“Gentle,” Nathaniel reminds him, without looking away from me.
“Gentle,” Talon echoes, smirking. “Of course.”
Nathaniel’s mouth dips. His lips close over my nipple, the chill of his piercing sparking heat so fast I gasp. He hums—a pleased, sinful sound—and suckles soft, slow. No games. No cruelty. Just that steady draw that knots my belly.
Somewhere under the blanket, Talon’s fingers start wandering. I feel the shift of air a second before his tone drops into that smug, irreverent purr.
“Let’s see this situation with the panties,” he muses. The blanket lifts. Turns out I’m wearing the polka-dot pair thatweren’t on my body last night. Someone—ahem—picked them out of the stash and put them on me while I was out.
“Adorable,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the bow at the top. “Absolutely criminal.”
“Then arrest me,” I mutter.
His fingertips trail the inside of my knee.
“I just might.”
Nathaniel lifts his head. His lips are wet. His eyes are molten hunger with edges sharp as razors.
“Open for him,” he tells me, soft… so soft it isn’t an order at all. Which is exactly why it works like one.
My knees fall apart without conscious decision, like my body is simply obeying gravity in his orbit. Talon exhales a sound that is half prayer, half filth, and his finger taps slow against my clit. Then he drags downward.
My hips twitch. My mouth parts. The moan slips out before I can bite it down.
“Oh, you did miss us,” he says, all velvet gloating.
“Is she wet?” Nathaniel asks.
“Soaked through the panties already.”
“Shit,” Nathaniel whispers.
Talon’s gentle. So gentle he’s outright toying with me.
“Mm… how about this?” he purrs, lowering himself. And then his mouth replaces his hand.
The first stroke of his tongue is a shock to my entire system. It’s warm, and lush, and slow. He flattens his tongue and licks me like he’s being lazy on purpose. My thighs would snap shut if his hands weren’t there, holding me open. Then he slips a finger beneath the fabric and finds my opening, easing one digit in like we’ve got all the time in the world.
Nathaniel kisses lower, teeth grazing the underside of my breast. His hand slides to my throat, and I turn into his palm.
Talon licks again, a long, careful stroke, then gathers me with his lips and sucks until my stomach flips. My hands fist in the blanket, then in Nathaniel’s hair when he kisses my jaw, my mouth, the corner of my lips.
It’s decadent and tender and a new kind of ruin.
“Shh,” Nathaniel murmurs when I make a wrecked sound. “We’ve got you, Skye.”
It feels… like floating. Like the world is padded and distant, and the only real things are their mouths, their hands, the slow, relentless melt low in my belly. Every time Talon’s fingers crook, sparks blow through me; every time Nathaniel’s lip ring brushes me, my pulse stutters.
“More,” I whisper.
Nathaniel moves to my other breast, teeth gentler and tongue lazier this time, like he wants to spread me out over the mattress and age here with me.
When I start to shake, Talon slips his finger out, makes me whine, and replaces it with his tongue. He fucks me with it.
“Oh—” I break on it. “Talon, please—”
“That’s it, Skye,” Nathaniel breathes. “Just like that.”
