“Clay, I need you,” I whine. I don’t care how, I just need him. Pulling my thong down with his teeth, Clay’s large hand brushes over my center, finding me already soaking for him. I gasp at the contact, bucking into his hand almost pathetically. To my dismay, he pulls back, but only to strip at an impressive speed. I trace the outline of his physique with my eyes, his broad shoulders, bulging biceps, the tightness of his abdomen, the taper of his waist. He’s sin wrapped in the body of an archangel, so impossibly beautiful, I can’t stop staring.
Then, he’s over me again, my hands roaming over those muscles, mapping him out in my mind. His weight presses down, his mouth finding mine as the thick head of his cock pushes against my entrance. Out of habit, my thighs fall open to accommodate Clay’s girth. He’s careful as always, slowly easing into me with such care, it brings a lump to my throat.
Clay kisses me like he’s trying to say everything he didn’t have words for earlier. Sinking into me inch by inch, retracting and easing back in when needed, his movements aren’t rushed or desperate. Just like his touch on my waist and skimming my breasts, they’re filled with admiration, worshipping me like he always does. His mouth moves against mine with careful certainty, and when he sighs softly into the kiss, I feel it ripple straight through me.
Fully seated, I groan at the heavy weight of his cock nestled inside of me. The sound is muffled by the pressure of his tongue sliding against my own. I feel him everywhere at once, not just where we’re joined but in the way my toes curl, the way my hips lift instinctively to grind against him. I move shamelessly in thedimmed light, chasing friction. His onyx gaze is locked onto me with total focus, like there is nothing else in the world he wants. Nowhere else he'd rather be.
“Fuck me, Clay. I want to be ruined by you,” I beg. There’s a moment of hesitation, and to my surprise, Clayton slowly shakes his head. Stroking a hand over my cheek, his hair falls forward to frame his handsome face.
Shifting my hips, I bite down on my lip, and he promptly pries it free. There’s no mistaking how much I’m affecting him, his cock jolting, his shoulders corded tightly. When I do it again, the breath saws out of him.
With meticulous care, Clay lifts my leg into the crook of his arm, the muscle there flexing as he withdraws fully from my thighs. I whimper again, the emptiness almost painful until he slides back into me in one smooth, unhurried motion, his mouth parting as his chest shudders against mine. I don’t hear the sound he makes, but I feel it through his body, through the way his grip tightens. He moves deliberately, every stroke measured, grazing that sensitive place inside me that makes my breath stutter and my hands clutch at his shoulders.
Dawning hits me all at once. Clay won’t fuck me. He’ll make love to me, rebranding what I believed pleasure to be. Every unhurried thrust drives me deeper into the mattress, just as his cock is reaching deeper within me. My eyes roll back, the pressure too heady to withstand.
One hand cups my breast, his thumb brushing just enough to make my body tense and plead, while his mouth never quite leaves mine long enough for either of us to fully catch our breath. I sink into the escape he’s offering. Every groan leaving my lips begs him to mark me in ways Rhys can’t. To hold me and take me in the same breath. To make this moment stretch as long as possible, until the sun rises and reminds us of everything waiting outside this room.
I don’t know how long passes, time becoming a concept I can’t grasp. I’m lost in the feeling that is so uniquely Clayton, my ankles locked behind his back, my nails lightly scouring his chest. Content to let his broad shoulders and solid arms block out the rest of the world, I drag my nails along his spine, feeling the way his body responds, the tension coiling and releasing with every careful thrust.
Between us, my inner walls flutter. It’s not devastating or blinding, but it’s incredible in its intensity. The climax creeps up on me like the crash of a wave, drawing out a string of prolonged groans that leave me shaking and breathless. As my muscles clamp tight around his shaft, Clayton falls overboard with me. Sweat slicks our skin, goosebumps breaking out along my arms as we come down together, the intensity ebbing but the connection still burning bright.
Slickened by our joined wetness, Clay continues to pump in and out of me, a mess forming on the sheets beneath us. But he doesn’t stop. Not softening for a second, he resumes his steady pace, twisting us onto our sides in a tangle of limbs.
Softened by the pillows, his arms close around me, allowing my entire body to relax in a lull of desire. My breath shudders, the aftermath of my climax awakening once more. I never want this to end, this feeling of safety and acceptance. My hand slides up into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft blond strands, and I tug his head aside, my mouth finding his ear as I speak the words my chest is burning to release.
“I love you. I love you endlessly,” I breathe. “You’re mine, Clayton Michaels.” In return, Clay’s chest rumbles with his own admissions, and although they’re silent to my ears, I hear them. He speaks words of love, tells me I’m beautiful, and promises to never let me go.
I try desperately to resist the closing of my eyes, to stay enveloped in Clay’s embrace while he leisurely thrusts inside of me, but sleep comes calling regardless. In my dreams, I relive the pleasure coursing through my core, my clit fluttering with phantom touches, Clay’s thrusting repeating behind my eyelids.
I writhe, moaning into my pillow. Hands skim over my ass and accentuate the arch of my back, fingers toying with my hair. I push back, the cool air acting like a balm over my swollen pussy. The grip on my hair tightens, pushing my face further into the pillow as a thick, bulbous head lines up with my center and welcomes itself inside.
The guttural cry that tears through me is enough to rid the last of the sleep clinging to my psyche, my eyes flying open against the cotton. Around the edges of my hindered vision, the kiss of sunlight bleeds in. Disoriented, I push my ass back, grinding on the cock buried inside of me. There’s no mistaking the ridges of metal that drag against my inner walls so deliciously.
“Rhys,” I moan, “you’re back.”
“Babygirl,” Rhys groans straight back, his voice inside my head. “You have no idea what it does to me to know you can recognize my cock.” Pulling back and promptly slamming home, Rhys shows me exactly what it does to him. He grows impossibly harder, his hips snapping without abandon now.
“Spending a single night away from you is torture,” he mutters into wherever he’s stashed the mic clip. “All I wanted was to be beside you, to be balls deep in this sweet, tight cunt.Imagine my surprise when I return early to find you thrashing in your sleep, working yourself into a frenzy.” Releasing my hair, Rhys’ skilled hands smooth back along my body, one finding my hip and the other seeking out my clit. I buck at the contact, my thighs shaking as he circles my clit and continues to slam into me from behind.
“I would never have left you wanting like this,” Rhys muses. “Or maybe this hole isn’t satisfied with only one of the men you have crawling on their knees. Maybe you need both.” I can’t hear the sound that escapes me at that image, but Rhys catches it. He chuckles low and dark, his smile evident in his tone. “Oh, you like the sound of that, do you?” Moving away from my clit, Rhys spreads my ass cheeks wide to watch himself plunge in and out of me. “Hmmm, I reckon it would be one hell of a tight fit, little minx, but we can make it work.”
The image he’s painting alone is enough to unravel me. Having them both claiming my pussy, their shafts rubbing against one another, Rhys’ piercings driving into me harder to accommodate Clayton’s girth, it’s a dizzying image that drives me over the edge. I can merely grip my pillow with my fists and teeth, my cries muffled and skin breaking out in a layer of sweat.
“That’s it, Harper. Cum for me.” My body obeys Rhys’ command far too easily, my walls clamping down as I tumble over the edge. With a string of grunts, Rhys follows, his cock swelling and pulsing inside of me as he drives in hard and fast, only stopping when we both collapse in a heap of sweaty limbs. Static from the mic clip rattles in my head, Rhys’ heavy breathing tangling with the prolonged moans leaving me. I’m sore and exhausted, but with my body buzzing from the release and adrenaline, I’ve never felt so alive.
“You’re. So. Fucking. Perfect,” Rhys says between pants, his arms winding around my middle and tugging us both onto our sides. I smile as my eyes flutter closed, more content thanever to just lie here. Eventually, my mind wakes up enough for questions about last night to filter in, but I don’t voice any of them. The time will come for an interrogation later.
Rhys presses a kiss into my hair before twisting to grab Clay’s discarded T-shirt, holding it between us as he carefully pulls his cock from me.
“Oh, how romantic,” I tease, rolling my eyes. Rhys smirks, accepting the challenge. In one smooth motion, he scoops me up, Clay’s shirt still tucked between my legs. I squeal, swatting lightly at his shoulder and mouthing a protest as he carries me across the room, the vibration of his laugh thrumming through his chest and into mine. The closer we get, the louder the hiss of running water becomes, until he nudges the bathroom door open with his foot.
Clayton stands beneath the spray, eyes closed, head tipped back against the tiles as water streams over his bare shoulders. The bathroom is tiled from floor to ceiling, divided by a single glass panel. From the shower head built into the ceiling, rain cascades straight down onto this flawless chest, the rivets catching between his abs.
Catching me gawking, Rhys sets me down long enough to unhook the mic clip attached to a silver chain around his neck. Then, he whips Clay’s shirt out from between my legs quickly enough to make me gasp, and nudges me towards the shower. The intention for him to hang back is clear, so I lace my fingers through his and tug him with me, refusing to be separated from either of my men for a second time in two days.
Clay’s eyes open the moment my hand presses to his chest. His smile is immediate and wide, reviving the sweet ache in my chest from last night. He draws me beneath the spray, warm water slicking my skin as his hands move instinctively, washing me with quiet care. There’s no rush or urgency, just his soothing presence.
“You didn’t have to leave the bed,” I chastise, my fingers brushing his ribs as I look up at him through the water. I can only imagine Rhys storming in like a bull, already hard and hunting for me. Clay’s quick glance over my head confirms my suspicion, but his smile doesn’t waver. He lifts his hands to sign, my eyes tracking them through the spray beating down around us.
