Oliver kisses me once more, soft and apologetic, then pulls out slowly, making me whine, before shifting to the side. “I was just warming her up.”
I choke on a laugh, but it turns into a moan when Oliver kisses me again, and his hand slides down my stomach, fingers slipping between my thighs like they belong there. I’m so damn wet, and he groans when he feels it, circling my clit once, twice, before pushing two fingers inside me. I arch off the sleeping bag, biting his lip to stay quiet.
When I break the kiss, there are hands everywhere. Misha’s on my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers until I whimper. Grey’s big palm cups my jaw, thumb pressing into my mouth, and I suck on it greedily, tasting salt and smoke. Oliver’s fingers curl inside me, stroking the spot that makes my toes curl.
The smart watches start vibrating like crazy, mingling with our heavy breaths.
“Elevated heart rate detected,” Jamie chirps from four wrists at once.
We all freeze, then burst out laughing in giggles that fill the tent. But then Oliver crooks his fingers again, and I moan around Grey’s thumb.
“Elevated heart rate,” Jamie tries again, louder. “Recommend immediate cooldown.”
Misha snorts. “Yeah, no.”
Grey rips his watch off and flings it into the tent corner. Misha and Oliver follow suit, the watches landing in a pile, still buzzing.
“Critical heart rate detected!” Jamie announces, sounding almost offended.
I’m gasping now, hips rocking into Oliver’s hand. “Jamie?” I manage, voice high and thready.
“Yes, Amelia?”
Misha chooses that exact moment to slide his finger inside me alongside Oliver’s, stretching me deliciously.
“Standby!” I cry.
“I’m going into standby,” Jamie says primly, and the watches finally go silent.
Misha chuckles as he moves, pressing a kiss against my thigh. “Finally.” Then his mouth replaces Oliver’s fingers, tongue hot and perfect, and I forget how to form words.
Grey leans down, kissing me deep while Misha licks me like he’s starving. Oliver uses my wetness still on his fingers to trace smooth, lazy circles around my nipple while Grey’s thumb strokes my cheek, eyes locked on mine like he’s memorizing every gasp.
Misha pulls back just enough to speak, “Fuck, Bug, you taste like birthday cake.” Then he dives back in, sucking my clit hard enough to make me cry out, back arching off the sleeping bag. Grey swallows the sound with another kiss, teeth grazing my lip, then slides his hand from my jaw to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, grounding me.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Spread out for us like a present.”
I whimper, thighs trembling as Misha flicks his tongue faster, his two fingers curling inside me. The coil snaps, and my orgasm hits hard, rolling through me in waves, leaving me shakingand clenching around his fingers. He doesn’t stop, licking me through it until I’m twitching, oversensitive and begging.
“Please… Too much?—”
Misha lifts his head, lips glossy and swollen, a devil-may-care grin splitting his face. “One down,” he rasps, rising onto his knees. “My turn to be inside you, Bug.”
He shoves his pants down, and his cock juts up, thick and flushed, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. My mouth waters as I reach for him, but Grey’s hand snaps around my wrists, pinning them above my head against the sleeping bag.
“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs, leaning over me so his breath fans across my cheek. “We interrupted Oliver,” he says, glancing at Misha. “Only fair he gets to finish what he started.”
Oliver’s eyes go huge behind fogged glasses, and we both swallow hard. I’m not the only one affected by Grey’s commanding tone, and I shiver as I watch Oliver’s Adam’s apple bob. A beat later, he scrambles between my thighs like he’s afraid someone will change their minds. His cock nudges my entrance, and I’m so wet I know I’m not the only one who can hear it when he drags the head through my folds.
“Amelia,” he breathes out, voice cracking on my name. “Can I?—”
“Yes,” I gasp, rolling my hips up to chase him. “Please, Oliver, need you.”
He sinks in slow, torturously slow, letting me feel every inch of him for the second time. I’m still swollen from Misha’s mouth, still pulsing from my first orgasm, and still the stretch is exquisite, almost too much.
Oliver’s forehead drops to mine.“So tight,” he whispers reverently, as if he still can’t believe he’s allowed to do this with me. “So perfect.”
He bottoms out and stills, his muscular frame trembling as he gives me a second to breathe. Then, deliberately, I clencharound him, reveling in the broken sound he chokes out, his hips jerking involuntarily.
