“Tonight’s my turn,” I say against his purpling flesh, loud enough he can hear me up there, which earns me a fierce curse.
“Unless you want a facial, back up,” he warns me, just in time.
I sit up on my folded legs, thighs still spread, arms still working him, and watch as he erupts. His cock spurts with his release, and at the first shot I lean down, suctioning my lips over the head and sucking the cum out as he explodes into my mouth.
Weston’s hips jerk when my mouth makes contact and he curses. The salty release coats my tongue and I swallow it down with every rope he gives me.
“Fuck, Amelia,” I hear him muttering, cursing, worshipping my name over and over again, and I don’t stop until his dick is done, totally spent.
Pulling back, I sit up and look up at him, a cocky smirk on my face.
His eyes soak in my appearance, my swollen lips, pebbled nipples, thighs spread wide, pussy on display for him—practically dripping, just like he asked for.
“You’re so fucking perfect, angel.” His voice is incredulous, face earnest.
Before two nights ago I would’ve said his words were too much. I tried to stop him last time he told me that. But now, somehow, the praise slips under my skin, warming me in a way I never expected, and I smile instead.
“Best head of my damn life and you didn’t even get me past your lips.”
I just tap his thigh impatiently. “Let’s go, Boy Scout. Pitch me another tent, that was just the first round. You’re the one keeping count this time while I get to play.”
Amazingly, his cock twitches, thickening again as I watch. Incredibly, my mouth waters at the sight, like I didn’t just swallow down a load and a half from this huge man.
And even more insane is the door we hear opening, a male voice calling, “Weston!” as footsteps head down toward the bedroom.
“You ready?” comes the familiar timbre.
Squealing, I dive for the top of the bed, leaping up and under the covers, pulling them to my chin as Weston only has time to shove a pillow over his lap, shouting to the intruder, “No, man, gimme a sec!”
But his brother must not register the words because Wyatt steps into the doorway, taking in the very guilty sight in front of him.
“What the fuck!”
“Come on, bro!”
The two men yell at the same time, and I just let out a squeak of despair.
Wyatt slaps his hands to his eyes, turning his back on the two of us, and storms down the hall.
“Gimme a sec, Wyatt!”
Weston scrambles out of bed and into some sweats, jogging into the hall. At the doorway he looks back at me, apology in his eyes, and holds a finger up.
“Let me fix this,” he pleads. “Stay here.”
I’ve never needed a knight in shining sweatpants and I don’t need one now either.
Whatwouldbe great is if the Grady men learned to knock though.
I follow behind him, rapidly dressing in the first clothes I can find. A tee of his that hangs to my mid thighs, and my shorts, just to be safe. I don’t need to scar Wyatt any further than he’s already been damaged by this moment.
As I rush after them, I hear their argument from the bedroom.
“You’re not the same fuckup, isn’t that what you said?” Wyatt’s voice is angrier than he has a right to be.
“Hey!” That bite is new for Weston. “This isn’t like that. She’s not some random hookup for me.”
“I can’t believe you!” Wyatt hisses. “Rory is working her ass off, trying to get her to stay in town, and you can’t even wait a day to get her in your bed, doing your damn best to run her right back out of here.”
