“Some of them.” Locke wound my hair around his hand and pulled me in for a kiss. “Me and Nash... we’re working on the rest.”
My sleep-addled brain caught on to the fact that he didn’t mean his clothes. Or maybe he did and the implication was tied up in something I didn’t understand yet.
Either way, it wasn’t the first occasion I’d kissed someone in front of Nash, but it was definitely the first time he’d responded with arousal rather than awful, flat devastation.
With a rumbling sigh and a slow thrust of his hips, his hands already caressing my stomach, dipping below the waistband of the boyshorts I’d worn to bed.
I ground back on instinct, searching for him, his presence in my bed so familiar even if we were still learning the script of an epic sex life.
The sheets were in my way.
Nash grappled with them, ripping them free as Locke broke our kiss, still clutching my hair.
He turned my head. “Kiss your man, queenie.”
In the dark, I found Nash and we fell into the same headlong connection we’d shared the first time I’d ever put my lips on him. The kind that never ended unless a brighter spark took hold.
Nash was that spark for me, forever and always, but if he was the lit match, Locke was the dry tinder to the flame. I felt his gaze on me as I kissed Nash—onus—and it made my heart pound, a rush I’d never felt roaring in my ears.
This is really happening.
I drew back from Nash and gripped his chin. “You should kiss him too.”
He bit his lip. “I already did.”
“Then kiss him again.”
“I love you, Orls. So fucking much.”
“I loveyou.” I punctuated the words with a biting kiss. Then I gripped his chin and turned him to Locke, who waited, silent and strong, for Nash to take what he wanted.
What heneeded.
A heartbeat passed between them. A look I couldn’t decipher. Then their lips met, and the slowest, sweetest kiss became an inferno that spread like wildfire.
They kissed each other.
They kissed me.
Somewhere in the mess of wet lips and clawing hands, I lost track. I was nothing but electric desire, at the mercy of Locke’s whispered commands and the inexplicable need to obey him.
He rolled me over, turning me to face Nash. “He needs to be naked.”
Agreed. I popped the buttons on Nash’s jeans, revealing he wore nothing else, and pushed them down until he took over and kicked them away.
Bare to me, Nash was perfect. And Locke had been right earlier—it wasn’t about how he looked, but how he felt as my greedy hands reached for him. How he gazed at me in another man’s embrace as if I’d hung every star in the sky.
“Orla.” Locke’s deep murmur rattled my bones. “I’m gonna undress you for him. You want me to stop, say the fuckin’ word.”
“What word?”
“Stop.”
Bless him. I was all in and he knew it, but he wasn’t just talking to me, and I held Nash’s sweet blue eyes as Locke’s big hands stripped me, freeing my breasts and easing my shorts over my hips.
Like Nash, I wore no underwear. I was naked for him to see. For Locke to explore as he tugged me flush against him.
He was hard, his thick length an iron rod against my spine. And I was wet... so fucking wet.
