Madeline laid back against the little pile of pillows, heart fluttering as she gazed up at Warren and Charles. They were so beautiful. Warren’s was a rugged beauty, like watching a wild stag wandering a dark forest. Charles had the more classic beauty, the kind an artist might sculpt into stone.
And they were with her now, eager and hungry to give her pleasure. She would never forget this night. Even if this is all she got, she would cherish it—every kiss, every caress.
“Charles, make love to me,” she murmured, spreading her legs to give him room.
Charles groaned, already busy slipping the French letter on over his proud cock. She watched, eager to understand all the processes involved. He dropped on all fours before her, crawling over her to claim her lips in a fevered kiss.
“Take your time,” said Warren. “Sink into the cradle of her hips, and use your hand to guide yourself inside her. Go slow at first. Let her adjust to the fullness.”
Charles was doing his best to hold his weight off her, but she wanted more. She wanted to feel him everywhere. Her core was aching to be filled. She shifted her hips, feeling his hardness pressing between her legs. She broke their kiss, falling back, her hands on his naked hips, as she moved against him. “Charles, please,” she whimpered. “I want you inside me. Need to feel you.”
He pressed up with his hips as she tipped hers forward and she felt his prodding tip at her entrance.
“There—” she panted, lifting her hips to help him slide in another inch. It felt so different compared to when they used their fingers or their tongues.
“Holy god,” he groaned, his body tighter than a bow string as he met the press of her hips with his own.
“Nice and easy,” Warren intoned.
“I feel you, Charles,” she breathed, heart in her throat. The fullness was exquisite. A bit of pain, a pinch of discomfort, but nothing compared to the aching feeling of perfect fullness. “Give me more.”
“Fuck, you have to stop saying all the right things,” he groaned, his breath hot in her ear. “I will rut you senseless if you keep asking for more.”
She stilled, biting her lip as he inched in further, pressing forward with his hips.
“Nearly there,” Warren murmured. “Press in, Charles. Bury yourself to the hilt. Claim her as yours.”
Charles lifted up on his hands, gazing down into her eyes as he sank all the way in, stealing all her air on a silent gasp. “God, help me,” he groaned.
“How does she feel?”
“So tight. So warm. I need to move, John,” Charles muttered.
Warren dropped down, brushing kisses over her sweaty brow. “Are you good, lovely? You have Charles inside you to the hilt. He’s yours now. Do you want him to move?”
She nodded, trying to keep the thousand tiny pieces of herself from breaking apart. “Please,” she murmured. “Show me what to do.”
“Lie back and feel him moving inside you,” Warren coached. “Breathe. Do whatever feels natural while he claims your cunt until he comes.”
She licked her lips, not daring to close her eyes.
And then Charles was moving, his hips slamming against her. It was the oddest sensation, nothing like the feel of their tongues or fingers. With each press of his hips, she felt a burning heat low in her core spark brighter and brighter. The feeling was slowly spiraling outward, until she felt hot all over, like she was sinking into a warm bath.
She arched her hips to meet him, breathing through parted lips, as Charles groaned on top of her, his eyes shut tight as he chased his ecstasy.
“Slow down,” Warren cautioned. “You want her to come with you. Take your hand and work between her legs. Don’t come until you feel her strangle your cock. Ride her release with your own.”
Charles groaned, dropping down to one arm, which brought him closer to her. She crowed with happiness, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing whatever she could reach. He snaked a hand between them, his fingers rubbing little circles between her thighs. She arched off the pillows.
“Oh, my—ahh—”
Now she was an inferno. Her insides burning as hot as her fevered skin. She was shaking, clawing at his shoulders, lifting her hips to meet his every thrust. Then she was unraveling. With one sharp tug at her heart, she was unmade, crying out as she felt her core flutter and squeeze around him.
He cried out too, all but falling on top of her as he went stiff, his hips kicking into her. They both lay there, their sweat mingling on their fevered skin, as they recovered their breath. She licked her lips, her hands fluttering, arms pinned.
“Let her up, Charles,” Warren soothed. “Let her breathe.”
Charles groaned, shifting until his cock slipped out of her. She felt relieved and saddened at once. He rolled to his side, peppering her shoulder with kisses, one arm slung over her middle.
She felt boneless, like a molded jelly.
“How was that, lovely?” asked Warren, stretched on her other side. He raised a large hand and traced a finger in a soft circle around her nipple, giving her a tip a gentle flick.
She shivered with a smile. “So good,” she murmured. “If every married couple in Mayfair knows of this pleasure, I wonder how they ever leave their rooms.”
Both men snorted, with Charles’s turning into a groan as he flopped an arm over his face, still breathing heavy.
She rolled on her side. “Was it good for you? Did you like it?”
He lifted his arm enough to dart one eye her direction, his mouth tipping into a frown. “Do you really have to ask me that?”
She shrugged. “I have no frame of reference.”
He smirked. “And my sole frame of reference is sitting right behind you. I must say that the experience of fucking is quite different from being fucked.”
“Being fucked?” she repeated. “How does a man be fucked?”
Both men snorted again, and she fought the urge to blush at her ignorance.
It was Warren who leaned in, his calloused hand brushing over the curve of her bottom. “We take each other here, lovely,” he murmured, pressing his finger between her cheeks.
“And…does it feel good?” she asked, fighting the urge to squirm away.
Charles nodded. “Aye, it feels like…like there was a piece of me that was missing, and Warren makes it whole. There’s an emptiness inside us all, and physical intimacy can fill it…even if only temporarily.”
She pursed her lips, thoughtful as she considered his words. “I suppose that is where romantic love must fill the gaps.”
“Hmm?” said Warren, who was now brushing his fingers over her ribs.
“Physical love is a fleeting thing,” she went on, luxuriating in his gentle touch. “For we must all perform the duties of our lives. So, when there cannot be physical love, romantic love sustains us. It keeps the emptiness at bay…until we can find each other again…until we can touch.”
To either side of her, the men were utterly silent. Had she said the wrong thing? She glanced at Charles first, surprised to find tears in his eyes. “Charles? I’m sorry, I—”
He silenced her with a kiss, owning her mouth as easily as he did between her legs. She sank into his kiss, letting her fingers weave into his soft curls.
Behind her, Warren sat up, stripping his shirt off at last.
She broke her kiss with Charles her hand still on his jaw as she glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide. Warren was devastating; broad and well-muscled. While Charles had a few soft curls dusting his chest, Warren had a full thatch of dark hair, with more trailing down his stomach to the top of his breeches.
His long hair was all but loose around his shoulders. He sat back in a half-curl, undoing his breeches. He slid them down his legs, and Madeline nearly choked. His hard cock was on full display.
“I…don’t…” Her eyes were wide, locked on the proud member that Warren held with one hand, giving it a few lazy strokes. He was easily twice as large as Charles, longer too.
He shifted into a sitting position, his legs outstretched, as he leaned back against the side of his narrow bed. His heated gaze landed on her. “You want to keep the emptiness at bay, princess?”
Her mind screamed ‘no,’ but her curious core panted out a desperate ‘yes.’ Unable to speak actual words, she merely nodded.
He held out a hand to her. “Well then come here, and sit on my cock.”
