My Possessive Alpha Twins For Mate Chapter 277

Liam’s POV

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Her voice was nothing more than a fragile whisper, strangled by the sobs shaking her small frame. Hearing her like that — broken, raw — carved into me deeper than any blade ever could. I would’ve done anything to erase the pain twisting her features, but I was left paralyzed. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t fix what I couldn’t see. And that helplessness — that loss of control — was a curse I could never stomach.

It took time. Slow, painstaking minutes of coaxing before she finally let the words slip free, and when she did, the weight of them knocked the air from my lungs. She told me about Rowena. About the lies. About the poison that had been whispered in her ear, and the damage it had done.

I sat there, speechless, drowning in emotions too tangled to separate — until one rose to the surface, stronger than the rest.

Hurt.

I ached for her, knowing those lies had burrowed into her chest like shards of glass. I ached for the silent way she’d carried the weight alone these past two days. But more than anything, I ached because she believed them. Because somewhere along the line, I had failed her so deeply, so entirely, that she thought me capable of using her like that.

Where had I gone wrong? What had I done — or not done — to make her question my loyalty, my love, my commitment to her and only her? She tried, through tears, to explain, but her words barely registered. My mind was locked in battle with my wolf, both of us drowning in the same question: where did we lose her trust?

When the silence finally shattered, it was with the truth. I laid it all bare for her — where I’d been, who I’d been with, every detail. I would’ve handed her a list of names and numbers, let her call every single one if it meant pulling her back from the edge of doubt. But instead, her reply left me stunned.

"I believe you."

And then, softer still, she asked for forgiveness. She apologized for ever questioning us.

Of course we forgave her. There is nothing she could do, no mistake she could make, that would ever be enough to sever the hold she had on me. I knew Logan felt the same. I felt the tension bleed from her body the second she heard it, as if her soul finally allowed itself to rest. She melted into me, her breathing steadying, her body growing heavy as exhaustion claimed her.

I cradled her against me, keeping her safe, keeping her close. The silence in the car stretched long and thick, but Logan and I didn’t need words. I could feel his thoughts as easily as if they were my own — the same quiet ache, the same helpless frustration.

Yes, we’d forgiven her, but the wound was still there. She hadn’t trusted us. Not fully.

And we understood why. Her past — the ghost of Finnian Blackwell — still clung to her like a second skin. She couldn’t see us without seeing his shadow. She couldn’t believe in us without bracing for betrayal. But knowing why didn’t ease the sting.

Would she ever be able to see the difference? Would she ever believe we weren’t him? That we’d never hurt her, never abandon her, never leave her standing alone when the world turned cruel?

She had wanted to leave us last night. She’d almost walked away — and the thought of that alone left me drowning in a kind of panic I couldn’t fight. Alphas weren’t meant to feel powerless. But with her, we had no choice.

Logan’s wolf, Fang, was a dominant beast. I’d seen that spill into every part of his life, especially in the bedroom. I’d never craved that same control, not until Lia. But something about her made me hunger for it. Crave the moment when she would surrender herself completely — her body, her pleasure, her trust.

Watching her submit to us was intoxicating. Every time she did, it reminded me there was hope. Hope that one day her trust wouldn’t be limited to the bedroom. Hope that one day she’d believe in us enough to stand and fight instead of run.

So when Logan said he wanted to punish her for the pain she’d put us through, my wolf agreed before I could even think. We both needed it. We needed her to prove her words, to surrender her trust to us, to remind ourselves that even in the chaos, we could still hold control. That her submission could soothe the wildness clawing at me from the inside.

And she did.

The memory of her sprawled out across Logan’s lap, her bare skin reddening beneath each deliberate slap, her eyes locked on mine — heavy with lust, her body trembling with need — was burned into me. Her scent thickened the air, her soft moans making it impossible to think straight. More than once, I’d nearly lost control just watching her fall apart beneath his hand.

Then Logan had thrown gasoline on the fire, taunting me with the fact that he’d tasted her while I was away. My wolf, Ghost, bristled with jealousy, silver flickering in my irises as he threatened to push forward. But I forced him back. It wasn’t as though I expected Logan to wait. We shared her, after all. And her pleasure — that was what mattered most.

But I still wanted my turn.

And when that thought crossed my mind, her body reacted — another gush of her sweet nectar dripping from her core, begging to be tasted.

I couldn’t resist. I lifted her chin, angling her just enough so I could keep my eyes on her as I slid my fingers deep inside, fucking her slow and steady, watching every flicker of pleasure twist across her face.

And when I had her teetering on the edge, just about to fall, I stopped. I withdrew and brought my fingers to my mouth, licking every last drop of her honey clean while she watched, wide-eyed and breathless.

The ache for more pulsed inside me, sharp and desperate, but I let Logan have his moment. He needed to ground her, to see for himself that she was okay, that the pleasure hadn’t crossed the line into pain. But my patience had limits.

"Bring her to me, brother," I demanded, voice thick with hunger. "It’s my turn to taste her."

I had already stripped bare and stretched out on the bed, the anticipation making me feel like a spoiled child desperate for his favorite toy. But I didn’t care. I wanted her. I needed her.

Logan positioned her, straddling my face, her dripping cunt glistening and open for me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her. But before I could claim her, her soft voice cut through, laced with mischief.

"When do I get to taste you?" she pouted, batting those innocent, doe-like eyes at us.

The image her words painted nearly undid me. The thought of her lips wrapped around my cock, her mouth stretched and slick, was enough to make me come untouched. I had to shut that fantasy down fast, or I wouldn’t last long enough to have her the way I wanted.

I silenced both our thoughts with the first swipe of my tongue across her folds.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Her taste — addictive. Her scent — intoxicating. Her arousal coated my mouth, my chin, my throat, and I welcomed every drop. I sucked her clit between my lips, lapped up every pulse of sweetness, and felt Logan at her back, supporting her trembling frame, teasing her nipples, and grazing his teeth over her marking spot.

We worked her in perfect tandem, coaxing her arousal to spill faster than I could swallow. But I still wanted more. I grabbed her ass, pulling her down harder onto my mouth, tongue-fucking her until her moans turned into frantic, breathless cries.

Logan’s fingers replaced mine on her clit, skilled and ruthless, and together we pushed her to the edge. Her hips rolled against my mouth, lost to the rhythm of her pleasure, and I knew she was there. Right there.

"That’s it, doll. Come for us," Logan commanded, his voice dark and full of promise as he pinched her swollen nub.

And like the perfect, obedient angel she was, she let go.

Her release hit like a wave, hot and heavy, gushing onto my tongue, soaking me. I drank it down, savoring every second as her body trembled and shuddered, spent and overwhelmed.

It wasn’t the first time she’d squirted for us. But this time... this time felt different.

She watched me through dazed, half-lidded eyes, flushed and shy, as if embarrassed by the mess she’d made. But to me, to us, there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of her undone — covered in her own pleasure, her body painted with the proof of how deeply we could make her feel.

And with her special gift — the ability to share her emotions during moments like these — Logan and I never stood a chance. Even if her body hadn’t undone us, her pleasure, raw and unfiltered, would’ve dragged us over the edge right alongside her.

And in that moment, with her still trembling against us, I couldn’t help but think: this is what hope feels like.