THE ART OF SINS
The water lapped at my breasts, making my nipples pebble in the contrast of cool air and hot spring.
“Because fate doesn’t make mistakes,” Ronan said, sliding into the water beside us. He took one of my legs, draping it over his thigh so I was spread open for them. His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking hard while Finn claimed the other, their tongues working in tandem. Thorne’s cock nudged my entrance from behind, teasing but not entering yet, building the anticipation until I was whimpering with need.
“Please,” I begged, the word slipping out unbidden. The omega heat was fully upon me now, turning my blood to liquid fire, every nerve screaming for their knots, their seed, their claim.
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