Page 235 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

I shut my eyes, see nothing, only showreels of body and light, the buzz of sweat collecting at my temples. My hips buck and Silas is there, one arm looped under my shoulders, holding me down.

I twist to get at his mouth but he won’t let me; he just watches with this ferocious tenderness as I come undone.

Duke’s tongue works over me, slow then impossibly deep, the kind of rhythm that says he’s not stopping until I’m destabilized at a molecular level. His tongue gets everywhere it can reach; he’ll come up for air when he’s buried inside my taste, not before.

I feel myself slip, a frantic sensation clawing at the base of my spine. My head thrashes left, then right. Silas’s fingers spear through my hair, anchoring, holding me open so I don’t miss a second.

“Breathe, Annie,” he murmurs, and I do, every inhalation punctuated by a shudder or a curse.

I come hard, embarrassingly fast, so high my vision whites out for a split second and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. Duke doesn’t stop, not even when I flinch and sob.

His pace softens, gets lazy, but he’s grinning against me, and I can practically feel every smug intention vibrating through his jaw. I want to kick him, and I want to kiss him until I can’t taste anything but his mouth.

Duke finally comes up for air, face slick, eyes wild with pleasure.

“That’s my favorite sound,” he says, like a greedy fuck, and nips the inside of my thigh.

It leaves a mark. I hope it bruises. I hope I remember exactly how I got it.

There’s a shift. Cody, arms planted on the desk, lifts my wrists above my head and pins me by the crossed hands. His mouth finds my palm, presses open-mouthed kisses into my skin, like I’m a relic and not a living thing.

Silas’s hand is warm against my stomach, then climbing. He palms my breast, thumb running over the nipple so gently it almost tickles, and the contrast against the rawness of Duke’s mouth is overwhelming.

Next thing, my ankles are in the air, underwear gone, and Cody is lining up behind Duke.

“You’re going to black out,” he tells me, “and that’s a promise, not a threat.”

Warm hands are on my hips. Someone’s mouth is at my neck. Silas, always Silas, biting just hard enough to warn me.

Duke enters me first, cock splitting me open so I forget for one nuclear second how anatomy even functions.

He grinds in deep, holds, and won’t let me move. The pleasure is so intense I whimper, wrists straining in Cody’s grip.

Then Cody’s cock nudges at the other entrance, slicked, insistent, and my body panics with anticipation. There’s a pause, a stuttering halt while he lets me remember it’s him.

“Relax,” Cody says again.

When Cody pushes in, the stretch is so profound I think I levitate. My hands find nothing but air and heat while both of them work in tandem, Duke’s cock buried in my pussy, Cody’s inexorably further until the resistance turns to greedy, hungry fullness.

There’s nothing theoretical about this, nothing left to analyze. The precision of numbers, the comfort of spreadsheets, all gone. Only three men built like weapons, using me as their devastation.

I can’t breathe, but then Silas is behind me, mouth at my ear, whispering: “You can take it. You want it.” I believe him.

The rhythm starts slow, Duke and Cody moving out of sync at first, a drunken waltz of grunts and the slick sounds of what they’re doing to me. My hips jackknife with every thrust until Silas fists himself in front of me.

He uses my jaw as leverage, thumbs pressing the hinge until I open for him. He slides his cock along my tongue, not gentle, not even close, and the taste of him, bitterness and salt, clean sweat, obliterates my last pretense at restraint.

I suck him greedily, the back of my throat going hot and desperate, and it’s only because he keeps his hand locked in my hair that I don’t dissolve right there.

I’m a ragdoll, a toy being used at the exact limit of its design specs. Every part of me aches or trembles or burns with a relief so bright it feels like pain wearing a different badge.

Silas’s cock chokes me with every thrust, Duke’s hips hammer into mine, and Cody’s hand slides down to my clit, circling lazily while his cock splits me at the seam.

They use me. But they want me.

They make me a cathedral and then set me on fire, sanctify me in their collective hunger. I want it, even the brutal parts, maybe especially those.

Each shove deeper, each lock of hands on my body, hammers home that I’m not precious, not fragile, but made for this crucible.