Page 62 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

“Gonna beg for my fingers, baby?”

“Yes—”

Louder when he pinches my clit. “Say it.”

“Please—I need your fingers—please⁠—”

He nips my earlobe. “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry⁠—”

Two fingers slam inside me and I cry out, hips jerking, pleasure ripping through me like fire.

Then he’s lower, lips on my collarbone, my chest, his hands peeling my dress down. Asher appears at my left, steady, taking my arm, and Killian steps in on the right, fingers locking around my wrist. Between them, I’m held—open, exposed—as Maddox sinks to his knees, his mouth replacing his hand, hot and deep, tongue dragging through me, licking like he’s been starved.

I whimper, thighs trembling, and they tighten their grip, holding me upright while he ruins me with his mouth.

The air shifts.

Asher’s lips find my breast, teeth grazing the peak, and Killian follows, going for the other, both of them sucking, biting, worshipping while Maddox doesn’t let up, humming against my clit every time I moan.

I come with a broken sob, vision white, body collapsing between them—but they don’t let me fall.

Maddox lifts me, laying me on the floor like I’m something priceless, and I blink up just in time to see him strip—shirt gone, pants gone, cock thick and heavy in his hand.

Then he’s on me, driving inside with one brutal thrust, filling me, stretching me.

“Look at me,” he growls.

I do.

“You’re ours,” he says, voice dark. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He fucks me harder, hips slapping mine, then drags me onto all fours, smacks my ass, and I cry out, the sting blooming into heat.

The carpet is rough against my knees but I don’t care, I want this, I want all of it—the heat, the sting, the way Maddox’s hand tightens in my hair like he’s claiming me, like he’s reminding me who I belong to now.

He pulls out with a loud pop, slaps my ass once, twice—sharp, bright—and I gasp, back arching.

“You’ve been punished enough,” he says, voice rough as gravel. “Now they need you, sweetheart. Asher. Killian. They need to feel you.”

I look over my shoulder and see them watching—Asher’s jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists at his sides, Killian with his tie half-unwound, eyes dark, hands flexing like he’s holding himself back by sheer will.

I crawl. Slow. Deliberate. On my hands and knees toward them, feeling every inch of the floor, the ache in my thighs, the wet between my legs. I stop in front of Killian first, smile soft, reach for his belt. The leather slides free with a whisper, and I unbutton his slacks, slip the zipper down. His cock springs free—hard, thick, leaking—and I wrap my hand around it, stroke once, twice, before leaning in to kiss the tip, taste the salt and musk of him.

“I missed you,” he breathes, voice low, ragged.

I look up at him. “I missed you, too.”

Then I turn to Asher. Unbutton his jeans, tug them down just enough. His cock is velvet over steel, and I wrap my fingers around it, stroke slowly.

He grips my hair, pulls me up. Not rough, just sure, like he’s been waiting for this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes blazing. “For not reaching out. For making you think you were alone.”

I press my lips to his neck. “I’m sorry, too. For not saying anything.”