Orion eats me like I'm the last thing on this earth he'll ever taste. He moans as if he's the one being pleasured. Grayson's fingers pump faster. I'm certain it's him now. In and out, a finger in my pussy.
Then a second in my ass.
I clench against it. Squeezing, holding them in.
Writhing over Orion's face, I get lost in it all. I shake and ride him, wild and out of rhythm. His tongue flicks faster, and then his lips wrap firmly around my clit and he hums and flicks with his tongue, and the thick fingers inside my pussy and ass thrust faster, and it all comes rushing out.
I fucking detonate.
I come harder than I ever have before. It sprays out of me, and I keep riding, and Grayson keeps pumping into me. Orion keeps sucking, and only when I've spent every last drop and collapse do they slow and then, finally, stop.
I fall in a heap by Orion's head, shaking with the aftershocks of the orgasm.
"She can come again," Grayson says confidently. I hear his voice distantly. My mouth doesn't form the words I need to argue. Or agree.
"She could, but I suspect it's been a while. She needs rest. And comfort."
Grayson hums thoughtfully. I can almost picture him. Big and brooding, fists on his hips like he's contemplating an obstacle. But Orion must convince him, and I decide I'm grateful because Grayson lifts me up, cradles me in his giant arms, and carries me into the bathroom.
Being in his arms is everything.
The bathroom is small, though from what I can tell from the rest of this house—old as it is—everything in here was built so long ago, massive bathrooms with double sinks weren't really a thing.
Not that I'm complaining. There's a clawfoot tub with a standup shower head, and that's more than enough for me. Grayson sets me down.
I'm spent.
Some of that earlier embarrassment creeps in.
I just rode Orion's face. Grayson had his tongue in my ass.
I just came like a water hose.
I can hear Orion in the other room. Sheets rustling. I don't want him to change the sheets. I like the smell of them there. I haven't changed them since Grayson slept with me.
Maybe he will again if I ask.
When the tub is full, Grayson rolls up his sleeves. His forearm flexes. Built for big, alpha things like lifting heavy tires and a cord of wood and throwing other alphas around.
But right now, it flexes as he works the knobs, adjusting the temperature. And again, when he pivots and lifts me up. He sets me in the tub like I'm a child.
And I'm okay with that.
I still haven't spoken. But maybe I don't need to. Grayson doesn't ask questions.
My big, burly, bossy, kind of an asshole, intensely dominant alpha… bathes me.
He lathers the soap and scrubs my limbs. He guides my head back and tilts my chin so he can wash and rinse my hair. And when I'm clean, he drains the tub, then runs the handheld sprayer and rinses me off, one limb at a time.
His fingers reach between my folds, and I catch the mischievous smirk as he rinses me there, too. I shudder, my knees weak, when his finger and the water spray graze my clit. But then he turns the water off.
And when he's done, he wraps me in a towel, brushing it down my legs and arms, squeezing out the excess water from my hair before carrying me into the bedroom.
And to my utter delight, Orion is still there. His hair is wet from a shower, and he has a paperback in his lap. He pulls back the blankets, holds his arms out, and Grayson hands me over.
And it should feel ridiculous, all of this. Being passed around.
But it doesn't.
