My fingers trace along her jaw, holding her in place. “I got you.”
Her hand reaches out, fingers finding my thigh to dig her nails in and anchor herself.
I can see the tension in Dean’s frame, the way his muscles flex with each movement, the way his grip on her hips tightens as he chases his own release.
My thumb brushes over her cheek again, a soft counterpoint to the intensity of the moment. “Let go, Noelle. We’ve got you.”
Her response is immediate—a shudder that runs through her entire body, her lips tightening around me as she moans.
A wave of pleasure crashes over her as she comes, her mouth tightening around my cock hard enough to nearly make me see stars.
My breath hitches as I fight to hold on.
Dean’s not far behind.
His thrusts grow erratic, a low groan escaping him as he follows her over.
I spill into her mouth right as Dean lets a choked noise tumble from his lips, my balls clenching tight as they empty.
I slip from her mouth again, leaning back to breathe.
From across the room, Grant finally speaks.
“Well.” He lifts his wine glass, nearly empty. “That was quite a show.”
When Richard finally comes home later the next day, his face is etched with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from working a double shift.
He’s all smiles though when he sees the spread on the dining table waiting for him—a birthday dinner Noelle’s been fussing over for hours, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat, garlic, and something sweet still baking in the oven.
Grant, Dean, and I are already seated at the table by the time he settles into his own chair, our plates piled high.
Despite the reunion, our eyes keep drifting to her.
She’s in a simple fitted dress, nothing flashy, but the way it hugs her curves and the way she moves like she knows we’re watching, is enough to make my pulse kick up a notch.
I catch Dean’s eye across the table and he smirks a quick, knowing flash that says he’s thinking the same thing I am.
Grant’s no better.
His gaze lingers on Noelle as she leans over to pour Richard another glass of wine I ran out and grabbed from the store earlier in the evening, a faint flush still staining her cheeks from the heat of the kitchen.
We share a secret, the three of us.
The memory from last night that’s still burning under my skin.
The way she felt, the way she sounded blissed out of her mind, the way she was able to pull us all into her orbit and leaving us reeling.
It’s all a silent acknowledgment of what we’ve done…what we’re all thinking about doing again once the night finally winds down again.
Richard’s oblivious, bless him, too caught up in the warmth of the moment, the relief of being home.
He’s telling us the story of the apartment complex catching fire, his hands animated, his voice rough from hours spent commanding his unit.
Noelle is laughing with her head tilted back, and I can’t help but watch the way her lips curve as she talks.
My fingers tighten around my fork.
I force myself to focus on my plate, on the mashed potatoes and gravy, anything to keep my mind from wandering back to the feel of her mouth and the way she trembled between Dean and me just last night.
