Kael couldn’t speak.
Not with the fire god’s c**k stretching his throat open, thick and tight. Not with the storm god’s mouth still working his hole, tongue slick and wild, paired now with fingers, two, then three, curling inside him with divine hunger. Not with the shadow god’s voice in his ear, low and cruel and soaked in want.
“You like this,” the shadow whispered, stroking Kael’s c**k with a slow, teasing hand. “You like being on your knees, choked and split open for your gods.”
Kael’s only answer was a desperate, muffled groan, his throat full, his body trembling violently. He wanted to deny it. He’d been taught to fear this, trained to stay pure. But his c**k dripped helplessly, leaking onto the stone floor. He was soaked. Used. Wrecked.
And they hadn’t even begun.
“Good little
