CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HEAT.
Breath.
Tension.
I’m twisting my fingers into the sheets before I’m even properly awake, my core tight.Aching.
The sensation is electric, a throbbing pulse that seems to resonate through every fiber of my being. I arch into it, a soft breath escaping my lips as my nerves ignite, my sex hot and swollen between my legs.
Is it a dream? A memory of the motel? But then a rough hand slides over my breast, cupping it gently. A thumb brushes over my nipple, making it tighten. I moan softly, the sound catching in my throat as I press back against the hard, warm body behind me. A firm, muscled chest.
I become aware of a slow, throbbing weight pushing between my thighs and arch my back more, tilting my ass up to make room for the thick length that’s rubbing against me, seeking entry. I don’t know who it is. It’s one of my men, of course, but in this house I’m surrounded by their scents. It could be any one of their hard bodies pressing up against me. I smell Ryder, but this was his room, his sheets, his bed. His smell would be lingering everywhere.
And the not knowing is its own kind of sleepy pleasure.
A hand slides up my thigh, fingers tracing the curve of my hip before dipping under the waistband of my shorts. They tug the fabric down, exposing my skin inch by inch. I bite my lip, my pulse quickening as fingers slide into the heat between my legs, a middle finger pressing against my clit. A soft moan escapes me, my head falling back against a hard shoulder, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to.
His fingers part me gently, his touch maddeningly slow, fingertips circling my entrance before dipping inside just enough to tease. I grind my hips backward, but his other hand clamps down on my hip, holding me still.
My breath hitches as his finger pushes deeper, curling inside me, and I clench around him, my juices coating his hand. Then, without warning, his fingers are gone. I barely have time to protest before I feel the hot press of his cock against my entrance. With one deep, slow thrust, he buries himself inside me, stretching me open until I am so full I gasp, my nails digging into the sheets.
I exhale shakily, my body adjusting to his size. He’s thick, cock pulsing inside me as he holds himself there, his chest pressing against my back. I can feel his heartbeat against my ribs, his breath hot against my neck. His hand grips my hip, fingers digging into my skin, and when he finally starts to move, it isn’t gentle.
He thrusts roughly, as gripped with need as I am. His hips snap forward, driving into me with a force that makes the bed creak and the headboard bang against the wall. Every thrust sends a jolt through me, my pussy clenching around him. I’m already close, already on the edge. I can feel my walls closing in on him, my body coiling tight, but he pulls out suddenly as if to deny me. As if he can tell.
I whimper, empty and aching. Five seconds feels like an hour. And then he slams back in with a low growl, this time hitting a spot so deep I see stars.
“Oh god…right there…” My voice breaks as he fucks me harder, his balls slapping against me with every thrust, my pussy fluttering around him as he pounds into me.
His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat, his cock swelling inside me, and I know I am about to come—hard.
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, my back arching as I clench around him in hot pulsing contractions. I cry out, only to be roughly silenced by the slap of his palm over my mouth. My whole body shakes as he holds me down, still pounding into me, his breathing rough and raw in my ear. He doesn’t slow as I tremble beneath him. Then, with a deep groan, he buries himself and comes, his cock throbbing as he fills me. His hand digs into my mouth and my cheeks as his whole body goes stiff against mine. He stays there, pressed deep inside of me, for a long time, until he starts to soften.
After a while, he presses a kiss to my shoulder, his fingers brushing my hair away from my face. The intensity of my orgasm has exhausted me. I close my eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against my back, and fall asleep with him inside me.
I wake up to sunlight.
The room is bright, the energy in the house slightly more kinetic, like people are awake, and I’m alone in bed.
I roll over and look at the indent in the pillow beside me as if I need the proof. My body knows exactly what happened here. There’s cum between my legs, my muscles are loose and heavy, and my thighs ache in a way that’s not pain. But my brain isslower to catch up, still hovering in the blur between dream and memory.
Whoever it was is gone. No heat along my spine, no slow, sleepy breath at my neck.
A pipe thunks somewhere in the house. Water rushes in the walls. Someone’s in the shower. A low male voice talking and another answering, an indistinguishable exchange.
I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and scrub my hands over my face. The window is a bright square of light, the glass fogged at the bottom where the radiator runs under it. My clothes are a heap on the floor. I put on Jake’s t-shirt and shorts and pad downstairs in bare feet.
Jake’s voice filters up the stairwell first, then Damian’s darker rumble. The coffee maker gurgles and hisses.
Wyatt is at the counter, leaning one hip against it, arms crossed. His blue eyes flick up when he sees me. Even with the stiffness I see in his shoulders, he looks like a wall—so big and strong and wide, like he could hold the whole damn house up.
Damian’s by the back door, one hand on the frame as he looks out over the yard, Jake is at the table, his laptop open in front of him, and Ryder’s at the stove, broad shoulders filling the space between the counters.
“Morning,” I say.
“Hey, sunshine,” says Jake, looking up. “You sleep?”
