Damian actually whimpers. “Fuck,” he hisses.
“Pull out,” Ryder says. “Now.”
Damian’s hands clamp around my waist, pulling me off him as if I’ve suddenly turned into molten lava. “Fuck,” he pants. “Jesus, fuck.”
“Get on your knees,” Ryder tells me.
I turn and kneel before Damian, a supplicant ready to receive. He stands, his hand working his erection quickly and deftly, the muscle jumping in his cheek, his nostrils flaring as his breath comes in hard, fast bursts. I open my mouth, flattening my tongue, and touch the tip to the sensitive head of his cock. His brows knit together, tight and pained with anticipation. He curses, a deep, guttural sound, and then seizes up, every muscle going hard and tight before releasing on a cry. The first hot spurts of his cum hit my tongue, and then I lower my mouth over him, swallowing it all down, the heat of him sliding down my throat.
“Good girl,” Ryder says from behind me.
His praise washes over me, leaving me feeling stupidly pleased. I turn toward him and the way he’s watching me, quietly proud, makes that feeling bloom.
His hand comes down to rest at the nape of my neck, warm and sure, and his thumb strokes once along my spine. “Now,” he says quietly, tilting his chin toward the bed where Wyatt is propped up. “Take care of him.”
I’m all too aware of Wyatt’s tenderness, the pain that must be radiating through his chest. I turn to him, still on my knees, but I’m gentle as I lay my hands on his thighs, like I could break him. He moves his hands away, leaning back on them, his eyes never leaving my face. I wrap my fingers around the base of his shaft, feeling the pulse of him under my palm, and stroke him slowly.
Then I lower my head and suck him down, my lips stretching to accommodate this girth. He’s completely still, holding himself carefully, I assume, but his breath huffs out of him in choppy, urgent bursts. I work him with my mouth the way I wish I could fuck him—eager and deep—and within seconds, he’s pulsing, shuddering against my lips as his cum hits the back of my throat.
When I stand, Ryder is there, still bare-chested from the game, holding out a small plastic cup of whiskey. I take it, and the liquid burns a clean, fiery trail down my throat, clearing the taste of all three of them from my mouth.
When I lower the cup, I’m suddenly aware of how close we are—of the ink and muscle right in front of me, his chest a landscape of hard strength and tattoos. He takes the empty cup from my hand and sets it aside, then lifts his rough palms to my arms, pulling me in for a kiss. Heat radiates off of him, his gravity unmistakable—dominant and absolute.
“Lie down on the bed,” he says, his voice a low, commanding rumble, and nods toward the mattress. I walk around Jake and Damian, their hands trailing over my skin as I pass, and lie down on my back. Ryder follows me, and comes to stand at the foot ofthe bed. His hands move to his pants, unbuttoning them slowly as he watches me. He lets them fall, and the sight of him bare, so powerful and utterly commanding, takes my breath away.
He lowers himself over me, knees pushing my legs apart with firm insistence. His rough palms cup the weight of my breasts, and his thumbs brush over my nipples, the touch light at first, before applying just enough pressure to make me gasp. Then, without warning, he pinches them. I whimper as a sharp sting of pain arrows straight to my clit, making me arch my back.
He kisses me hard then, lips claiming mine with a deep, bruising possessiveness. His thick erection pushes between my legs. His hands move down to cup my ass, tilting me open for him, and my mind goes hazy with the singular need to be filled. His hands spread my cheeks, opening me completely, his breath hot against my ear.
“You’re mine,” he growls, and with a slow, deep roll of his hips, sinks into me. He fills me, inch by inch, and then he begins to thrust, hard and steady, fucking me into the mattress. His breathing goes rough, his hair falling loose around his face. He bends down to kiss me as he fucks me, and sensation spreads everywhere—to my mouth, my pussy, to his hands on my ass, pulling me apart.
And then there are more hands. Hands massaging my breasts, hands stroking my hair. Ryder breaks the kiss and looks down at me, an absolutely feral expression on his face, his biceps and chest flexing with every hard thrust. Jake and Damian are on either side of me now. Jake is kneading and rubbing my breasts, and as Ryder lifts his torso, Jake bends down and sucks a hardened nipple into his mouth. Damian bends over me, his lips finding mine.
It’s sensation everywhere. More than I can process. The ache that starts deep in my core is almost painful, a heavy, tightseizing, as if everything in me is rushing to one single, central point.
“That’s it,” Damian whispers against my mouth. “That’s it, baby.”
Oh God. I’m losing control. It’s too much. My vision darkens at the edges. The wave that threatens to overtake me feels like oblivion. I clench, the walls of my pussy seizing around Ryder’s cock, and he groans in response.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, the words small and light, and then I’m combusting, blowing up from the inside. The world disappears, and for one incredible moment, I’m shattered, like every cell of my body is spinning outward from me.
As I come back down to earth, loose-limbed and lost, it’s Ryder I hear. Ryder pounding into me so hard that his face is contorted, a wild animal cry rising out of him. And then he’s slamming into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he roars, his release exploding inside of me.
“Holy shit,” he’s saying, his voice ragged, almost weeping. “Holy fucking shit.”
He collapses on top of me, a heavy, sated weight. Jake and Damian curl in close on either side, kissing my hair, my face. I reach my hand out, searching, and find Wyatt’s across the way. His big, warm hand closes over mine. He’s here, too. They’re all here, all with me at once, and I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt so truly, deeply satisfied.
So loved.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I BLINK AWAKE, groggy, and stare at the way the light bounces over the back of the driver’s seat. Dust motes float in the air, turning slow cartwheels every time we hit a bump. The radio’s on very low, just a murmur of voices under the steady rumble of the car. Wyatt shifts in his seat and sighs.
Damian’s hoodie is stuffed under my head as a pillow. Even though I’ve been sleeping on it since we got in the car, I still notice his smell and draw a slow breath in through my nose. Soap and fresh air and the specific edge that’s just him, with a ghost of something sharper—whatever cologne he’s been dragging from shirt to shirt.
I push up on my elbows. Damian’s hands are loose on the steering wheel, long fingers relaxed. I remember those same fingers on my throat, my hips, my ass, and a rush of warmth goes through me.
Wyatt is in the passenger seat, profile turned toward the windshield. The long slope of his neck disappears into the collar of his t-shirt, the muscle in his forearm flexing when he reaches for his coffee cup. Even the way he lifts it, the way his strong hands curl around the cup, pulls at something in my chest.
