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stroke of luck

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Rex squirms on her lap, mouth falling open, and Ahsoka laughs, leans forward to capture his mouth in a kiss that's half lips, half teeth. She hears a snort from behind her— Wolffe— and he rolls his hips, making it so that her own hips thrust further into Rex. The noise Rex makes in response to that is wanton and desperate in it's need, having been drawn out of his very soul. His hands scramble at her back, and Wolffe catches Rex's wrists, pulls them together and holds them tight under her back lek as she fucks up into Rex with quick, brutal thrusts. 

The fact that Wolffe is still lucid, the fact that he's still holding on is impressive— more than impressive, in fact. He's been sitting on a toy for a while now, and it does have an inflatable knot, but for all that he may be further along in his heat than Rex is, he sure as hell isn't out of it, not yet. Ahsoka can smell that clearly.

Still, Wolffe has constrained himself to nipping lightly at her lekku, and peppering bite marks across her shoulders, working her up just enough that Rex is getting the ride of his life. Ahsoka pulls back from his mouth, and— yep, he looks like he's half out of his mind with pleasure. She grins, and it's sharp and self-satisfied, just a little bit smug.

Wolffe and Rex are beautiful together, and they choose her again and again, and her initial wariness at getting involved with Rex's other partner has now firmly faded away. It's flattering to be between them, intoxicating to know that she's the only alpha they let mate them.

"Fuck," Rex gasps, pupils blown. His cunt tightens around her length. "Fuck."

"That's the plan, Rexster."

Wolffe growls his agreement to her teasing words, and he lets go of Rex's wrists, brings his hands down to her hips. Grips, just hard enough that she feels it, starts to mouth at the back of her neck, and Ahsoka—

Well, Ahsoka takes that as her cue to get to work.