“You sure?” Wyatt asks, but his eyes have gone dark and hungry.
“Yes.”
They look at each other again, a longer assessment this time. Then Wyatt reaches out, his hand curling around the back of Chris’s neck, pulling him in slowly. They meet right over my torso, the first kiss tentative, almost careful. But then Chris makes a sound—desperate and wanting—and suddenly they’re devouring each other.
It’s different from when they kiss during sex with me. This is just them, no divided attention, no performance. I shift higher up and move my legs to make room and they come together like opposing poles of two magnets right in front of me. Chris’s hands tangle in Wyatt’s hair, pulling hard enough to make Wyatt groan. Wyatt grips Chris’s hip, yanking him closer until their bodies are flush.
“Fuck,” Chris gasps when they break for air. “Wyatt?—”
“I know,” Wyatt says, voice fractured.
They’re rutting against each other now, still in their boxer briefs, the friction clearly not enough. Wyatt pushes Chris onto his back beside me, settling between his thighs with predatory grace. Chris is spread out beneath him, Wyatt’s narrower frame covering him and their position makes something hot coil in my belly.
“Is this okay?” Wyatt asks, grinding down.
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
Wyatt strips Chris’s underwear off, then his own, and the sight of them—both fully hard, nothing between them—has me pressing my thighs together. Wyatt reaches for the lube on the nightstand, slicking his hand before wrapping it around both their cocks.
“Oh fuck,” Chris moans, his head falling back.
They find a rhythm quickly, Wyatt’s hand working them both while they thrust against each other. Desperate, uninhibited sounds have me sliding my hand between my legs without conscious thought.
“Look at her,” Wyatt tells Chris. “Look at what we do to her.”
Chris turns his head, eyes finding mine, and the heat in his gaze as he watches me touch myself while Wyatt strokes them both nearly undoes me.
“Nina,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re?—”
“Beautiful,” Wyatt finishes. “She’s beautiful.”
I circle my clit faster, chasing the building pressure as I watch them chase their own. Chris comes first, spilling over Wyatt’s hand with a broken moan. Wyatt follows seconds later, Chris’s name on his lips.
They’re sweaty, panting, covered in each other. That’s what pushes me over the edge. My third orgasm of the morning hits hard and fast, leaving me gasping.
No one moves to clean up at first. Then Wyatt reaches for the tissues, cleaning them both with gentle efficiency.
“Come here,” Chris says, voice rough.
I crawl between them, letting them arrange me in the middle. We’re still sticky with sweat and come, but no one seems to care. Chris presses a kiss to my temple. Wyatt’s arm settles across my waist.
“Better?” Wyatt asks.
“Much.”
“Good,” Chris says. “Because we should probably shower before we leave.”
“In a minute,” I say, not ready to leave this moment. The anxiety from earlier has dissolved, replaced by something steadier.
“I should have done this years ago,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Wyatt asks.
“I tried. Five years ago. Made an appointment, did the consultation, everything.” I stare at the ceiling, remembering. “The doctor told me I was too young. That I’d change my mind. That my ‘future husband’ would want children and I’d regret it.”
Chris goes rigid beside me. “He refused?”
“She. And yes. Said no ethical doctor would sterilize a childless woman under thirty.” My laugh is bitter. “I was so defeated I didn’t try again. Didn’t have the energy to fight for something that should have been my choice to begin with.”
