“I bet those tits feel good,” he murmurs to Jake, who breathes a laugh against my mouth and then mumbles an “uh-huh” that gets lost against our lips. Damian’s fingers thread lightly through my hair, the touch sending shivers down my spine. My breath hitches and Jake feels it, and starts kissing me harder.
It’s a charged familiarity, being held between them like this. For months this was our routine—the three of us, together. Sometimes I was with one or the other, and that was special too, but this particular feeling, of having both of them paying attention to me at the same time, is something sacred.
Damian starts kissing my neck, his hands finding my waist and then sliding up under my shirt. Jake helps him pull the fabric up and away, and suddenly I’m sitting there in just mybra, exposed to their hands and mouths moving over my skin. God, their touch is exquisite.
I have to look at Wyatt again as Jake breaks away from my mouth to start kissing down my shoulder and chest, to make sure that he’s okay with this. But the molten heat in Wyatt’s blue eyes is all the answer I need. He’s staring back from his chair, openly watching, the unmistakable bulge in his pants telling me exactly how he feels. Jake tilts his head, following my line of sight, and I catch the flash of his smile before his mouth returns to my skin. Like he approves of him wanting me, too.
Damian’s hands roam down to the waistband of my pants, and then he’s pulling it down, encouraging me to lift so he can pull them all the way off. Jake’s hands deftly unclip my bra and slide it down off my shoulders. Air kisses my skin in places that were covered a second ago.
Jake’s knuckles ghost over the newly bared skin of my ribs. Damian bends down before me, tugging my panties over my feet. Sitting there naked before all three of them, the world narrows to a pinpoint of sensation, my arousal at being seen and touched by them.
Damian places his palms flat and warm against my thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles there, and I shiver. He eases closer, pressure sliding between my legs, heat building where he touches me. Wherever their skin meets mine, I feel myself dissolving, my edges blurring.
Wyatt sits back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but I can feel the ramrod focus of his attention. I wonder if this is too much for him—if watching us like this is a cruelty, a sharp reminder of what his broken ribs keep him from. But when I look at him again, all I see is hunger, and longing, and…a kind of pride.
Jake pulls me back against his chest, his body a solid wall of warmth behind me. Damian helps lift my legs onto the couch so I’m lying on it. Jake’s arms brace me, his thigh shifting to eitherside of me until he’s cocooned himself around me. Damian sits back on the edge of the couch, positioning himself by my feet. He slides his hands up my calves to my knees, and spreads them apart, his eyes never leaving mine. When he leans in, the gentle touch of his breath alone nearly sends me over the edge. His lips brush the inside of my thigh before he begins trailing upward in a path of liquid fire. Three pairs of eyes on me in this position should be mortifying. But instead I feel cherished.
Wyatt shifts in his chair, his voice low and commanding. “Put a cushion under her hips,” he says, and the words pierce my core like a spark. The sheer authority of it.
Jake sits up slightly, briefly pushing me forward, while he pulls out the throw pillow from behind his back. He passes it to Damian, who lifts my hips and tucks it under me. The tilt opens me more. I feel exposed in the best way, like my body is being offered and worshipped at the same time.
Jake is curved protectively around me, pulling me back into him. His chin rests on my shoulder as his hands begin to roam my torso, exploring every curve and hollow. He cups my breasts with both hands, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples until they’re pebble-hard points of sensation. He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his breath hot. I can feel the hard length of him thickening against my lower back.
Damian brushes exquisitely light kisses over that sensitive place just shy of my center, close enough that the heat of his breath makes me arch my back.
“God,” he murmurs against my skin, lingering there for a beat before lowering his mouth to my sex.
My fingers clutch at Jake’s forearm. My toes curl against the cushions.
He licks softly, one long, slow slide of his tongue, and I gasp, arching back again into Jake’s hold. Damian’s tongue starts moving faster—rubbing, seeking—but Wyatt’s voice cuts in.
“Slow at first,” he says.
Fuck, it is erotic to have him there watching and instructing. Damian obeys, his tongue flattening against my clit in a slow, firm motion that makes my vision go white around the edges. He stays patient on purpose, drawing it out until I’m panting.
The strangest thing is how natural it feels, how seamlessly we all fall into our roles—the men as architects, me as canvas. Every time I make a sound, a soft gasp or a sharp inhale, they adjust to it: Jake murmuring encouragements into my hair, Damian tweaking his rhythm, Wyatt’s voice occasionally slicing through with a new instruction that makes my pulse spike.
“Hold her there,” Wyatt commands when Damian finds a spot that makes me seize, my back bowing off the couch. Jake groans. His hand splays on my sternum, pinning me in place as Damian doubles his focus, his tongue relentless, even as my hips buck and my heels dig into the cushions. I’m on the edge, teetering, and the combination of their hands and mouths and voices is a current I can’t fight.
“Oh fuck, she’s close,” Jake grits out, his voice strained, and I feel every muscle in his body tense behind me, the hard ridge of his cock twitching against my lower back through the fabric of his pants.
Damian pushes two fingers inside me then, curling them just so against that sensitive spot deep inside, and my vision goes black. My body spasms, a wave of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful, and tears leak from the corners of my eyes, my mouth open in a soundless scream. Jake holds me through it, whispering praise, his lips soft against my temple. I clench hard around Damian’s fingers, my thighs shaking, unable to catch my breath as I come.
“Good Maxie,” Jake whispers. “That’s so fucking hot.”
Damian doesn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working me through the aftershocks, until it’s too much. I grab at his hair, yanking him away with a sob.
“Beautiful,” says Wyatt, hushed and reverent.
They don’t rush me. Damian sits up, grinning, and runs a hand softly over my calf while I catch my breath. Jake cradles me against his chest, stroking my hair. He presses a kiss into my hairline, tender and soft. I let myself fall into it, catching my breath, until I start to notice the world around me again. The show’s still playing. Cool blue and white light flashes above me on the ceiling.
Finally, I push up on an elbow, still somewhat dazed. “My turn to reciprocate,” I say, rubbing my hand on Jake’s arm.
But Wyatt clears his throat softly. “Let’s leave it there for tonight,” he says. Damian and Jake nod in agreement, like this makes perfect sense.
I wonder if this is about Ryder, because he isn’t there. It’s quite clear that all three men are throbbing hard. But I don’t know how to ask, so I let it be.
“Well, lucky me,” I say with a light laugh, and let myself fall back against Jake.
