porch. Smoke curled from the grill. Neighbors, friends, extended family—everyone seemed to be there, drink in hand, sun on their skin, easy smiles and good food in the air.

But Lucy only had eyes for one thing.

Or two.

She smiled, politely greeting a few people as they made their way through the yard and into the house, Eric peeling off to say hi to someone by the back door. She slipped into the kitchen, needing a second to breathe—and maybe something cold to hold in her hand.

She opened the fridge and pulled out a strawberry wine cooler.

The cap hissed as she twisted it off.

And then—bump.

A warm, solid chest brushed her back.

“Oops,” came the low, familiar voice behind her. “Sorry.”

She turned—and there he was.

Grant.

His green eyes gleamed down at her, that crooked grin already spreading across his devastatingly handsome face. His dark jeans hugged his lean frame, and his fitted shirt stretched just right over his chest and arms. He smelled so good—that same cologne that lingered in her sheets for days after the hotel. Clean. Expensive. His.

“You look scorching,” he murmured, his voice pitched low, only for her.

Her breath caught. She smiled, biting her lip as her heart started to thrum.

She leaned in just a fraction and whispered, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

His eyes flared—sharp, hot.

His grin widened. “You trying to kill me?”

She shrugged coyly, sipping her drink, her brown eyes wide and innocent.

Grant stepped closer, checking behind him once, then backing her gently into the far corner of the kitchen. His body loomed over hers—6’3 to her 5’6, tall and commanding, crowding her in the best way.

His hand came up, fingers curling under her chin. Just two. Just enough to tilt her face toward his.

“You’re lucky there are people here,” he murmured, lips nearly brushing hers. “If we were alone right now, I’d bend you over this counter and remind you what a good little slut you are for me.”

Lucy’s knees weakened.

Her breath hitched.

He was dangerous like this—smiling, calm, hands off, but barely.

And all she could think about was how fast she wanted the day to pass, just to get him alone again.

Grant’s eyes gleamed with something feral, something entirely male. He reached out, his fingertip trailing down the line of Lucy’s neck, slow and soft—but with a weight that made her breath catch.

Her pulse jumped beneath his touch.

He felt it.

And grinned.

His teeth were white, sharp, wolfish. “I can’t wait to rip that dress off you,” he murmured. “And remind you who you belong to.”

Lucy swallowed hard, her body buzzing, mouth open to respond—when a sudden sound cut through the haze.

A throat clearing.

She jumped, nerves zipping through her, heart pounding.

Grant didn’t move.

But Lucy turned.

Ray stood in the kitchen doorway, his tall frame relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way his blue eyes locked onto hers.

He filled the space with just his presence—broad shoulders in a crisp blue button-up, sleeves rolled up over his forearms, veins visible on his strong arms. His jaw was dusted in salt-and-pepper stubble, his expression unreadable, sharp, commanding.

Grant stepped back, not out of guilt, but out of deference, making space.

Ray walked up, slow and controlled, stopping just in front of Lucy.

She could barely breathe.

Her lips parted.

And he slid two fingers between them.

Not rough. Not rushed. Just enough to feel the heat of her mouth again, the softness of her red lips around his skin.

“I’ve missed the way your mouth feels,” he said, voice low, edged with something dark and full of longing.

Her breath shuddered through her nose as she looked up at him, wide-eyed, caught and trembling.

“You look…” He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning her slowly, deliberately. “Unbelievably sexy, Lucy.”

She swallowed, lips still parted. “So do you.”

His smile flickered—something restrained and wicked beneath the surface—but then it was gone.

They heard voices approaching from the hallway.

Without another word, Ray stepped back.

Lucy, dazed and flushed, grabbed her wine cooler and smoothed her dress as the three of them filed out toward the backyard, casual and unbothered to anyone watching.

But her body was already burning.

And they hadn’t even started yet.

The afternoon wore on in a haze of sun and laughter.

The yard was buzzing—neighbors flipping burgers, kids squealing through sprinklers, adults swapping stories under the shade of the back porch. Ray moved through the crowd like he owned it, beer in hand, greeting people with that easy charm that made everyone feel at home.

Lucy played the role perfectly.

She laughed at the right moments, complimented someone’s pasta salad, and stood at Eric’s side when he introduced her to someone from his old school. She even kissed his cheek once when someone made a joke, her smile perfectly placed.

But inside, she was wired tight.

Three wine coolers in, her skin warm and glowing, Lucy finally slipped back into the kitchen, already reaching for another from the fridge. The coolness of the bottle felt good in her hand, the glass slick with condensation as she twisted the cap.

Then—

That voice.

Low. Rough. Commanding.

“You better not grab that.”

She froze.

Grant.

She turned slowly to find him standing near the doorway, arms folded, his green eyes hard on her. Not cruel. Not even angry. Just… firm.

“You need water,” he said, voice quieter now. “And food. You’ve been in the sun all day.”

She raised a brow, tipsy heat making her bold. She slid a hand to her hip, tilting slightly, the bottle still dangling in her other hand.

“Or what?” she asked, tone teasing but sharp. “You’re not my father. Maybe you need another beer.”

Grant’s jaw tightened.

In two steps, he was in front of her, grabbing the wrist that sat on her hip. He didn’t yank, didn’t hurt—but he moved, and that was enough. Her breath caught as he dragged her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, his grip steady and determined.

She didn’t resist.

He opened the guest bathroom and ushered her inside, shutting the door behind them. The lock clicked.

They stared at each other—chests rising and falling, the room thick with heat and tension.

He didn’t yell.

He just looked at her with those dark, unreadable eyes and said, “You want to act like a brat, Lucy? Fine. Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Before she could respond, he turned her around and bent her forward over the vanity counter. Her hands caught the edge as his palm landed across her backside with a sharp, precise smack.

She gasped, the sting blooming instantly through the thin fabric of her dress.

Grant leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “When I tell you to drink water and eat something,” he growled, “it’s because I care. But if you want to test me? If you want to push?”

His hand came down again—firmer this time, the sound sharp in the small room.

“You’ll get punished for it.”

Lucy’s breath trembled. Her lips parted. Her body thrummed with fire and something deeper—something primal.

And when she looked at him in the mirror, eyes glassy and lips swollen—

She didn’t see anger.

She saw want.

And it made her knees weak.

Grant’s hand didn’t leave her.

His palm slid slowly over the curve of her backside, the thin yellow fabric of her sundress bunched around her waist now. With one firm tug, he yanked the dress up higher, revealing everything.

She wasn’t lying.

There was nothing underneath.

His breath hitched.

Her skin was creamy, flushed faint from the heat and the sting of his earlier smacks. She looked over her shoulder, biting her lip, brown eyes wide and wicked.

Grant’s jaw tightened, his eyes raking over her. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said, voice low, dark. “Wearing nothing. Talking back. Tempting me at a damn family barbecue.”

He stepped closer, the heat of him burning against the back of her thighs.

“I’m going to make your skin tender and pink, Lucy. And then maybe you’ll remember how to behave.”

His hand came down again—sharp, heated.

Lucy gasped, her fingers gripping the edge of the vanity.

“Count it,” he said, his voice a command.

“One,” she whispered, her voice trembling with more than just the sting.

Another landed—firmer, perfectly placed.

“Two…”

Her thighs clenched together, her body already aching.

Three.

“Three,” she moaned, breath shaky.

By the fourth, she was nearly breathless.

“Four…”

Her dress was hiked, her skin marked by his touch, her hair slightly mussed. She looked back at him again, her mouth curled into something almost sinful.

Still warm with wine, bold and burning, she tilted her head and said, “You’re not doing a very good job making me listen, you know.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed.

Lucy’s smile widened.

“I think I need a harder lesson… Daddy.”

The word snapped something in the air.

His hand slid into her hair, tugging her back upright against his chest, his breath heavy in her ear, his voice nothing but gravel.

“You keep that mouth going,” he said, “and you’re not walking back to that barbecue.”

She shivered—then smiled.

She didn’t want to walk.

Lucy pressed her hips back against him, slow and purposeful, grinding just enough for him to feel the curve of her body against the growing hardness behind his zipper. She wasn’t subtle. She wasn’t pretending.

Her body was begging.

Grant let out a rough breath, the heat between them boiling over.

“Keep testing me,” he growled.

She looked at him through the mirror, her red lips parted, her eyes shimmering with heat and rebellion. Then—deliberately—she rolled her hips again, slow and taunting.

Grant’s hand moved to her hair, wrapping the golden strands around his wrist and pulling her head back just enough to keep her gaze fixed on her reflection. Then he pressed her forward, slow and firm, until her cheek met the cool glass, her breath fogging it with every exhale.

She smiled—that smile.

“Is my punishment over yet, Daddy?” she asked, voice soft and wicked. “Or do I need more?”

Grant’s jaw clenched. His breath hitched as he reached down, undoing his belt with one hand, the sound sharp in the silent bathroom. He freed himself, the tension between them snapping like a wire pulled too tight.

He dragged himself slowly over her slick, wanting entrance—not inside yet, just a tease. Just enough for her to feel how ready he was. How much control he still held.

“You need to be quiet,” he whispered against her ear. “Because Daddy’s about to show you what happens when you’re bad.”

His voice was thick, dangerous, and full of promise.

And Lucy?

Flattened against the mirror, her hips bare, her breath fast, her skin marked from his hand—

She’d never felt more alive.

Lucy couldn’t help herself.

She rolled her hips back again, impatient and aching, silently daring him to lose control. Grant growled low in his throat, her defiance pushing him over the edge.

Then, without warning, he slammed into her in one fluid, powerful motion.

Lucy cried out, the sound sharp and helpless as her body arched, her hands bracing against the mirror.

Grant’s hand snapped around her waist, holding her still as he leaned in, teeth grit.

“Shut up,” he hissed in her ear. “You want everyone outside to hear how badly you need my cock?”

She whimpered, breath catching in her throat, her head turning against the glass, eyes fluttering shut as the sheer fullness of him spread through her—hard, deep, unrelenting.

She loved it.

Every inch of her was trembling, stretched, filled.

Grant reached for the nearby towel rack, grabbed a small hand towel, and gently pressed it against her mouth, his palm firm behind it.

“Bite down,” he whispered. “You don’t get to be loud.”

Her moans were muffled now, soft and broken against the fabric, her eyes glimmering with submission and heat as he began to move.

Slow.

But hard.

Each thrust sent another wave of sensation up her spine, the mirror fogging with her breath, her knees nearly giving out beneath the rhythm.

“Look at you,” Grant murmured behind her, his voice dark and filthy, breath ghosting over her skin. “Bent over, soaked cunt dripping down my pants ,still begging for more. You live to be punished, don’t you?”

She moaned against the towel, her answer obvious in the way her hips pushed back into him again.

Grant’s grip on her waist tightened, and his rhythm never faltered.

He wasn’t just taking her.

He was owning her.

Grant’s pace shifted—no more restraint, no more pretending he could keep calm.

He gripped Lucy’s hips harder, slamming into her with deeper, rougher intensity. Each movement sent her forward against the mirror, her palms splayed for balance, her mouth parted in soft, broken sounds.

The neckline of her sundress slipped lower with every thrust, until her breasts tumbled free—bouncing with the rhythm of his body, flushed and perfect.

Grant’s breath hitched at the sight, and he leaned in close, his voice low and dark near her ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So damn pretty like this… taken like this. Milking my cock.”

His words ran molten down her spine, dragging a moan from her throat.

Her body tightened—everything in her winding tighter, breath shorter, the sensation building like a wave just behind her ribs.

The towel she’d been biting slipped from her mouth and hit the floor.

“I’m close,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please—faster, Daddy. I need it. Please fuck me.”

Grant growled low in response, his rhythm increasing. The sound of skin against skin, the wet slide of movement, her soft cries—it all blurred into one wild, pulsing heat.

Her body clenched around him, drawn toward the edge with every breathless second. Her hands curled around the sink, her knees weak, her vision beginning to blur as the heat behind her belly flashed hot, fast, and inevitable.

And behind her, Grant never stopped.

He drove her toward it—deliberate, hungry. Grant lost the last of his control.

His rhythm turned fast, relentless—every movement deeper, harder, driving her toward the edge with reckless abandon. The heat in the small bathroom swelled around them, her moans rising louder, uncontainable.

“To hell with being quiet,” he growled under his breath.

Still, he reached down, scooping up the towel from the floor and pressing it gently back over her mouth, his palm firm over it. She arched in response, the pressure, the heat, the grip—all of it tipping her closer to the edge.

“Eyes on me,” he said, his voice low, commanding. “Look at yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming apart for me.”

Lucy did.

Her gaze met his in the mirror—flushed cheeks, parted lips, golden hair messy from his grip. She barely recognized herself. And she’d never looked more alive.

Then—

Knock knock.

Both of them froze.

“Anyone in there?” came a familiar voice.

Eric.

Lucy’s heart slammed in her chest.

Grant didn’t move at first. His hand tightened on her mouth. He leaned in slowly, his lips grazing her ear.

“Yes,” he called, voice steady. “I’m in here.”

A pause.

Then Eric again, sounding casual. “Oh—okay. No rush.”

His footsteps retreated down the hall.

Grant waited one beat… then two.

And then his hand slipped between her thighs again, fingers finding that sensitive spot with practiced ease. He rubbed fast, precise, while his hips resumed their punishing rhythm. He spanked her aching clit.

She whimpered beneath his hand, her eyes wide, frantic.

“This,” Grant growled, “is exactly why I told you to stay quiet. So your pathetic little boyfriend wouldn’t hear his girl getting her sweet cunt filled with come by his uncle.”

Her entire body trembled.

He leaned back, gave her another sharp swat, and whispered, “Let go.”

Faster now. His voice rough, low, right behind her ear.

“Be a good girl for daddy.  Come for me. Right fucking now.”

And she did.

Her body snapped—clenching, shaking, overwhelmed—as her eyes locked on her reflection and her release took her whole. Her cry was muffled against the towel, but her body said it all.

And Grant held her through every second of it, whispering praise into her skin as she gripped him hard and he shot his hot load into her tight pussy, never letting go.

Lucy could barely stand, legs shaking, her breath coming in soft gasps as Grant held her tight against him. His body was still pressed to hers, his chest rising and falling with exertion, lips near her temple.

And then, still inside her, he groaned low and spilled into her, his grip tightening around her waist. The sound he made was rough and quiet, full of need and something deeper. Something that sounded like relief.

They stayed like that for a moment. Silent. Shaking.

Then Grant pressed a kiss to her shoulder and slowly pulled away.

He turned gentle immediately, careful. He reached for tissues and softly cleaned her up, his hands warm and reverent as he wiped her thighs, fixed the hem of her dress, made sure no trace of what had happened would be visible to anyone but them.

Her sundress was smoothed down.

Her makeup checked.

Her lipstick touched up with a careful swipe of her finger.

Her golden hair tucked back behind her ears.

She looked in the mirror—still flushed, still glowing—and exhaled softly as he stood behind her, watching her with something like pride.

He leaned in, slid his arms around her waist, and kissed her deeply—slow, thorough, full of quiet affection.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Lucy smiled, her fingers running along his jaw. “I missed you too.”

They didn’t speak again.

Just breathed.

When the moment passed, Grant unlocked the door and opened it, letting Lucy walk out first with her bottle of water in hand.

She smoothed her dress again, turned the corner—

And bumped straight into Ray.

He leaned against the hallway wall with his arms crossed, his smirk lazy, eyes bright.

“Well, well,” he said, raising a brow. “Where’d you two disappear off to?”

Before she could stammer out a reply, Grant stepped out behind her and clapped Ray on the shoulder.

“She needed to be shown a lesson,” he said casually, grinning.

Ray laughed, that warm, low sound. “Lucky girl.”

Lucy’s face went pink, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she ducked her head and kept walking.

She grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, a small plate of fruit and crackers, and headed outside. The sun was lower now, casting gold across the backyard. Music still played, people still chatted, completely unaware of what had just happened down the hall.

Lucy sank into a patio chair near the edge of the crowd, legs crossed, sipping her water slowly.

She felt deliciously wrecked. Satisfied. Seen.

And her eyes scanned the crowd—quietly searching for the next time she’d catch their attention again.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The sun was beginning to dip low, casting a soft amber haze across the backyard, but Lucy couldn’t sit still. Her skin still tingled from earlier. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, not with nerves—but with want.

Eric barely noticed her leave.

He and a few of his friends were huddled around the outdoor TV, shouting at a baseball game, drinks in hand, completely absorbed. She leaned over and stretched with a soft sigh, then touched his arm lightly.

“I’m gonna go lie down for a bit,” she said sweetly. “In the guest room.”

Eric barely looked away from the screen. “Okay, babe.” He kissed her cheek without focus and turned right back to the game.

Lucy walked away, barefoot now, dress fluttering at her thighs.

But she didn’t go to the guest room.

She went upstairs.

To Ray’s room.

The air was cool and still inside. His space smelled like cedar and something darker—his cologne, lingering on the bedding, in the air. Her pulse raced as she shut the door softly behind her and turned the lock.

She peeled the yellow sundress off her body in one slow, deliberate motion and let it fall to the floor. Every inch of her was flushed, bare, humming. Needing.

Then she crossed to the closet, found one of Ray’s ties—navy blue, soft silk—and wrapped it around her eyes. The darkness made every breath sharper, every sensation more vivid.

She climbed onto the bed, knees wide, chest low to the sheets, and raised her hips into the air.

Exposed.

Waiting.

She grabbed her phone and typed one text: come find me. upstairs. now.

She tossed the phone aside, heart thudding in her ears.

It wasn’t long.

The door opened.

Boots crossed the threshold.

And then—

A low whistle.

“Well,” Grant murmured, voice filled with lazy awe. “Looks like someone left us a present.”

Ray made a sound deeper. Rougher.

A groan from somewhere in his chest.

“Damn,” he breathed.

Then footsteps moved closer. Slower. The bed dipped.

And Lucy gasped softly as warm hands gripped her thighs and a mouth—his mouth—pressed between them. His tongue tasting her, thrusting in and out of her soaked hole.

Ray.

She knew it was him by the way he devoured.

By the way he made her fall apart without a single word.

And somewhere behind him, Grant’s voice purred, “We better unwrap her properly. Wouldn’t want to waste a gift like this.”

Lucy’s breath came in short, desperate gasps as Ray’s mouth worked between her thighs with deliberate, devastating focus. The silk tie over her eyes made everything feel sharper—every flick of his tongue, every low growl reverberating against her skin.

She heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor.

Soft thuds.

Zippers.

The quiet rustle of fabric being stripped away.

Her body shuddered.

Ray didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down—gripping her thighs harder, his mouth moving with such skill, such hunger, she cried out without shame.

“Ray—” she gasped. “I’m—I’m gonna—soon—FUCK!”

He growled against her, deep and satisfied, as if her helplessness was exactly what he wanted to hear. His mouth never let up, lips and tongue pulling every ragged moan from her until her arms trembled under her.

Then—

Grant.

His hands, warm and strong, slid down the length of her back, fingers trailing her spine like he was mapping her piece by piece.

“Come for him,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of command. “Come on, sweetheart. Let him taste it. He wants it. Let him taste where I just filled that pussy up only a couple hours ago.

Ray groaned low in agreement, his grip tightening.

Lucy arched, her body on fire, so close it almost hurt. The pressure inside her pulsed, coiled, ready to snap.

Lucy shattered.

Her body arched as the climax tore through her—raw, shaking, unstoppable. Her breath caught, her fingers twisting into the sheets as Ray held her steady, mouth still working her through every last wave. Her thighs trembled, her skin flushed, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.

Ray pulled back slowly, leaving a final kiss against her inner thigh. Behind her, Grant brushed her hair back gently, whispering a soft, “That’s our girl.”

They both chuckled, low and pleased, basking in the sight of her—undone, glowing, beautiful.

Ray looked up and murmured, “I’ve never tasted anything better.”

Lucy, breathless and trembling, slowly sat back onto her knees, her fingers reaching up to untie the silk blindfold. The fabric slipped from her eyes, and she blinked up at them, both of them, standing there, fully bare, fully ready.

She reached out, one hand wrapping around Grant, the other sliding up Ray’s chest. She leaned forward and took Ray’s thick cock into her mouth first, slow, deliberate, full of intent. Her tongue moved with quiet hunger, her gaze flicking between them as she stroked Grant’s hard cock with steady rhythm.

Their groans filled the room.

She pulled back with a wet pop, her lips red, her eyes heavy.

“I need you,” she whispered, dark and aching. “Both of you. I’m tired of waiting.”

Grant’s hand tightened in her hair. Ray’s jaw clenched.

Then she looked up between them, eyes blazing.

“I need you everywhere,” she said. “I want to be filled—claimed. Just fuck me, I don’t care anymore.”

Her voice dropped lower, more wicked. “You’ve already ruined me. Now finish it.”

Lucy’s lips were slick, red, parted with hunger as she moved between them, kneeling like she was made to be there, her hands and mouth working in tandem.

She took Grant into her mouth, slow and deep, her tongue teasing, lips wrapped tight as her hand slid down Ray’s length in smooth, steady strokes. Grant groaned above her, his fingers twitching at his sides, his control fraying.

Then she pulled back with a wet gasp and turned to Ray again, swapping without hesitation, her mouth wrapping around him with a deep hum of pleasure.

They were both panting now. Watching her. Shaking their heads with disbelief.

“Jesus,” Ray breathed, one hand tangling in her hair. “You keep that up and I’m gonna come quick.”

Lucy smirked around him, then pulled back and licked her lips, her voice laced with wicked intent. “Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I like knowing you’re both losing it for me.”

She turned to Grant again, taking him in with a deep, wet pull, her hand never leaving Ray.

Her voice came muffled, teasing. “You like watching, Daddy? Watching me be a good little whore for both of you?”

Ray cursed low. “You’re gonna pay for that mouth.”

Lucy pulled back just enough to grin, her voice thick with challenge. “You promise, Sir?”

She kept swapping, sucking harder, deeper, faster now—on one, then the other—letting her tongue and hands drive them closer and closer to the edge.

Ray’s grip in her hair tightened. His breathing turned ragged. “I swear—Lucy—if you don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She looked up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Do it,” she whispered. “Cover me with it. I want to feel it.”

The sound Ray made was somewhere between a growl and a moan, his restraint unraveling completely. Grant stroked himself to the scene and finished, joining Ray's jets of come and covering their sweet Lucy with thick ropes of white.

Lucy kept working them both—lips, hands, her voice a perfect blend of filth and sweetness, coaxing and daring them with every glance, every breath.

Ray’s hand tightened in her hair, his other braced on her shoulder. His voice cracked as he growled her name, his restraint gone. Grant wasn’t far behind, his jaw clenched, his breathing harsh as her hands stroked and squeezed, her tongue teasing him mercilessly.

They both came undone almost at once—deep groans, breathless curses, heat spilling over her bare chest and throat, warm and sudden.

Lucy gasped softly as it landed on her skin, eyes wide, her body humming with satisfaction as she looked up at them with something close to reverence.

She didn’t hesitate.

With a slow, wicked grin, she dragged her hands through the mess on her chest, smoothing it across her skin like it belonged there. Her fingers moved over the swell of her breasts, up her neck, the shine catching in the low light.

Then, watching their blown-out expressions, she brought her fingers to her mouth and licked.

Grant cursed low under his breath. Ray just stared, his chest still heaving.

And Lucy, glowing, smeared and claimed, scooped more with her fingers and reached between her thighs—her breath hitching as she pressed it back into her still-slick heat.

“Just making sure I keep it all,” she whispered, voice breathless and dark.

Neither man moved.

They just watched her, stunned and wrecked and utterly hers.

Lucy’s breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling as she sat back on her knees in the center of the bed, glowing, flushed, and utterly unashamed. Her skin shimmered with the heat of their shared aftermath, and she wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

Her fingers dipped low again, scooping up what was left on her soft skin. She brought it between her thighs, slipping it back inside her, slow and deliberate. Her breath caught, her body twitching, her eyes never leaving theirs.

She moved again, fingers sliding deeper, her moans soft but unmistakable.

And she watched them.

Grant stood at the edge of the bed, his chest still heaving from release, eyes locked on her like she was some holy vision he didn’t dare interrupt.

Ray leaned back against the headboard, muscles tense, gaze sharp and unreadable, like he was trying to decide between awe and hunger.

Lucy smiled—that smile—and moaned as her fingers worked deeper.

“You like watching your girl keep every drop?” she asked, her voice soft and sinful. “You like seeing me so full… still playing with it like I can’t help myself?”

Ray’s jaw clenched.

Grant’s breathing started to shift again—shallower, heavier.

“You’re both getting hard again, aren’t you?” she purred. “Can’t help it. You need me just as much as I need you.”

She bit her lip as her back arched, her moan slipping through the quiet like a siren song.

“I can take more,” she whispered. “I want more.”

She dragged her fingers out slow, glistening and slick, and brought them to her lips again, sucking softly.

And that was all it took.

Ray’s hand curled into the sheets.

Grant stepped forward with a curse under his breath.

They hadn’t even caught their breath—

And already, they were ready.

Lucy’s breath came in slow, ragged waves as her fingers slid in and out, her body trembling, flushed, still shining from their shared release. Her brown eyes locked onto them—hungry, challenging.

Her voice was velvet and fire. “Two weeks,” she breathed. “Two long weeks without either of you.”

She arched again, fingers pressing deeper, dragging a moan from her lips. “And now I need my strong men to show me what I’ve been missing.”

Grant’s jaw flexed, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ray shifted on the bed, already stirring again, watching her like a man starving.

“You gonna just watch me,” she whispered, “or are you gonna fuck me like you promised?”

That did it.

Grant snapped.

He crossed the space in two steps, his hand wrapping around her jaw, tilting her face up toward him. His grip was firm, but not cruel. Just commanding. And Lucy melted beneath it.

“You want to act like a little brat again?” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Then don’t expect to be treated like a good girl.”

Her lips parted, breath catching. She stared up at him, defiant, wild, burning.

“Fuck behaving,” she whispered. “I don’t want gentle. I want you. I want both of you—inside me. Now.”

Ray let out a low, guttural sound behind her, already moving toward the edge of the bed.

Lucy’s body was lit with fire.

And she was done asking.

Ray snapped.

His blue eyes locked with Grant’s, and in perfect silent agreement, they moved.

Hands found her waist, her thighs, her wrists—lifting her light frame between them with ease. She gasped, breathless and burning, as they guided her onto Ray’s lap. He leaned back against the headboard, his hands firm on her hips as she straddled him, her legs spread over his thighs, chest-to-chest.

She met his eyes.

Then reached down.

With a slow, aching moan, she sank onto him, inch by inch, her head falling forward onto his shoulder as he filled her completely. Ray groaned, teeth gritted, his grip tightening.

“Yes,” Lucy chanted, breath catching. “Yes, yes—more.”

She began to move, grinding her hips, soft cries tumbling from her lips.

Then she felt Grant behind her again—one hand on her back, the other guiding himself.

He gathered her slick heat, coated himself, and pressed gently against her other entrance. She shivered, already breathless, already begging.

The pressure grew, steady and overwhelming, until—

“Ah—” she cried out, back arching, hands clutching Ray’s shoulders.

Grant eased in, slowly, stretching her completely until she was full—so full she could barely breathe.

And then she was there.

Taken.

Held.

Owned.

Her head dropped back between them, her mouth open in a moan that filled the room.

“I love this,” she whimpered. “I love when you both fill me.”

Ray kissed her shoulder, her neck, murmuring praise against her skin.

Grant growled low behind her, his breath hot against her spine.

And together, they began to move—slow, deep, relentless.

Lucy trembled.

And smiled.

Lucy couldn’t hold back anymore.

Her moans grew louder, desperate, rising with every movement, every deep thrust that filled her completely. Her body trembled between them, stretched and overwhelmed, but craving more with every second.

Her hips rolled in steady, grinding rhythm—forward onto Ray, then back against Grant—matched perfectly by the power of their hands guiding her, holding her, owning her.

Ray was beneath her, his hands caressing her waist, his mouth trailing kisses over the tops of her soft breasts. He groaned against her skin, open-mouthed and reverent, tasting the heat of her as she cried out again.

“Ray,” she whimpered. “Please—give it to me. Don’t stop, don’t stop—give it to me.”

She moved faster, hips grinding harder, chasing the rhythm of their bodies.

Behind her, Grant leaned in, his mouth hot on her neck, teeth grazing the tender skin of her shoulder. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still before slamming forward again, deeper.

She gasped, cried out, her head falling back between them.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice unraveling. “Please—harder, Daddy. Please, sir… give me more.”

Grant growled low in his throat, his hips snapping into her with raw force, every word she moaned lighting him up like fire.

Ray lifted his head and took one of her breasts into his mouth, slow and gentle in contrast to the frenzy building beneath her. His tongue flicked over the soft peak before drawing it in deeper, sucking until her back arched and her moan turned into a cry.

Something inside Ray snapped.

The sound of Lucy’s begging—desperate, unfiltered, her voice raw with need—sent a bolt of fire through him. She gripped him tighter, grinding down with every breathless moan, and it pushed him past the edge of control.

He growled low in his throat, grabbed her hips harder, and began to thrust up into her with deep, punishing force. The bed rocked beneath them, every movement sending a wild tremor through her body.

“You want it like this?” he gritted. “You need it this bad?”

Behind her, Grant slammed into her with matching power, one hand gripping her waist, the other coming down with a firm spank that made her cry out and shake.

“You’re doing this while your boyfriend’s outside,” Grant growled, breath hot against her ear. “Yard full of people who think you’re his sweet little girlfriend… and here you are—stuffed full, begging for us.”

Ray’s teeth grazed her chest, then bit softly before his mouth closed around her breast, licking, sucking, claiming. She raked her nails down his back, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely.

“I don’t care,” she screamed. “I don’t give a damn about him!”

Her voice broke as she cried out again, overwhelmed, her body burning.

“You both feel so good,” she sobbed. “Please—please, please—don’t stop, keep giving it to me—please!”

Grant groaned behind her, hips slamming harder.

Ray pulled her tighter against him, his voice pure gravel.

“Beg for it,” he ordered. “Beg for both of us.”

And she did.

She gave herself up to the rhythm, to the rawness, to the way they owned her.

Between them—taken, wild, screaming—Lucy wasn’t pretending anymore.

Grant’s hand tangled in Lucy’s long blonde hair, yanking her head back just enough to make her moan and cry out, her throat arched, her lips parted in pure surrender.

“Tell us,” he growled, breath rough against her ear. “Who do you belong to?”

She gasped, her voice catching before she screamed, “You! Ray—Grant—I’m yours!”

Ray’s hands gripped her hips tightly, his thrusts turning brutal, claiming. “Say it louder,” he snarled. “I can’t hear you, baby.”

She chanted it again, raw and wrecked, her body shaking as she begged. “Yours! I’m yours!”

Their rhythm was savage, the room filled with slick, shameless sounds, her cries echoing as her body was pushed to the edge.

Then—

The door creaked.

Opened.

A cool breeze slipped into the room.

They heard it.

But neither man stopped.

And neither did Lucy.

Grant growled something primal, his hand fisting tighter in her hair.

Ray’s gaze cut toward the door—and saw.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand slid around Lucy’s body, between her thighs, and found her most sensitive place with expert touch. Two quick flicks, precise, devastating.

She screamed—loud, uncontrolled.

“Yes! Right there! Right there, Daddy!” Her voice cracked as her whole body shattered. “So good! Use me—use me more!”

Ray didn’t look away from the door.

Didn’t hide.

Didn’t care.

Whoever saw them—whoever stood there, watching—it didn’t matter.

Because Lucy had made her choice. Grant didn’t stop.

Ray didn’t even flinch.

The open door behind them no longer mattered. It became fuel. Proof.

Because whoever was standing there, watching silently—they weren’t a threat.

They were a witness.

And these men wanted to be seen.

Grant grabbed a fistful of Lucy’s hair, pulling her head back just enough to make her moan louder, her body pressed between them, trembling, dripping, claimed.

“You watching this?” Grant’s voice was rough, breathless. “You seeing how she begs for us? How she loves being taken like this? Do you hear her fucking whimpers of pleasure at being filled with our cocks? Do you hear the difference of her real moans compared to the ones she faked to satisfy you?”

Ray’s hand curled around her waist as he pounded harder, sweat glistening at his temples, his tone pure fire. “She doesn’t cry out like that for you,” he growled past Lucy’s ear. “She never did.”

Lucy sobbed, her body locking down around them both, hips grinding in desperation as she cried, “I’m gonna—oh my God, I’m gonna come again!”

Grant grinned against her neck, licking the mark he left. “Do it, baby. Show him what it looks like when you’re satisfied.”

Ray kissed her chest, biting gently as his voice dropped to a filthy, possessive murmur. “Yeah, let him hear it. Let him know you don’t need anyone but us. He’s nothing to you now. Let him hear how badly you needed to be fucked by real men.”

“You’re ours,” Grant added, slamming harder, deeper. “Our girl. Our sweet, filthy girl.”

Lucy’s cries turned ragged, uncontrolled.

“Please!” she screamed. “Right there—please don’t stop!”

And just before the next wave took her, Ray turned toward the open door—his voice low, cold, final.

“You see that face she makes?” he growled. “You’ll never see it again.”

Then he found her sweet spot with two brutal strokes, and Lucy shattered.

She screamed.

For them.

Only them.

And the house filled with the sound of a woman who had given up every ounce of shame and found something far better in its place:

Freedom.

Their names fell from her lips in broken gasps, her fingers digging into Ray’s shoulders, her back arching as she trembled between them—utterly filled.

They moved faster now, rough and unrelenting, their bodies drawn tighter, closer, the rhythm driven by the raw need to claim her completely.

And as Lucy cried out again, clenching around them, pleading through moans and whimpers, they broke too.

“Lucy,” Grant growled through clenched teeth, his voice shaking.  He spread her ass apart and rammed that little hole for all he was worth. “Take my fucking come in your tight ass. Take this fucking cock—fuck!”

Ray’s hand cradled her neck, squeezing lightly, his hand applying pressure making her pussy squeeze him like a vice,  his other gripping her thigh as he thrust up hard. “Take it like you never took it from him,” he hissed. “Milk my cock with this tight cunt. You fucking take my come inside your cunt. I’m going to paint your walls white with my load. You hear me?”

Their groans filled the air, overlapping, thick with release.

And Lucy did—she took it all.

Her body jolted, another climax wracking through her, overwhelming her senses until she could only breathe in short, ragged gasps.

Grant slid out first, breathless, and she whimpered as warmth spilled from her—evidence of everything they gave her. Ray held her tighter, then eased her gently back onto the bed, her body flushed, marked, still trembling. His own release followed—clear and visible between her thighs as she lay there, stretched and thoroughly ruined in the best way.

They all breathed hard.

Still.

Then—

From the doorway, a voice.

“What the fuck.”

Eric.

He stood just inside, stunned into silence, staring at Lucy laid bare between his father and uncle. Her skin gleamed with sweat, her lips parted, her body still twitching from pleasure.

But she didn’t look at him with guilt.

Just nothing.

Ray moved first, slipping on his boxers, not rushing.

Grant stood too, grabbing a towel and walking to the bed. He knelt beside Lucy and cleaned her carefully, gently, brushing sweat from her brow, running the cloth between her legs with quiet reverence.

Eric just stared.

Ray’s voice was calm, cool. “This is what happens when you neglect a woman for months.”

Eric’s face twisted. “You—my girlfriend—”

“She stopped being yours a long time ago,” Grant cut in, his tone quiet but firm. “You just didn’t see it.”

Eric stepped forward, anger pulsing in his shoulders, fists clenched. “I ought to—”

Grant’s arm came up like a wall. One hand, steady and unmoving, pressed against Eric’s chest.

“Don’t,” Grant said. “You want to fight for her? You should’ve done that months ago.”

Eric’s jaw clenched, but his eyes flicked to Lucy again—still laid out on the bed, a sheet now tucked around her, her face flushed, eyes half-lidded and done. She didn’t even look at him.

Not in apology.

Not in regret.

Just silence.

And that—that—was what broke him.

Eric swallowed hard. “The party cleared out,” he muttered bitterly. “While you were up here making your little show, they all heard you with your little whore.”

Then he turned.

And left.

No door slam. No final word.

Just gone.

Grant finished dressing, brushing Lucy’s hair back gently as she finally exhaled and let her eyes flutter closed. Ray stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, watching her like something holy.

Their girl.

Finally claimed.

And this time…

They weren’t giving her back.

The bedroom was quiet now—thick with the warmth of shared breath and satisfaction. The chaos, the noise, even the confrontation had melted into something slower. Calmer. Real.

Lucy lay sprawled between them, tucked beneath the rumpled sheet, her cheek against Ray’s chest, one arm draped across Grant’s stomach. The weight of their bodies around her was like a balm, their skin still hot, their breathing soft.

Ray’s hand ran slowly up and down her back—broad, warm, deliberate. Grant’s rough fingertips traced lazy circles on her thigh, then over the swell of her hip, as though memorizing her skin.

They didn’t speak. Not yet.

They just touched.

Small kisses were passed—Ray to her forehead, Grant to her shoulder. A low hum escaped Lucy’s lips, content and completely at ease.

And then—

She started laughing.

It bubbled up suddenly, shaking her shoulders, muffled into Ray’s chest before she pulled back, eyes wide, grin stretching across her face.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, “we literally cleared the backyard. People left the party because I couldn’t stop screaming.”

Grant blinked, then started laughing too, deep and unfiltered. “You’re not wrong.”

Ray smirked, running his knuckles down her spine. “Honestly, I thought someone was going to come upstairs and bang on the door.”

“Eric did,” Lucy giggled, eyes sparkling. “And then he stayed. He just stood there. Watched the whole thing. Like… what did he think was going to happen?”

Grant laughed harder, his chest shaking beneath her hand. “Maybe he was taking notes.”

Ray groaned, amused. “Or trying to figure out when the hell he lost you.”

Lucy grinned wider, her whole body glowing now, not from sex, but from the release of everything.

The tension. The secrets. The pretending.

It was gone.

She looked between them, cheeks flushed, hair a wild mess around her face. “You two are insane.”

Grant kissed her shoulder again. “We’re yours.”

Ray nodded. “And you, sweetheart, are so damn good for us.”

Their hands moved over her again, slow and reverent—up her arms, down her waist, fingers pressing lovingly into her curves. There was no rush. No hunger this time.

Just them.

No more secrets.

Only truth.

And Lucy? Smiling, messy, thoroughly ruined—

She’d never felt more whole.

The room had quieted again, save for the soft rustle of sheets and the low rhythm of their breathing. The heat of the day still lingered in the air, thick with the scent of sex, skin, and something sweeter—belonging.

Lucy lay cocooned between them, her body loose, relaxed, and perfectly content. Her head rested on Ray’s shoulder, her hand curled on Grant’s chest. Both men flanked her protectively, their limbs wrapped lazily around her as if they couldn’t bear to let her go.

Ray was already half-asleep, his arm heavy over her waist, his fingers brushing her side in idle strokes.

Grant’s voice came first, low and amused. “You know… it was kind of hot being watched.”

Lucy let out a breathy laugh, her lips curling against Ray’s chest.

Ray didn’t even open his eyes. He just chuckled darkly and replied, “Yeah… it was.”

Lucy’s grin turned wicked, eyes still closed. “We’ll figure that out later.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Let’s nap first.”

Grant let out a lazy sigh of agreement, tucking his chin near her crown. “Fair enough.”

Ray’s hand found hers beneath the sheets and gave it a small squeeze.

And together, tangled, wrecked, and without a single apology in the world, they let themselves drift.

Because whatever came next—questions, judgment, whispers—it didn’t matter now.

Not to them.

They had what they wanted.

And they weren’t letting go.