I let my hand drift higher. Cup the soft weight of her breast, feel her nipple harden against my palm. She makes a sound, quiet and involuntary, and presses into my hand.
Wyatt’s watching.
His eyes have left the window, fixed now on the shape of my hand moving under Nina’s sweater. I can’t read his expression in the half-light, but I can read his body: the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest has gone still like he’s holding his breath.
“I want to see you,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I expect. “I want you naked, touching yourself, while I touch her.”
Wyatt swallows. Doesn’t move.
“Please,” I add. The word costs me, but it’s so worth it.
He stands. Pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the lean planes of his chest, the muscle definition that comes from discipline rather than vanity. His hands go to the waistband of his sweats, borrowed from the house, same generic brand I’m wearing, and he pushes them down without ceremony.
He’s already half-hard.
My hand slides lower on Nina, under the waistband of her leggings, and she gasps when my fingers find her. Wet. Ready. Like she’s been thinking about this too.
“Touch yourself,” I tell Wyatt. “I want to watch.”
He does. One hand wrapping around his cock, stroking slow. His eyes stay on us. On my hand moving under Nina’s clothes, on her face going slack with pleasure.
This could be enough. This could be everything. But there’s something else I want, and I don’t know if I’m brave enough to ask for it.
“I want to be inside you.” The words come out raw. Honest. “But I’m not there yet.”
Wyatt doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look disappointed or relieved. He just crosses the space between us, cups my jaw, and kisses me in a way that feels like absolution. I curl an arm around his shoulders and pull him tighter and it’s not about what we want from each other, but who we are to each other.
“So let me,” he says when we finally pull apart. “Like that first night. Like Denver. Let me be the one who takes care of you.”
My chest goes tight. Because that’s the harder thing, isn’t it? Not proving I can be in control—but proving I can let go of it.
Nina’s watching us, her gaze soft and steady. She squeezes my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“Bedroom. My bag. Front pocket,” she says to Wyatt with a small smile.
I stare at her, knowing she means lube and condoms. “Seriously?”
“I’m a woman who believes in being prepared for all contingencies.” She grins up at me, her eyes dark with want.
Wyatt goes to get it. While he’s gone, Nina pulls me down to the rug and I kiss her—slow, thorough, enjoying the unbridled heat of this new Nina who has zero fears surrounding sex. My hands find the hem of her sweater and I peel it up over her head. She leans back on her elbows, panting lightly as I coast my palms around the soft globes of her breasts, graze my knuckles lightly over her nipples. I lean back down and kiss her again, deeper this time.
She arches into me, humming against my mouth, and I take my time with the rest. Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of her leggings, dragging them down her hips, her thighs, peeling them off her ankles one at a time.
I shift back over her, and she slides her hands up beneath my sweatshirt, grazing my bruised ribs. I don’t care about the tenderness. We break our kiss just long enough for her to pull the sweatshirt over my head. Then she’s pushing my sweatpants down off my hips, eager to get me naked again.
I pause and rock back on my heels just long enough to take her in. My cock is already fully hard, twitching between my legs. Her gaze coasts down my body, and she winces the barest bit at the sight of the worst bruise, a dark purple blotch that covers my ribs just below my right nipple.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. No broken ribs.”
“Come here,” she murmurs. She parts her legs and I slide between them, covering her body with mine, capturing her mouth again in a bruising kiss that she returns in full force. We writhe like that for a minute, her hips tilting toward mine, her slick heat grazing along the underside of my cock until my breath hitches. But the memory of Nina’s hotel room a month ago still lingers. The promise Wyatt made. I don’t feel as desperate now as I did then, but I still want it just as much.
I slide down Nina’s body, kissing my way across her sternum, cupping her breasts in both hands and teasing both nipples with lips and tongue until she’s gasping. I continue down, across her navel, the soft skin of her hip, the inside of her thigh. She sighs when I settle between her legs, her fingers tightening in my hair, her hips already tilting toward my mouth.
I’ve barely gotten started when I feel Wyatt kneel behind me.
He starts slow.
Too slow, probably. The first press of his mouth sends heat flooding up my spine, and my hips jerk involuntarily. Then his fingers, slick and patient, and the stretch burns in a way that hovers right on the edge between pleasure and pain. My breath stutters against Nina’s thigh. A sound slips out of me, low and involuntary, and I bury it against her skin, licking deeper into her because the taste of her and the slide of his fingers are short-circuiting every rational thought in my head.
