I glance at Faust’s fingers. Feel his tongue slide along my jaw.
But I don’t speak.
Sylvan pulls his fingers from me, puts both in his mouth and sucks them, then he slaps my cunt, causing me to gasp. A second later, three fingers are inside me, and my eyes nearly roll back into my head.
“Answer him, baby girl, or I’m going to make this pussy bleed.”
I don’t bother telling him I might like that. But when Sylvan licks me again, then uses his nose to circle my clit, his fingers working me over, too, I slide down an inch against the shelves, and my gaze catches on Faust’s hold on me again.
He curls his fingers tighter around my throat. “Say yes,” he whispers. “Or we’ll leave you here, dripping wet and half-naked like a fucking whore.”
“Yes.”I can’t hold it in anymore. Not with Sylvan’s nose and mouth working me, his fingers deep inside, Faust holding me so tight I can barely breathe, one nipple exposed, a sharp point in the frigid bookstore. “Yes,” I say again, and this time, I look at Faust’s fingers pressing into my skin.“Yes.”
And I look so fuckinghot.
I don’t know why I was ever afraid of this. I don’t know why it ever bothered me.
And when I come, I’m staring at Sylvan, at Faust’s hand, I’m gushing into Sylvan’s mouth as he pushes his tongue beside his fingers but keeps his palm grinding against my clit.
I’m riding his fucking face until I collapse, sinking to my knees, and Sylvan pushes me onto all fours, positioning my knees on my sleep shorts to cushion the floor. He comes behind me, and I arch my back as Faust crouches down in front of me, his finger pushing into my mouth, his eyes on my bouncing tits as Sylvan pushes into me and fucks me hard from behind.
He doesn’t pull out, and he comesfast,the taste of me still on his lips.
And when Faust smooths back my hair with a gentleness I rarely let myself feel, I lift my eyes to his and I swear I fall in love.
SIXTY-ONE
NEVE
“If you two get my friend killed, I’m the next suspect dear Lincoln is going to be looking for.” Cynthia’s voice hits my ears from downstairs as I pad out of Faust’s bedroom, freshly showered under the double rainfall showerheads, wearing shorts and a cami beneath a long red robe. My hair is still wet, thrown up in a messy bun on top of my head so it’ll dry slightly wavy, and my skincare is done but there’s no makeup on my face.
“We’re the reason she’s still alive,” Sylvan says quietly.
There’s a soft pause.
I head down the winding, spiral staircase, my damp hand on the iron railing. When I thread through the darkened corridor and come into view of the expansive kitchen, the three of them sprawled out in different areas, Faust glances at me.
“Well, maybe not this morning,” he says lowly, with a wink.
Cynthia’s eyes find mine and she cackles. “Yeah,” she says, “you’re hot Neve, but you look like you got fucked.”
My mind flickers to each of them going back and forth last night, Sylvan’s fingers pinching my nipple and Faust biting his shoulder when he pinched too hard.
It’s Christmas Eve. A few days have passed since Sylvan went down on me in Blackwell’s—and I pray to God Casper only has cameras on the outside—and I’ve spent them all with the boys. Their game was canceled, and the next one isn’t until next week, which gives me too much time to play pretend inside Castle Darling.
But spending the night with my best friend, my boys, and Tye—none of us gone home for the holidays—is exactly what I want. It helps me ignore the pit in my stomach, thinking of Nolan outside of Darkmouth’s door.
When I notice Cyn still staring at me, blush colors my cheeks but it’s just a physiological reaction. I’m not embarrassed. Last night was fucking delicious.
“I might’ve gotten fucked.” I shift my gaze from Sylvan standing at the counter slicing avocado with a slight frown on his face like Faust put him up to it, and Faust scrambling eggs and flipping bacon, the popping and sizzling growing steadily louder on the gas stovetop. “Twice.”
Cynthia bursts into more laughter, seated at the island, her head cocked as she grins at me. But despite the light moment, there are circles underallof our eyes. I know mine are bordering blue; I checked in the bathroom. Tye is probably still sleeping, and that’s on being a professional athlete.
Sleep evades me.
I clear my throat and take a seat beside Cyn, my favorite mug—SUCK MY BLOOD—filled with creamy coffee, ice, and whipped cream. Faust brought it home for me last night when he picked up food for me and Sylvan.
I glance at Cyn, but she shrugs at the question in my eyes. “Not me,” she says, wrapping her hand around her own warm mug. She ducks her chin and nods toward Faust’s broad back.
