Elle had been insatiable by that point, her skin flushed and glistening, hair wild around her face—nothing like the perfectly composed professional I’d first met. She’d crawled over me, her dark eyes holding mine as she positioned herself above my face, thighs spread wide.
“Please,” she’d whispered, the word barely audible. “Caleb, I need your mouth.”
I’d gripped her hips, guiding her down until I could taste her—sweet and tangy and addictive. She was already wet, dripping with need and cum from our earlier attentions. The sound she made when my tongue found her clit—half sob, half moan—still echoes in my head.
Adrian had appeared behind her, his usual rigid control fractured by desire. His hands had slid around to cup her breasts as he positioned himself at her entrance. I’d felt the moment he pushed inside her, felt her thighs tense around my head, felt her pussy clench against my tongue. Miles had joined us then, offering himself to her mouth, which she’d taken eagerly, her moan vibrating against my tongue as she was filled from both ends.
I’d never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my life. Elle, suspended between us, taking all three of us at once, her body somehow accommodating our different rhythms. I’d reached up to stroke her clit as I licked around where Adrian was stretching her, tasting both of them together. The sounds she made—muffled by Miles but still unmistakably pleasure—had driven me wild.
When she came, it was with her thighs locked around my head, her entire body shuddering as we all worked to prolong her pleasure. I’d felt her release on my tongue, felt Adrian’s thrustsgrow erratic as he followed her over the edge, saw Miles’s head fall back as he found his own completion. And through it all, Elle had remained the center of our universe, the gravitational force drawing the three of us together in ways I never could have imagined.
“Shit!” I hiss, jerking my attention back to the present as the smell of burning batter hits my nose. I flip the pancake to reveal a blackened underside and quickly slide it onto a separate plate. “One for the trash,” I mutter, pouring fresh batter into the pan.
“Distracted?” Miles asks from the couch, not looking up from his tablet but somehow noticing everything as usual.
“You could say that,” I reply, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Just thinking.”
Adrian glances up from his laptop, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “About last night, I imagine.”
There’s no bite to his words, none of the competitive edge that used to color our every interaction. It’s strange how easily we’ve slipped into whatever this is.
Cooperation? Camaraderie? I’ve spent my entire career positioning myself against Adrian Cole and Miles Harrington, seeing them as obstacles to overcome rather than potential allies.
Now, after sharing the most intimate experience possible with them both, I find myself surprisingly comfortable in their presence.
“Can you blame me?” I ask, flipping another pancake with a flourish. “That was amazing.”
“Effective,” Miles contributes, his typical economical assessment making me laugh.
“That’s one way to put it,” I agree, stacking perfectly golden pancakes on a plate. “Elle certainly seemed to think so.”
Adrian closes his laptop, stretching his neck in a rare display of physical discomfort. “Her fever broke around 4 AM. The worst should be over.”
Of course he knows the exact time. He probably has a spreadsheet tracking Elle’s temperature fluctuations throughout the night. The thought should annoy me, but instead, I find it almost endearing. Adrian’s meticulous attention to detail, which I’ve always framed as control-freakish micromanagement, suddenly seems like its own form of care.
“She was sleeping peacefully when I checked on her an hour ago,” Miles adds, setting his tablet aside. “Color and respiration normal. No signs of distress.”
I shake my head, amused by their different approaches to the same concern. “So what you’re both saying is that she’s okay. We helped her through it.”
“We did,” Adrian confirms, a note of surprised satisfaction in his voice.
The silence that falls between us isn’t awkward or tense. It’s comfortable, filled with the sounds of breakfast preparation and the diminishing patter of rain outside. The storm that trapped us here is finally releasing its grip, just as Elle’s heat has receded, leaving us in this strange new territory of mutual respect and shared intimacy.
I’m setting the table when I hear the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood. All three of us turn toward the sound like flowers tracking the sun.
Elle stands in the doorway, wrapped in a soft robe, her damp hair cascading around her shoulders. The change in her is striking—her skin glows with health, her eyes clear and bright, her posture relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before.
Gone is the feverish, desperate woman from last night, replaced by someone who looks rested. Satisfied. Radiant.
“Morning,” she says, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Something smells good.”
“Pancakes,” I reply, suddenly feeling oddly shy. Which is ridiculous. I’ve had my face buried between her thighs, for fuck’s sake. I’ve tasted every inch of her. I’ve watched her come apart in Adrian’s arms, on Miles’s cock. There should be no room for shyness between us. And yet, here I am, feeling like a teenager with his first crush.
“You cook?” she asks, moving into the kitchen with fluid grace.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I tease, finding my footing in familiar banter. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“So I discovered,” she returns, the hint of mischief in her voice making heat curl in my belly.
