Once in bed,we reached for each other in a way that was both desperate and primal.
My mouth found her throat, and her hands traced the planes of my chest. The heat that had always sparked between us was there. When she wrapped her legs around my hips and pulled me closer, I ground into her with a groan. This was what we’d been circling before Greymarch—stolen glances across briefing rooms,accidental touches that lingered too long, tension that had simmered between us until it finally boiled over.
Except it didn’t feel right. The mechanics worked. Every touch landed where it should. Her body responded, arching beneath me. I kissed down her neck, tasting her skin, trying to find the spark that would ignite us the way it had before. Her fingers threaded through my hair. Except the fire that had consumed us at Greymarch burned at half strength. A pilot light where there should have been an explosion.
I leaned away. “It’s not—I still want you. I do.”
Her eyes searched my face. “I feel it too. It’s like…”
“Like we’re playing a duet that was written for three.”
I rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. She sat up behind me and rested her palm between my shoulder blades.
He’d seen something in us—something we hadn’t seen in ourselves. The way I responded to his commands. How Phee had bloomed under his attention. We’d both needed him.
“It doesn’t mean we don’t work,” she said softly. “It means we work differently than we thought.”
“We need to get him back,” I added.
When sleep finally tookme under, I dreamed of Greymarch.
The playroom materialized around me. Silk ropes bound Ophelia’s wrists to the headboard of the bed where she lay, waiting. Naked with her legs spread. Her eyes were soft with trust, with need.
Kiernan stood behind me. His hands slid around my waist, and his arousal pressed into me through the thin fabric of my trousers.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” His voice was low. “Look at how she waits for you. How wet she is already, just from watching us.”
Phee’s thighs glistened. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.
“Take her,” Kiernan commanded. “Show me how you worship her.”
His hands worked my belt. The leather slithered free, and he pushed my trousers down, freeing my cock and wrapping his fingers around my length with a grip that drew a low sound from my throat.
“Not yet.” He stroked me once, twice—enough to make me desperate. “You come when I tell you. Not before.”
I positioned myself between Ophelia’s thighs, then entered her and thrust hard.
She cried out, and her body opened for me with heat and pressure and the exquisite grip of her inner walls.
Kiernan’s eyes burned as he watched us.
“Slowly,” he said, stretching out beside us. “Let me see everything.”
I set a rhythm—slow, deep strokes that made her arch and writhe beneath me. Her bound wrists tested the give of the silk, and her heels dug into my back. Through it all, Kiernan’s presence was a physical force.
His hands gripped my hips when he knelt behind me, and I heard the snap of the lube bottle, then felt the slick pressure of his cock as it nudged against my entrance.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “Let me in.”
The stretch burned as he pushed forward. I was full of him and inside Phee at the same time. Connected to both of them in the most intimate way possible.
Then Kiernan began to thrust.
His rhythm drove me into Ophelia. Every stroke he gave me, I gave her. We moved as one. The pleasure built in waves—his cock hitting that spot inside me, Phee’s walls clenching around me in response.
“You feel that?” Kiernan growled. “You feel how perfectly you fit between us?”
I could only moan as he drove deeper, making Phee cry out with every thrust. Her walls tightened as her orgasm built, and her breath came in sharp gasps.
