April's attention flicked fully to the voices now.
"Guys," she said, exasperated. "Quiet in the peanut gallery."
"Jiro, I appreciate the guidance." Liam said. "But the rest of you are turning this into a TED Talk, and she's not here anymore."
The room went silent.
"Gomen," Jiro said quietly.
April couldn't see him, but she heard him shift back, giving space.
Liam's attention returned to her completely. Not performing for the room. Not following directions.
"Please, look at me," he said.
April’s eyes met his.
"It's just us," Liam murmured, eyes on hers and breath warm against her inner thigh.
He spread her legs wider, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her toes curl.
April's brain supplied a thought: Sterlings don't kneel. Except apparently they do. And when they do, they make it look like a power move.
"I'm going to make this worth the wait," Liam said, and then his mouth was on her.
He traced her from bottom to top with the flat of his tongue. Focused attention that suggested he'd spent considerable time thinking about technique.
April's hands flew to the couch cushions, gripping hard.
The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming. She could hear it: the obscene sounds of his tongue working her, the wetness gathering, slick and hot. His breath was warm against her skin, huffing slightly with effort or arousal, she couldn't tell which.
Liam hummed against her—a sound of satisfaction, of approval—and the vibration hit her clit, and her thighs locked, held.
"Fuck—" April gasped.
He tightened on her thighs, holding her open while his tongue flicked against her clit, taking her apart with long, slow strokes that pulled gasps from her, hips trying to move against his grip.
She was breathing hard. His mouth was relentless on her, chin slick with evidence of how ready she was.
When he finally sucked on her clit—direct, purposeful, his lips sealing around it—April whimpered.
Liam pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her oversensitive flesh. His lips were wet, shining with her. "You're exquisite like this."
Then his mouth was back, and she stopped thinking. Only sensation: the wet heat of his tongue, seven men watching her come apart.
He brought her right to the edge, then eased back. His tongue gentled, letting the peak subside before building again. Until she was soaked and aching, clenching around nothing.
Then he stood, unbuckled his belt. The leather slid through the loops with a soft hiss.
"I've imagined this," Liam said, Sterling polish cracking at the edges. "More times than I can count. Thought about what you'd sound like. How you'd feel."
He pushed his pants down. Caleb appeared at Liam's elbow with a bottle of lube, pressed it into his hand without a word. Liam nodded, slicked himself.
"The reality," he continued, positioning himself between her spread legs, "is unbearable."
He pulled her to the edge of the couch and lined himself up.
The blunt head of his cock notched at her entrance, pressed forward. The slide was smooth, her body opening for him slowly. The ridge of his head dragged against sensitive tissue as he entered her, and she stretched around him, fluttered, adjusted. He was thicker than she'd expected. The fullness felt exactly right.
