I take the hem of the shirt between my fingers and tug it up slowly, inch by inch, exposing her flushed skin, the peaks of her breasts, the soft curve of her stomach.She lifts her arms without me asking, and I peel it away, tossing it aside like it doesn’t deserve to be on her body in the first place.
She’s almost bare—shirt gone—just her, trembling and waiting for me.My breath catches at the sight.Her breasts rise and fall with each quick inhale, nipples already tight, begging for my mouth.
I don’t hesitate.
My palms cup her, kneading, squeezing until she moans and arches into me.God, they’re perfect—full, warm, spilling into my hands like they were made for them.For me.
“Barret loves these,” I murmur against her skin, voice low, taunting.“Couldn’t keep his hands off them, could he?”
Her gasp is answer enough.
I lower my head, taking one nipple between my lips, sucking hard until she cries out.I swirl my tongue over it, tug it between my teeth, not letting up until she’s writhing.Her fingers claw at my shoulders, desperate, half trying to pull me closer, half trying to survive the sensation.
“Did he suck you like this?”I growl against her breast, flicking my tongue over the swollen peak before switching to the other.“Did he bite down until you screamed for him?”
I don’t wait for her to answer.I nip the tip, sharp enough to make her cry out, then soothe it with slow, wet strokes of my tongue, savoring every sound that spills from her mouth.
Her body bows against me, back arching, pressing her tits harder to my face like she can’t stand the space between us.I drag my teeth along one nipple, then the other, pulling groans from her throat until she’s panting, her thighs trembling, wetness running down her legs.
I look up at her, lips slick, mouth still latched to her breast, and smile against her skin.
“I’m going to make you scream for me, Cleo.And when you do, I want to know if it sounds the same as when Barret had you.”
Then I suck harder, deeper, greedier—like I’m starving.
Now it’s just her in panties, trembling, chest rising fast.My girl.Our girl.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my palms sliding up the backs of her thighs until I’m cupping her ass, dragging her closer to my mouth.My lips brush the damp fabric stretched over her cunt, the scent of Barret still clinging to her.
I groan, deep and low.“Fuck, I can taste him already.”
Her knees buckle, and I grip tighter, forcing her to stand.I drag my tongue slowly across the cotton, savoring, taunting.“Do you like that?Knowing I want to taste him through you while I make you come?”
She whimpers—broken, needy.
I hook my fingers into her panties and tug them down, slow enough to torture.The fabric slides along her hips, down her thighs, until it falls forgotten at her ankles.
My breath hitches.
She’s wet, swollen, glistening—open in a way that makes my pulse pound in my ears.And it isn’t just because of me.
It’s him.
Barret.
I see him on her.In her.The way she’s already stretched, already trembling, already carrying his touch like a brand across her skin.He’s left his mark inside her.And, God, it shouldn’t make me ache the way it does.But it does because I love him.
Because I want him as much as I want her.
And here, right now, she’s the only bridge I have to both of us for now.Later I’ll take him—have them both.I kneel between her thighs and press my mouth close, close enough to breathe her in.The scent of her, the faint taste of him lingering there—it makes my whole body clench with need.My tongue drags along her slit, slow, deliberate, pulling a broken sound from her lips.
“Fuck,” I whisper against her.“He’s still here.I can taste him in your skin.”
I close my mouth over her clit, gently suckling, teasing her with the truth between us.“You like that, don’t you?Knowing I want him through you ...while I make you mine.”
And fuck if that doesn’t make me harder than I’ve ever been.
I press my mouth to her, slow, savoring.Her taste explodes across my tongue—salty, sweet, familiar, but not only hers.I groan, low and guttural, gripping her ass tighter to keep her steady.
