“Someone showed up at dawn looking like sex on legs,” Jesse counters, finally getting my shorts unbuttoned. “What did you expect, a book club?”
“I like book clubs.”
“We can discuss literature later,” Wyatt growls against my ear, and the vibration goes straight between my legs. “Right now, you’re wearing too many clothes.”
My shorts hit the floor, and then I’m standing in my underwear, plain cotton because I didn’t plan this, no matter what they think, while three sets of hands explore every inch of exposed skin.
“Bedroom,” I insist. “Unless you want me to collapse in your hallway, which would be hard to explain to the paramedics.”
“We could manage,” Boone says, but he’s already pulling me into his room.
The bed’s unmade because of course it is, sheets tangled from someone’s restless night. Jesse doesn’t bother with ceremony, just picking me up and tossing me onto the mattress. I bounce once, laughing at the complete lack of finesse.
“Smooth, McCoy. Real smooth,” I say.
“We passed smooth about three exits back,” he replies, yanking his sweatpants off.
And holy hell, the view. All three of them stripping with the efficiency of people who’ve decided foreplay is for people with patience. Jesse’s all lean muscle with a cut V that makes my mouth water. Boone’s broader, built like someone who actually uses his muscles for work instead of just gym selfies. And Wyatt... Wyatt’s watching me watch them with dark eyes while he unhooks his belt with deliberate slowness. Like he’s trying to torment me. Which he is.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks.
“I’ve seen better,” I lie.
“Where?”
“Cable. Late night. Educational programming.”
“We’ll have to work on your standards, then,” Boone says, crawling onto the bed.
Boone kisses like he’s got all the time in the world, thorough and devastating. His hand slides down my stomach, fingers tracing patterns that make me arch into the touch.
“Sensitive this morning,” he observes when I gasp.
“Shut up and keep going.”
“So demanding,” Jesse says, suddenly on my other side. His mouth finds my breast through my bra, and the combination of sensations makes my brain short-circuit.
“Off,” I demand, fumbling with the clasp. “Everything off.”
“Let me,” Wyatt says, and his fingers make quick work of the hooks.
Then I’m naked, surrounded by three also naked, aroused cowboys, and my brain suggests helpfully that this is probably how I’m going to die. There are worse ways to go, so I have no objection.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Jesse breathes, his hands skimming up my thighs.
“You’re just saying that because I’m naked.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Wyatt corrects, and something about the matter-of-fact way he says it makes my chest tight.
Before I can process that, Boone’s mouth is between my legs, his tongue finding my clit with devastating accuracy. I cry out, my hands tangling in his hair as he works me with single-minded determination.
“Jesus, Boone?—”
“Not Jesus,” Jesse says against my neck. “But I appreciate the confusion.”
I would make a sarcastic comment, but Wyatt’s kissing me now, and when Wyatt kisses, the world narrows to just his mouth and hands and the way he manages to be completely in control while making me feel like I’m the one with all the power.
My first orgasm builds embarrassingly fast. Between Boone’s talented tongue, Jesse’s mouth on my breasts, andWyatt kissing me like he’s trying to steal my soul, I don’t stand a chance. When I come, it’s with a cry that I pray my dad doesn’t hear one ranch over.
