“I’m waiting for her permission.”
I reach out a hand toward him. “Wyatt. Please.”
He moves then. Crosses the distance in a handful of strides, crouches down to my level, and takes my hand. The fact that he’s fully clothed feels obscene given that I’m bent naked over a sofa arm with Chris’s fingers inside me.
“Are you sure?” Wyatt asks. Always checking. Always careful. He pushes my hair behind my ear and cups the back of my head, looking into my eyes with earnest intensity.
“I’m sure. I’m so sure.” I tug at his shirt. “Take this off. Take everything off. I want to feel both of you.”
Bless him for his lack of hesitation, which is evidence enough of how in sync the three of us really are when we want to be. He strips efficiently. Shirt revealing the lean planes of his chest, the lightly tanned skin stretched over hard muscle. Pants, boxer briefs, and then he’s naked too. His cock juts out from his body, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip, and I want to put my mouth on him so badly I can taste it. He’s beautiful in a different way than Chris. Longer, leaner, that rangy build that makes you underestimate how strong he actually is.
But Chris chooses that moment to slide his fingers deeper, crooking them against my front wall, and I cry out, my whole body jerking. After so long of nothing, even this simple touch feels like too much and not enough all at once.
“There she is.” Chris’s voice is low, satisfied. “Stay with me, Nina. Tell me what you want.”
“I want—” He finds my clit with two fingers, circles it with exactly the right pressure, and I gasp so hard I choke on it. “I want you to fuck me. Use me. Both of you. I want to stop thinking.”
“We can do that.” He withdraws his fingers—I whimper at the loss—and I hear his zipper, the rustle of fabric as he frees himself. “But you’re going to have to be patient. I’m taking my time.”
The blunt head of his cock nudges against my entrance, hot and thick, and I push back into it, desperate to be filled. He laughs—actually laughs—and grips my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me still.
“Patient,” he repeats. “You’re going to stay right here, bent over this sofa, and you’re going to take whatever we give you. Understand?”
“Yes.” It comes out like a plea.
“Good girl.”
He pushes in slowly. So slowly I want to scream. My body stretches around him, the burn of it exquisite, and I feel every inch as he sinks deeper. By the time he’s fully seated, his hips flush against my ass, I’m shaking with the effort of not moving. I feel split open. Claimed. Finally, finally full after weeks of emptiness. Wyatt still has his hand in my hair and bends down closer, forehead pressed to mine.
“Look at me,” he says in a low voice.
I obey and our eyes lock, and then his mouth is on mine, tongue plunging between my lips as Chris spreads me wide open and thrusts in once, gently, as if to test my reaction. All I do is moan against Wyatt’s mouth.
“That’s it. You let me know if anything hurts, got it?” Chris grips my hips, thumbs pressing into the muscle. “Fuck, you feel good. Tight. Like you were always made to take me.”
He starts to move—slow, deliberate strokes that drag against every nerve ending inside me. It’s not nearly enough. I whimper and try to push back, to force him deeper, faster, but his grip keeps me pinned in place.
“Chris, please?—”
“Not yet.” He pulls almost all the way out—I clench around him, trying to keep him inside—then slides back in just as slowly. “You said you wanted to be used. That means you don’t get to rush this. We’ve been trapped in that house wanting you all this time too.”
Wyatt is watching us, from a crouch still, his hard cock jutting up from between his thighs. His eyes are fixed on Chris fucking me and he drops one hand to grip himself and idly stroke.
“Wyatt.” I almost whine. “Come here. Let me—I need to taste you.”
He rises, rests a knee on the sofa beside my head, and I reach for him, wrap my hand around his cock. He’s hot and hard, the skin velvet-soft over steel, and a bead of precum smears against my palm as I guide him toward my mouth. I take him in, tasting salt and musk, and moan around him when Chris snaps his hips forward unexpectedly, jolting me onto Wyatt’s cock.
“Fuck.” Wyatt threads his fingers through my hair. “Nina?—”
I look up at him through my lashes, my lips stretched around his thickness, and take him deeper. Feel him hit the back of my throat. His fingers tighten in my hair, and heat floods through me. I want more of that. More of him losing the iron control he keeps on himself.
I pull off just long enough to say, “Stop holding back. You know I love when you let go.” I drag my tongue along the underside of his cock, base to tip, swirling around the head. “Let go.”
His expression shifts. Goes darker. The careful, cautious Wyatt retreating, something more primal taking his place.
“You want me to let go?”
“Yes.”
