“Eyes on me,” he tells her, and she tries, but her gaze keeps breaking to meet mine. I stand close, one hand braced on the cot frame, the other stroking along her belly and down to whereJC enters her, thumb brushing her clit between his thrusts. She shudders when I touch, clutches at him, and he gives her more.
“Good girl,” Nico murmurs, mouth at her throat, teeth grazing lightly before he soothes the mark with his tongue.
JC shifts her leg higher, changes the angle, and Carrie’s head falls back on a gasp. He takes her like that until her voice thins into little cries. Then he spins her, palms on her hips, presses her chest to the wall, and sinks into her from behind. She plants her hands wide on the peeling paint, pushes back to meet him. He grips her hair at the nape, not cruel, just firm enough to hold her in place while he drives into her with a hard rhythm that makes the cot tap the wall in time.
“Look at you,” Nico says, kneeling to kiss the top of her ass, then the small of her back. I reach around and rub her clit again, tight circles that match JC’s pace. She moans, deep and raw, and bears down on him.
JC pulls her away from the wall and walks her to the cot without leaving her body. He sits and drags her into his lap, feet flat on the floor, hands at her hips. “Ride me,” he says against her ear. She plants her knees on either side of his thighs and sinks down, takes all of him, and moves.
Slow at first to find her rhythm, then faster, hips rolling as she grinds her clit on his pelvis. He fills his palms with her ass and guides her. Nico kneels on the cot behind them and palms her breasts, rolling her nipples so that every bounce sends a new shock through her. I stand in front of her and she catches my wrist, brings my fingers to her mouth, sucks them, then pulls my hand down to her throat to feel her swallow as she takes JC deep.
JC is close. I can hear it in his breath. He grips her tight, thrusts up into her, and she clamps down around him. He groans, holds her down, and finishes, buried in heat, muscles tight with the effort to keep control. She trembles through it,mouth open, eyes unfocused, still moving her hips as if she’s trying to wring every last drop from him.
He slides out, chest heaving, and kisses the back of her shoulder. “Perfect,” he whispers, voice rough.
Nico is already there, condom packet between his fingers. He tears it, rolls it on with his teeth bared in a grin she answers with a wicked one of her own. He flips her gently, lays her back on the cot, and pulls her to the edge so her legs hang loose over his forearms. He lines up and pushes in with a curse, eyes going dark as he sinks to the hilt.
“So sweet for us,” he says, and starts to move. Not slow. He gives her what she asked for, hips hitting hers, pelvis grinding at the end of each thrust to rub her clit just right. She reaches for me and I give her my hand. She laces our fingers and holds on while Nico fucks her, while JC kisses her throat and murmurs praise against her skin, while I rub little circles over the spot that makes her break.
Her voice climbs, breath catching, body tightening around Nico. He braces her ankles higher on his forearms and drives deeper. “Come for me,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”
She does, eyes on mine, mouth parted, heat taking her in a rush that drags a rough sound from Nico’s chest. He follows her over, buried deep, muscles locked, head dropped as he rides it out.
When the room goes quiet again, she lies wrecked and glowing on the cot, chest rising fast, lips swollen from kisses. JC strokes her hair off her face. Nico kisses the inside of her knee. I lean in and kiss her mouth, slow.
“Mine,” she whispers, looking at all three of us like she means it. “All of you.”
She’s out before I’ve even stepped back. No tossing, no mumbling—just gone, knocked under by exhaustion and too much hurt. JC checks on her once, then nods to me. We leave thedoor cracked and keep watch through the rest of the night, but she doesn’t stir. Not once.
By the time dawn edges through the stained window, she’s still asleep in that busted little room, breathing slow and steady. She needed the rest. God knows she earned it.
5
CARRIE
The first thing I register is quiet. No music, no voices—just the faint buzz of a vending machine somewhere nearby. When I blink my eyes open, pale morning light tells me I slept here.
My cheekremembersthe old couch cushion. Except I’m not on the couch anymore. I’m on a cot—stiffer, narrower. Someone must have moved me during the night while I was dead asleep.
All night.
My head aches, but my thoughts are clearer than they should be after everything. I push myself upright slowly, trying to piece together what happened.
The room is gray with early light, the cot vinyl warm under my skin. The air smells like rain, soap, leather, and the faint salt of sex. For a second I float on the edge of nowhere, then last night hits me like a tide that doesn’t ask permission.
Levi’s mouth on me, patient and relentless. JC’s hands, the way he told me to look at him and I did. Nico’s grin fading into something almost reverent when I pulled him close. My own voice, the sounds I made without shame. The feel of threedifferent bodies, three different ways of being wanted, all of it threading through me until I couldn’t hold anything back.
My cheeks go hot even though no one is looking at me.
They’re naked and sprawled around me.
Levi is on the floor at my feet, back against the wall, one knee up. Bare skin, hard lines at rest, a faint crease on his cheek from someone’s jacket. His cock lies heavy against his thigh, not at attention, still a promise. Nico is half on the cot with me, chest to my side, his arm draped over my waist, his leg thrown across mine. He’s warm, a living furnace, morning hard against my hip. JC is stretched near the door on a folded blanket, long and lean, one forearm over his eyes, an old scar cutting across his ribs. I should look away. I don’t.
My body aches in the honest way that says I lived inside my want. There’s a slow throb low in my belly, a tenderness at my throat where someone bit and soothed. I feel used in the best sense, and cared for, and that second feeling scares me more than the ache. I don’t know how to hold both at once, yet here I am, full of them.
Nico stirs first. His fingers flex on my hip, then curl. He blinks, lashes stuck together, mouth soft. Heat flickers in his eyes when he focuses on me, then something gentler he tries to hide with a crooked smile.
“Morning, trouble,” he rasps.
