“Juliet,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re already shaking.”
I am. My thighs flutter.
Heat flashes up my spine, fast and sharp as a match strike.
“She’s close,” Elliot warns, thumb sliding across my lower lip. “Don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dare,” Callum answers, voice fraying.
My orgasm hits like someone cut my strings.
A jolt. A shudder that steals the air right out of my lungs.
Elliot curses softly.
Callum swears louder.
I cry out around Elliot’s cock, choking on the sound, and that’s it for him.
His fingers dig into my hair and he spills into my mouth with a guttural sigh, hips twitching against my lips.
Callum follows, driving deep one last time before he comes hard, pulse after pulse, his grip on my hips bruising, his breath broken against my shoulder.
For a minute, the only sound is breathing.
Staggered.
Shared.
Warm.
They ease away without letting me fall.
Callum pulls out slowly, careful, hands steadying me when my knees threaten to give out.
Elliot helps me sit back, wipes my mouth gently with his thumb, then kisses my forehead.
“You okay?” Callum asks, brushing my hair out of my face with the gentlest touch he possesses.
“Never better.” I stretch, wince, and grin.
“That was… more intense than advertised,” Elliot admits, buttoning me back up with the same clinical focus he used to strip me.
“You started talking about sexy Russians,” I say. “My vagina filed a complaint that it wasn’t invited sooner.”
“Of course it did.” Callum kisses the top of my spine. “Get some water.”
Elliot hands me the bottle he always keeps on his desk.
Callum wraps me in one of the throw blankets from the couch.
He pretends it’s for me, but I know he likes swaddling me like a feral pet.
They flank me as I sip.
Warm.
Capable.
