And there’s no turning back because our taboo night has finally come … and I can’t wait.
Brent stands first,one hand outstretched, and I take it because the alternative is to fall into a heap and admit how badly I’m shaking. His fingers are rough and warm, and he draws me up off the sofa with a gentleness that doesn’t match the rumors. James follows, slow and easy, as if he already knows where this is going and wants to savor the journey.
Brent’s hand stays on mine as he walks me through the apartment, past the steel kitchen and into a hallway that seems to go on forever. At the end is a double door. He opens it and ushers me inside.
The bedroom is massive—no, not massive, because the word doesn’t do it justice. It’s a command center, with a California King in the middle, slate walls, and the city fanned out in a thousand sparking dots beyond the glass. The sheets are black, the pillows so plush they look criminal. There’s nothing girlish, nothing soft, except for the single vase of lilies on a table by the bed, starkly beautiful in the low lights.
James closes the doors behind us, a deliberate click that makes my pulse skip. He comes up behind me, his hands heavy on my shoulders, massaging through the thin fabric of my blouse.
“You’re beautiful, Marnie,” he whispers in my ear, his bulk pressed up against my back. “You’re more than we deserve.”
Brent moves in close, so close I can smell the smoke and spice of his skin, the whisky on his breath. He lifts my chin with two fingers and holds my gaze, then leans in and kisses me.
“Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Not tonight. Give us everything.”
Then his tongue pushes into my mouth. There’s no warning, no soft open. He’s all control, tongue teasing, lips demanding, and I melt so fast it’s almost embarrassing. James’s hands keep massaging my shoulders, then drift down to the small of my back, pinning me between the two of them. I’m aware of every nerve ending, every spot where their bodies touch mine, even through the layers of clothing.
Brent’s hand slides up to cup my cheek, holding me in place as he explores my mouth. The kiss starts as a siege, then softens. He bites my bottom lip, lets go, and pulls back just enough to look in my eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice rough, blue eyes searching.
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
James chuckles. “Good girl,” he purrs in my ear. “Always ready for action.”
They start with my blouse—Brent unbuttoning from the top, James from the bottom, their fingers brushing each other as they meet in the middle. The fabric parts and they pull it off, then toss it aside. Brent’s hands move to my waist, steady and certain, while James slips his hands around to my stomach, palms flat and hot.
My skin prickles with goosebumps, both from the chill and from the sensation of four hands learning me at once.
Brent peels my skirt down over my hips, past my thighs, and lets it drop. He kneels—this man who commands courtrooms kneels at my feet—and helps me step out of the skirt, then runshis hands up my calves, kneading the muscle, worshipping the shape.
James finds the clasp of my bra and undoes it with a snap. He drags the straps off my arms and tosses it aside. My Double D breasts fall free, the nipples tight and pink, and suddenly there are two pairs of eyes hungry for the sight.
“Holy shit, baby,” James rasps. “How the fuck did you get so delicious?”
My tits gleam in the low glow, huge scoops of ivory ice cream tipped with hard pink raspberries. With a naughty smile, I lift them in my hands, offering them to the men before bending my head and licking first one nipple, and then the other.
“I do that sometimes,” I say in a coy voice while glancing at my two lovers. “When I’m all alone, I lick my own tits, and it feels soooo good. It’s one of the benefits of having big breasts.”
Both men are stock still, barely breathing as they stare at my luscious curves. But then, they move fast. Brent’s on me, hands bracketing my hips in a flash. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, tongue lashing, teeth grazing the bud until I gasp. James keeps my arms pinned by my sides, making me feel exposed, helpless in the best way.
“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re so fucking dirty, sweetheart. What else do you do when you’re all alone? Do you fuck yourself with dildos while thinking about us? Do you fantasize about huge cocks going into each of your holes?”
Meanwhile, Brent moves to the other breast, his stubble scratching in a way that makes me shiver. James, not to be outdone, kisses the side of my neck, slow and open-mouthed, leaving a wet, hot trail that ends at my ear.
“Fuck,” he rasps again. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
The two men work in tandem, one devouring my tits, the other mapping every nerve in my neck and shoulders. It’s overwhelming, the intensity of being the focus of so much want. My brain shorts out; all I can do is close my eyes and let them.
Brent pulls back, then stands, lifting me easily onto the bed. The sheets are cool, slick against my bare skin. I scramble to cover myself, suddenly shy, but James is already on the mattress beside me. He strokes my thigh, slow and deliberate, his other hand tangling in my hair to keep me facing him.
He kisses me. It’s different from Brent’s—less force, more finesse. His tongue flicks, his lips teasing, drawing out the moment until I’m desperate for more. Brent kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed and spreads my knees, fingers digging into the soft skin above my knees.
“You’re so beautiful,” Brent says, voice ragged.
James kisses my jaw, my shoulder, down the line of my arm. His hands never stop moving—over my ribs, across my belly, up to squeeze my breasts, then back down again, mapping me like a lawyer prepping a witness.
Brent trails kisses up the inside of my thigh. His breath is hot; the stubble on his chin rasps against my skin. He pauses, looks up at me, and grins.
