“Good.” Chris settles beside me, one hand resting on my hip. “Because we’re not done yet.”
I laugh. Or try to. What comes out is more of a breathless wheeze. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Never.” He kisses my temple. “We’re going to take care of you. That’s all.”
The warmth from the fire is seeping into my skin now, the heat licking along my side, counteracting the chill of the storm outside. The faux-fur rug is impossibly soft beneath me, and I feel loose-limbed and liquid, but my body is already responding to having them both pressed against me, skin on skin. Chris’s chest hair rough against my arm. Wyatt’s skin warm where his thigh presses against mine.
“I want to watch you kiss,” I say.
Both of them go still.
“You don’t have to,” I add quickly. “But if you want to—if that’s something you?—”
Chris leans over me, reaching for Wyatt. He cups Wyatt’s jaw, thumb stroking along his cheekbone, and tilts his face up. For a moment they just look at each other—something passing between them that I’m not part of, some silent conversation I can only witness.
Then Chris closes the distance, and they’re kissing over my body.
It’s tentative at first. Careful. Two men who almost destroyed something precious, finding their way back to each other. Chris’s mouth moves against Wyatt’s softly, questioning. But then Wyatt makes a small sound in his throat—something between a whimper and a groan—and Chris deepens the kiss. I watch their tongues meet, watch Wyatt’s hand come up to grip the back of Chris’s neck, watch the hunger take over.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
When they finally break apart, they’re both breathing hard. Chris’s lips are wet. Wyatt’s eyes are shining.
“I meant what I said.” Chris’s voice is rough. “I love you.”
“I know.” Wyatt’s hand comes up to cover Chris’s, still resting on his jaw. “We’ll talk about everything else later. But I know.”
My hand finds Chris’s cock, thickening again against his thigh despite having come twice already. He groans when I wrap my fingers around him, stroking slowly.
“Less talking,” I say. “More fucking.”
Chris laughs. A real laugh this time, surprised and warm and so different from the broken man who stood in this room an hour ago. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’ve had eleven days to build up an appetite.”
They help me up onto my hands and knees, the soft fur tickling my palms and shins. This time it’s Wyatt who positions himself behind me while Chris kneels in front, his cock fully hard again and bobbing inches from my face. Wyatt notches himself at my entrance—I’m so wet, so open from everything they’ve already done—and slides home in one smooth thrust.
I gasp at how different he feels. Longer than Chris, leaner, hitting different angles. He bottoms out and holds there for a moment, and I feel every inch of him stretching me, filling me.
Chris guides my mouth to his cock, and I take him in eagerly, tasting the salt of his skin, the musk of sex, the faint bitterness of his earlier release. This is what I wanted. What I needed. Both of them, everywhere, filling me up until there’s no room for anything else. No room for fear or doubt or the memory of the days we spent tethered only by fraying threads.
Wyatt fucks me with long, deep strokes while I work Chris with my mouth—hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue around his head, taking him as deep as I can. The rain pounds against the windows, almost drowning out the wet sounds of our bodies coming together. The fire burns beside us, heat washing over my skin.
And then I catch it—peripheral vision, almost missed. Chris reaching out across my back. Wyatt’s hand meeting his.
Their fingers lace together.
“I’m all here, man.” Chris’s voice is thick with emotion, as if to assure Wyatt of his absolute presence in this moment.
Wyatt’s rhythm falters for a moment. I feel his grip tighten on my hip, feel the tremor that runs through him. His breath catches on something that might be a sob.
Then he starts moving again, harder now, fucking into me with a desperation that wasn’t there before. I moan around Chris’s cock, the vibration making him curse.
We find a rhythm, the three of us. Wyatt driving into me from behind, his pace unflagging, while I swallow Chris down. Their hands still clasped across my back—I can feel their knuckles pressing against my spine, their connection tangible. The storm raging outside, the fire warming us, and in the middle of it all, this thing we’re building. This thing we’re choosing.
Chris comes first this time—down my throat with a groan that I feel more than hear. His cock pulses against my tongue and I swallow around him, milking every drop, drinking him down. When he pulls out, a string of saliva connects us for a moment before breaking.
Wyatt follows moments later, burying himself deep with a broken sound and pulsing inside me. I clench around him, greedy for it, wanting everything they’ll give me. When he finally softens and slips out, I feel the wet rush of his release mixing with what’s already inside me. I look up to find them both staring at each other over my body with something raw and trembling between them.
