Cleo breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh.“Later?”
“Now,” I rasp, voice rough.
Eddie chuckles, and it rumbles against my spine.“You’re not mixing anything else tonight.”
He turns me in his arms and kisses me like he’s starving.No finesse, just heat and teeth and want.My back bumps the console, but I don’t care.His tongue slides against mine, and I feel Cleo’s hands at my belt, her fingers nimble, her mouth at my throat.
I let my head fall back as her lips graze that spot just beneath my jaw—the one she always finds like it’s hers.And maybe it is.Her breath is warm, her tongue soft, her teeth a tease.My fingers curl into Eddie’s shirt as he pins me with his body, and I can’t tell if it’s his groan or mine when Cleo undoes the first button on my jeans.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.His eyes burn—hungry, locked in.“Tell me to stop.”
I can’t.
My mouth opens but no words come.Just a shaky breath.
Cleo doesn’t wait.She sinks to her knees, dragging my jeans down with her.The sound of the zipper feels obscene in the silence between breaths and bass.Eddie presses his forehead to mine.His hand cups my jaw.
“She wants you,” he murmurs.“I want you.”
His voice is rough.Edged with need.My thighs are trembling before she even touches me.
Cleo’s mouth trails down, hot breath against bare skin.She looks up at me as she presses her lips to the crease of my hip.There’s reverence in the way she holds me.Like this is something sacred.Like I am.
Then her mouth wraps around me, and everything else slips away.
I gasp, fingers scrabbling for something to hold.Eddie catches my wrist, anchoring me.His other hand threads through Cleo’s hair, guiding but never forcing.
“Fuck—Cleo,” I breathe, but she doesn’t stop.She hums, and the vibration shoots through my spine.
Eddie watches me unravel.Watches her worship me with her mouth, and there’s something unguarded in his face.Not lust—need.Like he’s been holding something back and it’s finally spilling loose.
“Look at you,” he whispers.“Falling apart for us.”
My legs nearly give out.Eddie’s arm slides around my waist, holding me upright as Cleo takes me deeper.Her lips glide down, her tongue curling just right—and I see stars.
“Please,” I whisper, and I don’t know what I’m begging for.More?Mercy?I’d give them both everything.
Cleo pulls back with a wet sound that has Eddie groaning into my skin.She looks up at us, lips swollen, eyes glassy.
“Couch,” she says, breathless.
Eddie doesn’t wait.He grabs my hand, yanks me toward him, and kisses me hard—his mouth all possession and promise.Cleo’s fingers skim down my spine, her nails teasing skin, her mouth brushing my shoulder as she follows.We move together in a tangle of breath and hunger, bumping into the arm of the couch before Eddie guides me down with a rough kind of reverence.I sink into the cushions, half-naked, dizzy, drunk on them both.
They push me down.
Cleo climbs onto my lap, straddling me, her dress rucked up around her thighs.Her skin is warm, her breath unsteady as she settles against me.Eddie doesn’t waste time—he’s already behind her, dragging the zipper down with slow precision.The fabric peels away from her like it’s been waiting to fall.She lifts her arms, and he pulls the dress over her head, tossing it aside.
She’s not wearing a bra.No panties either.Just flushed skin and that wet, aching heat pressed against me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my voice catching in my throat.
Eddie’s mouth finds her neck, his hands sliding up her ribs, framing her with a kind of hunger that borders on reverent.She gasps when his palms cover her breasts, thumbs circling over already-tight peaks.Her back arches into him, and I feel the way she pulses against me—hot, slick, needy.
I reach for her, hands settling at her hips, pulling her closer.She presses into me like she’s starving for contact, like this—us—is something she’s been reaching for in the dark.
Like she belongs here.
Like she never left.
