Chapter Thirty-one: Consumed

Hours had passed.

And in that time, they had explored everything.

Every angle. Every pressure point. Every whispered command and breathless moan. There was nothing left untouched, nothing left undiscovered. The bed had become a battlefield and a sanctuary, soaked in sweat, shadowed by candlelight, echoing with the sounds of surrender.

Vivian had taken him after Elena slow, devastating, in full command. She’d straddled him like she was claiming territory, her spine straight, her rhythm deliberate, the drag of her nails over his chest a silent warning: this was hers now. His hands had gripped her hips, but only because she allowed it. She set the pace. She decided when he could move, and when he had to beg.

And Daniel had begged.

Elena had taken her turn too. She hadn’t been softer or sweeter. She had been cruel in the way only a woman with power and practice could be. She made him earn it. Made him wait. Teased him with her mouth, her voice, her body. She whispered filthy things in Spanish,:

“Querido,”

“Mírame cuando te toco…”

“¿Te gusta cómo te hago rogar?”

And God, he did.

He liked being broken apart by her words as much as by her touch.

And then there were the times when neither had been willing to share.

When Vivian had pinned him down, keeping him in place beneath her, letting him use nothing but his mouth, his tongue, his restraint to satisfy her while Elena watched in amusement, running her nails over his chest, whispering encouragements, or demands.

They had taken turns.

They had taken him together.

And now, after everything, after hours of indulgence, of sin, of ruin.

Daniel was spent.

But they weren’t finished with him.

Not yet.

He lay flat on the bed, his body slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch what little breath he had left.

And yet, they still moved against him.

Vivian perched atop his face like a queen at rest, her silver-blonde hair cascading around her shoulders in soft, sweat-touched waves. Her hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, savoring every pass of his tongue, every helpless groan vibrating against her. She was still indulging. Still taking. Still in control.

Elena, straddling his lap, her hands pressed against his chest for leverage, riding him just as slowly, just as controlled, keeping him locked inside her, unwilling to let go just yet.

Daniel groaned against Vivian’s heat, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, pulling her closer as he continued his work.

Vivian let out a breathless, satisfied sigh, rolling her hips just slightly faster.

“Good boy,” she purred, her voice rich with satisfaction, with power. She looked down at him between half-lidded eyes, full of quiet dominance and affection, like she was admiring a favorite pet who had finally learned his place.

Daniel’s hands tightened around her thighs, his breath hot against her skin.

Elena chuckled softly, watching the way he reacted, the way his muscles still tensed beneath her, still responding despite his exhaustion.

She leaned down, her lips grazing the shell of his ear.

“You’re still hard,” she murmured, dragging her nails slowly down his chest.

Daniel let out a ragged breath, barely able to speak.

Elena smirked.

“I guess we haven’t completely worn you out,” she teased, rocking against him just enough to draw another deep groan from his lips.

Vivian laughed softly, running a hand through her hair as she ground down against his mouth, still taking her pleasure from him.

“Men always say they want to handle two women,” she mused, lifting herself slightly, just enough for him to gasp in air, before settling back down with a sultry sigh.

“But very few can actually keep up.”

Her breath caught as his tongue found just the right rhythm again, and she let out a low moan of approval.

Daniel grunted, the sound muffled, his fingers digging into her thighs, holding her in place as if anchoring himself.

Elena let out a pleased hum, her pace unrelenting. She leaned forward, dragging her nails down his stomach with a feather-light scrape that made him twitch all over again.

“He’s done well,” she admitted, almost thoughtfully, as if assessing a performance.

Vivian’s smirk curved wider. Her hips shifted against his mouth with exquisite control.

“Maybe we should let him rest,” she said, though the tease in her voice betrayed her true intentions.

Daniel groaned low, torn between relief and something close to despair.

Neither woman seemed to mind.

Elena chuckled, then whispered, “Not yet.”

And with that, she rolled her hips once more, slower, deeper, dragging a gasp from his throat and a sigh from her own.

“Just a little more, Reyes.”

And just like that they continued.