“Absolutely not,” he answers in an instant. “I just want you to know it’s not necessary. I see the way you’ve been looking at me.” A shiver runs along my spine, my pierced nipples puckering as goosebumps settle against my skin. Still, I tilt my head, holding Rhys’ gaze.
“How have I been looking at you?”
“Like I might not be here in the morning.” A flash of vulnerability crosses his face, tiny twitches around his nose and mouth. There’s more he wants to say, something he wants to tell me, but he holds back. For now, I let it go, preferring the answer he gives instead. “I will be.”
A body steps in behind me, not quite touching. The faintest brush of denim and cotton breathes against my back, Clayton’s presence skating over my nape.
“We both will be.” And there it is. The promise I was scared to ask for. At last, I let myself melt. Leaning into Clayton, I drag Rhys with me, using my fists in his T-shirt, crashing his mouth against mine.
Rhys meets me with a groan, one that trembles through his whole body, a vibration I feel in the kiss and in the hands that finally break their restraint and rise to cradle my jaw. His lips arewarm, desperate, and so achingly familiar that it nearly buckles my knees. I’ve missed this. Missed him. Missed the way he kisses like his soul is being dragged to the surface just for me. A piece of him no one else gets, yet he’s learning to offer to me so freely.
Clayton’s arms circle my waist, steadying me before my legs forget how to carry me. The sensation of his rough hands on my skin, gently stroking and branding, knocks the air out of my lungs. With Rhys in front and Clayton behind, their bodies enclose mine like I’m something precious instead of broken.
Rhys kisses me deeper, one thumb stroking my cheekbone, his other hand slipping into my wet hair, anchoring me there with him. His mouth is soft but hungry, relentless in its sincerity. I tug him even closer, my fingers curled tight in his shirt, kissing him back harder, taking and giving and drowning in everything they’ll give me. I need this. I need to feel something real.
Those hands on my stomach slide slowly upwards, skimming over my torso, the touch light enough to make me tremble. When Clay’s palms rest beneath my breasts, not pushing me any further but content to feel the contractions of my ribs, a faint whimper escapes my throat against Rhys’ lips. Clayton’s breath hitches at the sound. I feel it ghost against my shoulder, warm and hesitant. Clay won’t make the move to shift us towards the bed, and Rhys is content with pleasuring my mouth, so I do it.
Stepping aside, I take the two of them with me. We sway together, nearing the mattress as Rhys’ teeth drag across my jaw and Clay’s press against my neck. The contrast sends shivers darting down my spine. I never thought I’d have this again. I never thought we’d be in the same room, never mind with them touching me, worshipping me. The weight of that realization cracks through the reservation in my chest, and a stupid tear leaks from the corner of my eye. Rhys notices it instantly.
“Harper,” he breathes my full name, his hand shooting up to wipe my cheek dry. I shake my head, fighting him off.
“Nope. Not stopping,” I order. Slipping out from between them, I shuffle back onto the bed, looking up at the two sentinels standing at the base. Their expressions are a mirror of each other, skepticism filling the room. “Please, can we not stop?” I plead, patting the covers. A small part of me shies away from the fact I’m naked, bared and begging for them to take me, but their apprehension isn’t a rejection. It’s a reassurance that they care. They still care.
“You’re hurting,” Clay frowns. Again, I don’t deny it. I nod.
“We’re all hurting. But we’re here now. We can find something worth salvaging, make it worth it…right?”
“Babygirl,” Rhys rolls his neck. “You only had to ask.” Plucking the mic from his shirt and setting it on the dresser, Rhys then pulls the cotton over his head. His hands lower to his sweatpants as he grunts to Clay, “Come on, Scum. Give the girl what she needs.”
Despite the less-than-savoury nickname, Clayton smirks to himself and does as he’s told. I look between the two, briefly wondering what on earth went down whilst I was otherwise engaged. Then there are two naked, gorgeous men crawling towards me and I lose track of all thought.
This time, it’s Clayton’s mouth who captures mine. He kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish mid-breath, like if he doesn’t anchor me with his mouth, I might drift back into all the nightmares he and Rhys dragged me out of. His palm cups my jaw steadily, and the space within my ribcage stutters hard enough to hurt. It feels too much like home to deny. I throw myself into him, aligning our bodies all the way down to our toes.
Rhys’ weight dips the mattress behind me. His presence is immediate, a black hole pulling every part of me into his orbit. His breath skims my shoulder, his fingers follow the trail of goosebumps that rise in its wake. My body tightens like abowstring pulled too far, my desire flooding to the surface with the same hopelessness that I’m running from.
“Easy,” Rhys murmurs, not to slow me down, but to remind me I’m not alone in whatever this feeling is clawing its way up my throat. Clay deepens our kiss, his thumb stroking my cheekbone, mapping every tremor, tracing every flicker of hesitation I’m trying so hard to swallow. I taste the tension on him as if it's metallic, a week of fear ground down into the simple touch of our tongues.
I drag in air when he finally breaks away, my lips tender and pulse racing. Before I can gather myself, Rhys tilts my head toward him, claiming the shift of my gaze the way he always does. I tilt my head up, but he doesn’t kiss me, simply watches and consumes. He might not want to admit it, but there was a moment there where he didn’t think he’d get me back. I can see it painted all over his face.
Clay’s hand slides down my body, circling the dip of my waist to the flare of my hip and back again. I float onto my back, presenting my naked body for them to do whatever they want with. Whatever is their heart’s desire.
Whilst Clay continues his exploration south, teasing my upper thighs and skating over my clit without really touching it, Rhys’ hand ghosts across my neck. Not squeezing or threatening, until I grab his hand and close it around my throat. His blue eyes flicker, testing my resolve. I don’t let up. I want him to treat me like he used to, to be the version of himself that is true and unhindered by the concern that I’ll fall apart.
“Stop holding back,” I groan to both of them, parting my legs. I didn’t think I would be so wanton, but with them both, I’m comfortable. There’s no shame in the sensations they build within me, only empowerment. Clay finally dips his hand lower and I moan, his fingers brushing my clit. Holy yes, that’s what I need. Not sympathy, not empathy. Just pleasure. I arch athis small circles, my entire being centered on the shift of his fingertips. As his speed increases, so does the opening of my thighs, permitting him full access to take and please as he sees fit.
Tilting my head aside, I faintly note Rhys’ smirk as a pair of fingers push inside of me. I hiss at the glory of it, overwhelmed by his long fingers stroking me into oblivion. They drive me back into the pillows, a mess of limbs at their mouths descend to my nipples. Having them together like this, united in their devotion to me. The teasing quickly becomes too much, heat flooding my system and tightening through my chest. I press a shaky breath into the space between them.
“Don’t make me wait tonight,” I whisper. “Please.”
“As you wish, Sweetheart,” Clay murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Twisting me towards him, he hardly waits long enough for Rhys to retract his fingers from my channel before he’s nudging his thick cock inside. I cling to his muscled body, groaning as my body stretches to accommodate his girth. The feat is aided by Rhys’ slickened fingers remaining beside my back passage, circling and spiraling me higher than I thought possible.
For this one fleeting moment, the three of us are suspended in something impossible and sacred. A truce made of desire, forgiveness and the desperation to feel alive. My nails scrape into Clay’s shoulders, my head thrown back into Rhys’ shoulder, and then in silent unison, they both start to move.
Chapter Twelve
The feel of Harper gripping and dragging against my cock is the kind of heaven I never knew existed. Her sweet cunt, her clawing fingers, her bruised lips, they consume me. I thrust into her at my leisure, enamored by the way her face contorts each time. I’ll never tire of it.
Despite me taking my time, Rhys doesn’t demand his turn like the spoiled rich boy I know him to be. He seems content just to be in her presence, her back pressed to his front, his hands roaming and his mouth stealing chaste kisses. This is the first time I’ve openly fucked Harper in front of him, and it’s nothing like I expected. For once, I don’t feel like a side piece or a distraction. I feel like a piece of the puzzle, an equal match in crafting Harper’s pleasure rather than trying to claim a portion of it for myself.
