As if he already knows Chris’s intention, Wyatt leads the way down the hall, glancing through doorways. The master bedroom’s already open, soft light spilling from the bedside lamp. My book is right where I left it—face-down across the comforter. Wyatt nods toward the doorway just beyond the bed. “Here.” Then disappears inside.
Chris crosses the threshold and doesn’t stop. He walks straight through to the bathroom, steam already beginning to gather as Wyatt twists the hot water on.
Chris lowers me gently onto the tile, then reaches for the hem of my camisole. I lift my arms without speaking, and he draws it over my head. His touch never falters, but it’s not rushed either. Just patient. Steady. Focused.
Wyatt steps behind me, warm and close, and presses a kiss just behind my ear. He slides his hand between my shoulder blades and lets it trail lower, palms broad and confident as he pushes my pajama pants down over my hips.
“You still good?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say. Then, dryly, “But if your pants stay on, I’m calling bullshit.”
Chris lets out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Was waiting for the order.”
Wyatt glances over, his mouth twitching. “She didn’t say we couldn’t fuck each other.”
That earns a startled snort from me. The tightness in my chest cracks open a little, and the heat rushes in behind it. They shed their own clothes without fanfare. There’s no pretense here. No edge to balance on. Just the three of us, stripped down past shame.
The heat of the shower hits like a wave when I step in. I suck in a breath but don’t pull back, letting it pour over me. Chris steps in at my side and begins to lather the soap, his hands methodical as he quickly soaps his shoulders, arms, and torso, and rinses. He wasn’t that dirty, and probably could’ve gotten by with just washing his hands and face. But I’m not upset about it when he lathers up again, then reaches for me. He slides soapy hands down my arms, along my back. He’s thorough, but doesn’t linger. Just covers every inch of me like he’s icing a cake he fully intends to devour when he’s done.
Wyatt pulls the glass door shut behind him, sealing the three of us inside the oversized walk-in, and takes the tube of body wash Chris holds out. Once he’s done ridding himself of any trace of dirt, he curls an arm around my waist and presses his mouth to the side of my throat. His breath comes shallow as he traces the edge of my jaw. His other hand finds my hip, steadying me when I start to sway. His cock is hard and hot and wet against my back, nestled just above the crease of my ass. Despite our height difference we’ve always felt like we fit just right together and now is no different. But now Chris is filling the space in front of me, even taller and broader than Wyatt, and I have a hard time imagining a life without either of them in it.
Chris closes the distance, soapy hands cupping my face as he bends and kisses me beneath the shower’s steady spray. I swallow every wet kiss, hungry for the next, nerves sparking with every point of contact between us.
Being sandwiched between them both like this, their hard lengths pressed tight to my body, incites an even deeper ache than the cramps I dealt with last week. So when Chris slides his hand between my thighs I almost moan in gratitude.
The stroke of his thumb over my clit is immediate and unflinching, his fingers parting me just enough to find the small bundle. His hand is free from soap but I’m slick enough from need. He doesn’t venture deeper, but I don’t need penetration to lose myself right now.
My head tips back against Wyatt’s shoulder. He coasts lathered hands over my breasts, hefting them gently while teasing my nipples. The sensation fractures something loose inside me. I groan—half involuntary, half relief at finally finding release from the pent-up need for simple touch.
Chris keeps teasing, his fingers slick from my arousal, his pressure precise, unrelenting, and knee-weakening. Wyatt begins lightly pinching my nipples, his solid form my only means of support. He dips his mouth to my ear.
“Is this good? Do you need more?”
I can’t find the words to reply. I’m close already. There’s nothing left but sensation—heat and steam and the overwhelming sense of being completely held, completely undone.
“Don’t stop,” I finally manage. “Please—just—don’t stop.”
They don’t.
The orgasm hits like a snap. My thighs go rigid, my hand flying out to catch the wall. I don’t find purchase, but I don’t need to. They both have me bracketed tight between them. Wyatt’s arms are curled around my torso beneath my breasts, while Chris cups my cheek with his free hand, the fingers of his other hand shattering me completely.
Wyatt murmurs something against my skin I can’t make out. Through the haze of pleasure and steam billowing around us I stare up into Chris’s haunted blue eyes. Just as my orgasm reaches its pinnacle, Chris captures my mouth with his, and I can taste more than hear the words he murmurs into the kiss.
“I fucking love you.”
They hold me through the waves, Chris drawing my climax out of me with deft strokes that make it last. And by the end of it the only shame I feel anymore is that I haven’t made them come too.
Once clarity returns, I come back to myself with Chris’s forehead pressed to mine, his eyes shut tight and his breathing ragged. Wyatt has me in a vice grip, and seems equally breathless, a detail I’d been oblivious to for the last few moments. I extract myself carefully and reach for the soap.
They both looked dazed, and if not for their equally enormous erections, I might assume they’d both already enjoyed orgasms as delicious as the one they just gave me.
“You should see yourselves right now,” I joke, lathering a healthy amount of soap between my hands. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you wound so tight.”
Wyatt tosses me an uncharacteristically heated look. He’s usually so buttoned down, never one to reveal that he has needs of his own. It’s refreshing to see his careful restraint slip, and especially to know that I’ve done this to him. I reach for him first, one soapy hand coasting lightly down the underside of his cock. He shudders and his mouth drops open. I wrap my fingers around the base of his shaft and stroke upward, watching him unravel by increments.
Then I reach for Chris and he eagerly tilts into my grasp, stepping close enough that his hip presses to my side. He just stares down at my hands, pumping both of them slowly, his breathing in ragged harmony with Wyatt’s rapid breaths.
Wyatt steps closer too, until their cocks are both aligned right in front of me and I don’t need to reach to pleasure them. I squeeze them both tighter, my back blocking the spray that would carry away the soapy suds that lubricate my grip. They each hook an arm around my waist, steadying themselves on me this time.
