Li Han was proud—fiercely, stupidly proud—to announce that he hated the twins.
Because the morning after, when sunlight stabbed through the curtains like an accusation, he genuinely wished a train would flatten him rather than force him to move. Every muscle screamed. His hips felt dislocated. His thighs trembled with the memory of being held open for hours. And between his legs… god. Everything ached in a way that made him want to crawl under the bed and never come out.
They had promised to be gentle. And they were… for about the first twenty minutes. Soft kisses, careful fingers, plenty of lube, murmured praise against his throat. Then something shifted. The second round came faster, hungrier. The third round forgot what gentle even meant.
He’d had to beg—actually beg—reminding them o
