Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
My throat tightens because they mean every word. I’ve never felt so bare and so adored in my whole life.
And then Harrison is inside me.
He enters slowly from behind, carefully, maybe worried that I’m sore. It does sting a little because he’s thick and heavy, but it’s his pace that undoes me. Measured. Loving. A rhythm that feels like the endless undulation of the ocean against the shore. One hand slides under my ribs to hold me close while the other grips my wrist, grounding me as he moves.
My head drops back on his shoulder, mouth falling open in a gasp.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” McCartney says, kissing between my breasts. “That’s it. Let go again, Grace.”
Lennon props himself up on one elbow and kisses my temple. “You’re gonna come again,” he says with total certainty. “He’s gonna make you, and I want you to look at me when it hits.”
Harrison groans softly behind me, his lips grazing my shoulder blade. “So damn tight… You’re still fluttering around me from before, aren’t you?”
I can’t answer. I’m gone. Floating between their bodies, their voices, their hands, and their mouths.
Dylan kneels beside me now, his hand cradling my face. He looks wrecked, too.
I reach for him blindly, pulling him in for a kiss. His mouth is open and searching, tongue sliding over mine as Harrison’s hips rock into me from behind, deep and unhurried. The world narrows down to touch and breath and pressure until every nerve inside me lights up again.
I cry out, half into Dylan’s mouth, half into the thick, humid air between us.
My body pulses around Harrison, gripping him tight. He groans low and desperate and buries himself deep. I’m shaking, my hips twitching, thighs slick, and chest rising in fast, uneven waves. Harrison holds me through it with his lips on my neck, his hand tight around mine.
Then I feel Dylan’s hand slide down my belly, fingers teasing my sensitive clit.
He doesn’t wait long, watching like he’s checking every signal, every flicker in my eyes.
And when he sees I want it—need it—he moves.
One hand lifts my thigh. The other braces at my waist. And then, with slow, thick, aching force, he pushes inside me, too.
I gasp at the unbelievable stretch, crowded on both sides by big, muscular bodies that overwhelm me with their size and strength. Harrison is still inside me, and I’m throbbing and wet from release. But Dylan doesn’t force or thrust; he eases forward inch by inch, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
“Holy hell,” he breathes, face crumpling. “You’re still full of him. Jesus, Grace…”
I moan, barely able to breathe, my body clenching around him. There’s no resistance. Only the stretch, the depth, and the unbearable fullness of being opened again so soon, my body still caught between release and need.
McCartney’s lips find my throat. He kisses a slow line to my collarbone, whispering, “You’re perfect. Look how you take them both…”
Lennon strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers, slicking this cum over my skin as his other hand holds mine. “Look at her,” he murmurs. “She’s dripping. God, you can see where they’re both stretching her…”
Harrison is still holding my waist even as he pulls back slowly and carefully, leaning in to kiss my shoulder again.
“I love feeling you come,” he says, low and steady. “You think you can do it again, around both our dicks?”
“Yes,” I say, shifting as Dylan begins to draw out, slow and slick.
Dylan moves deeper now, groaning as he bottoms out, hips flush against mine, muscular thighs braced wide to support my weight. His jaw clenches, and sweat glistens at his temples. His hands are firm on my hips, but they tremble, like this is breaking something open in him.
“You’re so goddamn warm,” he grits out. “So wet. You make it hard to be gentle.”
“Then don’t be,” I whisper, mouth brushing his jaw. “I want you.”
That breaks him.
He drives deep in one long, hard thrust that makes me cry out again. My legs shake and the others shift, their hands everywhere as they work toward one goal. McCartney cups my breast, thumb teasing my nipple. Lennon strokes between my legs, circling slowly where Dylan’s cock drags against sensitive, overworked nerves. Harrison’s lips are still at my neck, whispering something that sounds like mine as he fucks into me.
I’m past words now, filled with moans and gasps and helpless sounds torn from somewhere deep.
Dylan’s pace picks up with sharp, deep, relentless thrusts. He leans over me, his hand tangled in my hair as he kisses me hard and dirty, tongue pushing past my lips with every thrust.
“You feel that?” he pants into my mouth. “Us. Inside you. Claiming you.”
I can’t speak, so I nod, moaning, body clenching tight again.
“I’m gonna come in you,” he growls. “Right on top of him. And you’re gonna take it.”