“That, princess, can be arranged.”
While I twist toward Jansen, Walker shifts to kiss the back of my shoulder, down my ribs, lighting up parts of my body that have been nothing but utilitarian. “Will you be good?” I get out, my voice almost stern.
Jansen nods frantically, his erection bobbing between us, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he waits for me to tell him what I want.
And after a beat, I show him. I lower onto him, using his dick to grind against, trapping it between us, my teeth and tongue taking from his mouth just like my clit takes from the soft steel between us. Using his body for my pleasure.
Walker slips behind me, the kisses trailing down my back, his hands gripping my waist as I rub up and down Jansen’s length, getting wetter with every pass, the tease to him just as much a tease for me. But also, an aching pleasure, the slow rumble of an approaching summer storm.
The three of us move together, Jansen shuddering as he keeps himself from bucking up into me, and I thread our fingers together. His grip grows tight, his mouth frantic, the wildness he hides having no place to go but out, only kept back by his own desire.
He could overpower me in a moment.
But he chooses to stay pinned, under my command, and the power that gives me, the trust he gifts me, it’s like I have the magic needed to control a wildfire. Vibrant, unbelievable, and so goddamn hot that each touch burns.
My long, slow drags pick up, need building in me, and Walker notices, his hands slipping from my waist and up to my breasts, his fingers plucking my nipples, making me pant at the additional sensation. He kisses up my back, and one hand slips around, gathering my hair, revealing my neck to him. His teeth sink in as his grip tightens on both my hair and my nipple, and I cry out, the combination of stings and aches turning my slow build into an electrical storm, my orgasm coursing through me, startling me with its strength and suddenness.
I press against Jansen, and he mutters nonsense words that sound like names in alphabetical order, his eyes squeezed shut as the space between us gets drenched with my release.
Shuddering in Walker’s grasp, my grip on Jansen loosens, and he grabs my wrist and drags it to his lips, licking, kissing, nipping at the soft skin there as I ride continued waves of pleasure. “Shit,” I gasp out, the ride seeming unending, Walker’s teeth loosening, his tongue soothing what will probably be a bruise tomorrow.
Totally worth it.
Walker crawls from behind me, and I drop on top of Jansen, shifting my head to watch him, catching sight of RJ’s gaze locked on us, an aftershock rushing through me at his attention.
“Was Jansen good enough?” Walker asks, squatting next to the mattress, still fully dressed, the jerk.
I nod, not trusting my words, Jansen twitching between my legs. But I turn to him, kissing him until I recover enough to give him praise. “Very good,” I whisper against his lips.
He whimpers.
“Are you ready to give him his prize?” Walker shucks his shirt, his grip on himself tight through the cotton pants.
I turn back to Jansen, tracing the shape of his cheekbones, his jaw, his body practically vibrating beneath me as he waits for my answer. I press my lips to his, chaste compared to the kisses before. “Yes.”
“Hell yeah,” he gasps out, before I’m on my back and he’s across the mattress, taking a bottle from Walker.
Lube. At some point today, one of them bought lube.
And I thought I was orchestrating this thing.
But looking at the three of them, I don’t even care. This is exactly what we all need. And I can’t wait for whatever happens next.
Chapter 45
Clara
Walker finally strips off the last of his clothes, and I take a moment to absorb the masculine beauty surrounding me. Our time away honed us all, and their bodies reflect that truth through the lines of muscles that cut across all of them. Their strength is so evident when naked, but can be so easily be hidden by loose clothing.
Then Walker takes my wrist, drawing me to him, wrapping my fingers around his cock, holding my gaze captive like his hand keeps me tight around him. His pace is slow, my hand an instrument of self-torture. His other hand tilts my jaw where he wants it, before he dives into me, the kiss calling to my darkness, begging it to come out and play. And it does, my heart loud in my ears, the urge to take control of his careful motions urgent, but impossible, my free hand wrapping around him, digging into his back with no other target.
He grunts, then pulls back with a grin I can’t parse on his face.
But he leans in, nipping at my bottom lip. “I like it when you mark me,” he whispers.
Before I can think of a response, he yanks off my slip and drags us into the bed, laying me over him, sliding into me without preamble, the slight burn making me hiss. The jackass laughs, then takes my mouth again as we rock together, working him deeper, the stretch glorious after so little stimulation.
But once we’re fully joined, he stops, glancing over my shoulder.
