Before I can process, I’m facing the living room. Facing Wyatt, who’s standing maybe fifteen feet away with the entire space between us, his expression caught somewhere between stunned and starving.
Chris’s chest is warm against my back, his cock a hard ridge against my ass through his jeans. He slides his hands around to cup my breasts again, lifting them, presenting them.
“Look at her.” His voice carries across the room. “She’s been waiting for us. Aching for it.”
He’s not wrong. I have been.
My cheeks flush, but I don’t look away. Wyatt’s gaze drops to where Chris’s hands are kneading my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re tight and peaked. His jaw flexes. His hands clench at his sides.
“Almost two weeks,” Chris continues, rolling my nipples between his fingers. I gasp, my hips jerking back against him involuntarily. “So long wanting her and not being able to touch. And she couldn’t even get herself off, could you, Nina?” His breath is hot against my ear. “Look at her—so responsive. So fucking desperate.”
His hands slide down my stomach. Across the room, Wyatt’s chest rises faster. He shifts his weight.
Chris hooks his thumbs into my panties and drags them down slowly, deliberately. I step out of them when they hit my ankles, still in my heels.
Now I’m naked except for my shoes, standing in the middle of the living room with the massive windows behind us and Wyatt watching from across the space. Chris slides a hand over my hip and between my thighs, fingers grazing against my wetness.
“Open,” he murmurs against my ear. I widen my stance.
His fingers find me slick, swollen. He groans low in his throat. “Christ, you’re so wet.” He slides two fingers through my folds, parting me, and I shudder. “Soaked. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you, Nina? Imagining exactly this—both of us?”
“Yes.” It comes out breathless, barely a word.
“Tell him.” Chris circles my clit with his fingers, just enough pressure to make me whimper. “Tell him how badly you want us to fill you up.”
Across the room, Wyatt reaches down and adjusts himself through his pants, his jaw tight. I can see the outline of his erection straining against the fabric. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, tracking Chris’s hand between my legs.
“I want—” Chris pinches my nipple with his free hand and I lose the words for a moment, arching back against him. “I want both of you. Inside me. Everywhere. I want you to use me until I can’t think anymore.”
Wyatt makes a rough sound. Chris laughs against my neck, low and satisfied.
“See that? That’s what you do to him. What you do to both of us.” He adds a third finger and I cry out, clutching at his forearm. “Gonna fuck you so full of us you forget what empty feels like.”
He works me for another moment, fingers thrusting, palm grinding against my clit, while I try to stay upright and Wyatt watches with that hungry, desperate expression. I’m close already, wound tight from days of being close without touching and the sheer obscenity of being finger-fucked while one man watches and another narrates.
Then he withdraws his hand.
I whimper at the loss. He brings his glistening fingers up to my mouth and I take them without being asked, sucking them clean, tasting myself. Wyatt’s breath catches audibly.
Chris steps back, gestures toward the sofa. “Bend over.”
The command in his voice sends fresh heat straight to my core. I brace my hands on the cushioned arm of the sofa and bend.
The leather is cool and smooth under my palms. The arm is the perfect height with my heels still on. Supportive under my hips, the leather warming quickly beneath me. My ass is in the air, my cheek pressed against the seat cushion, and I’m completely exposed. Vulnerable. Aching.
Chris traces a hand down my spine, rough fingertips leaving trails of fire on my oversensitized skin. Over the curve of my ass, squeezing once, appreciative. Between my thighs, where I’m even slicker now, somehow, swollen and desperate.
He slides his fingers through my folds again, parting me, and I shudder so hard it nearly brings me to tears. Too many days aching and empty and wanting, and now his fingers are finally where I need them and it’s almost too much.
“Please—” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. Everything. Anything. “Please, Chris.”
“Remember what you told us?” He slides his fingers deeper, curling against the spot that makes my vision blur. “Said you wanted us to wreck you so hard you forgot your own name.” He leans closer, breath hot against my ear. “We’re going to make good on that.”
“Wyatt.” Chris’s voice is calm. Commanding. “Get over here.”
I crane my neck to look. Wyatt is still standing where he was, but something in his expression has shifted. He’s watching us with naked hunger, one hand pressed against his cock through his pants like he’s barely holding himself back.
“She needs both of us,” Chris says. “And I know you want to. So stop standing there like you’re waiting for permission.”
