“Wilson,” I offer.
Hearing my name like that does something to me I’m not prepared for. My feet carry me forward before I can think, the mattress dipping as I climb onto it. Oliver’s hands land onme immediately, pulling at my shirt, running up my arms, his fingers skimming across my chest with a greed that should feel invasive but instead feels like discovery. When he tugs my shirt hem up, I seize his wrists.
“No.”
His eyes flick over my face for a beat. “Okay. Shirt stays. I can work around that.” His grin returns, his hands shifting south, hooking into my waistband. “Everything else is coming off, though.”
He strips me with an efficiency that borders on violence. My pants and briefs thud to the floor in a tangled heap that he kicks off the edge of the bed without looking. My cock springs free, already hard and leaking, the sound the Omega makes when he sees it shooting a jolt through me.
“Lorenzo. Lorenzo, look at him.”
“I’m looking.” He stands at the foot of the bed, his gaze sliding down from my face to the hand Oliver is wrapping around my length, stroking a few times as his thumb drags through the recumat the tip. “Oliver, slow down.”
“Make me.”
In two steps Lorenzo’s at the bedside and his hand clamps around the back of Oliver’s neck with such force that Oliver’s eyes flutter shut while his other hand stays wrapped around me. The Omega’s scent floods the room so hard my vision blurs, sweetness radiating off him in waves that make every muscle in my body clench.
“When I tell you to slow down,” Lorenzo growls, his voice dropping lower and vibrating against the base of my spine, “you slow down. Understood?”
Oliver whimpers. His grip loosens but doesn’t let go, his fingers trembling around me. “Yes, Zo.”
“Good.” Lorenzo releases Oliver’s neck and turns his attention back to me. “Lie back.”
I comply, my attention focusing on the ceiling as my body settles into the sudden vulnerability of being on my back, exposed, hard, and with two men I met less than an hour ago hovering over me. My hands ball into fists in the sheets beside my hips.
Lorenzo’s fingers circle around my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head.
Cold metal and smoke hit me suddenly, and I’m somewhere else. Sebastian’s bedroom—the sheets that smelled like ash, his hand gripping both my wrists as he forced my legs apart with his knee, telling me I was going to take what he gave me whether I wanted it or not—
“Wilson.”
The voice isn’t Sebastian’s. This one is lower, wrapped in a warmth Sebastian never carried. I refocus on Lorenzo’s face hovering above me. His brow is creased, his hands still on my wrists but softened, ready to let go. His thumbs rub tiny circles against the insides of my wrists in a soothing rhythm I only just realize.
“Stay with me,” he says, voice low. “Where did you go?”
“I’m here,” I rasp.
“Do you want me to let go?”
Every instinct I built over three years with Sebastian screams yes. Vulnerability is a trap; submission is a one-way door, and on the other side waits a man who will make you regret ever offering your throat.
I feel Lorenzo’s thumbs shifting against my wrists as Oliver’s hand rests on my thigh. “No,” I whisper. “Don’t let go.”
Lorenzo holds my gaze for a long beat. Whatever he sees there satisfies him, his grip tightening slightly, fingers pressing my wrists into the mattress with a controlled pressure nothing like Sebastian’s. Sebastian held me down because he could. Lorenzo holds me down because I asked him to.
That difference cracks something open in my chest, and I arch up off the bed before I can stop myself, a groan tearing past my teeth.
“There he is,” Oliver murmurs and then his mouth slides down on my cock.
I nearly come off the mattress. Oliver takes me deep in one smooth motion, his throat working me over, hands braced on my hips to hold me down while Lorenzo keeps my wrists pinned above my head. It’s too much and not enough as Oliver’s moan of pure greedy satisfaction vibrates through my cock, telling me he isn’t doing this just for me. He’s taking what he wants. His head bobs up and down, tongue tracing patterns that make my vision white out at the edges.
“Don’t come yet,” Lorenzo orders, the command sinking into my bones like a key turning in a lock. My body obeys before my brain catches up, the orgasm building at the base of my spine receding like a tide.
Oliver pulls off with a wet pop and grins up at me, lips swollen, chin slick with a mixture of spit and precum. “I want him inside me.”
“Then get yourself ready, baby.”
Oliver scrambles for the bedside table. Lorenzo leans down, mouth hovering over mine. “You’re doing so well,” he breathes, praise landing behind my sternum somewhere I thought Sebastian had cauterized. Lorenzo presses his lips to mine, tasting like honey and control. He doesn’t release my wrists, and I don’t want him to. I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring the parts of me that can’t speak into the press of my mouth against his.
