Jeans next. Someone's fingers at the button. Someone else's dragging the zipper down. Hands sliding denim over my hips, down my thighs. I step out of them without breaking the kiss with Reid and I'm standing in the living room in nothing but my underwear and three men's hands are on my body and I have never been more present in my life.
Reid breaks the kiss. Turns me. Bends me forward over the back of the sofa, his hand steady between my shoulder blades, guiding me down until my chest and cheek press against the cushion. The fabric is warm and rough against my bare skin. Hehooks his fingers in my underwear and pulls them down and I hear his knees hit the floor behind me.
The first touch of his mouth is devastating.
Slow, deliberate, the flat of his tongue from my entrance to my clit in one long stroke that makes me grip the sofa cushion with both hands. Reid eats me like he does everything else: with patience and thoroughness and the absolute, unwavering focus of a man who has decided what needs to be done and will not rush the doing of it. His hands grip my hips, holding me open, holding me still, and his tongue finds a rhythm that is steady and relentless and precisely calibrated to the sounds I'm making.
Movement in front of me. Jace.
He's on the sofa, kneeling, his shirt already gone. The firelight catches the lean definition of his chest, the auburn hair trailing below his navel. He's undoing his belt and with one hand, the other tilting my chin up.
"Open for me, Maya." His voice is rough. His eyes are dark. But the grin is there, the one that is purely Jace, the one that turns everything into play.
I open my mouth. He slides inside.
The dual sensation overwhelms every circuit I have. Reid's tongue behind me, Jace's cock in my mouth, and my body suspended between them, filled from both ends, each man's rhythm independent and yet somehow synchronized, and the pleasure is so intense and so layered that I lose track of where sensation ends and I begin.
Jace's hand cradles the back of my head. He moves in slow strokes, not pushing, letting me set the depth, and when I take him deeper his head falls back and the sound he makes is low and broken.
"Christ, Maya." His fingers tighten in my hair. "You have no idea... we were going out of our minds in that truck."
Behind me, Reid groans against my flesh. The vibration shoots through me and my hips jerk and Reid holds me tighter, his tongue circling my clit with a pressure that is building something enormous in the base of my spine.
I hear a zipper. To my right.
Owen. In the armchair. His legs spread, his belt open, his hand wrapped around himself, stroking in slow, controlled movements. Eyes tracking every detail with the total, systematic focus that is purely Owen, cataloguing my reactions, my sounds, the way my back arches and my hands grip and my body responds to two men at once, and the fact that he's watching, that he's hard and stroking himself to the sight of me, adds another layer to the sensation that I can barely process.
Jace's breathing changes. Faster. His hand tightens in my hair and his strokes shorten and I feel him swell against my tongue.
"Maya. I'm close." His voice is wrecked. "You've had me wound up since the bar."
I take him deeper. Suck harder. He swears, sharp and breathless, and his hips jerk and I feel the first pulse against the back of my throat.
He comes. I swallow around him, and when the first wave passes and he starts to withdraw I reach for him.
I grip the base of him and squeeze, milking the last of it into my mouth, swallowing everything, and the sound he makes is raw and unguarded.
Reid's tongue presses hard against my clit at the same moment. Two fingers slide inside me, curling, and the combination of the fullness of Jace still in my mouth and Reid's relentless rhythm behind me trips the wire.
I come. Hard, shuddering, clenching around Reid's fingers. The orgasm tears through me in waves and I cry out. Jace catches my face in both hands and kisses me, tasting himself on my lips, and whispers against my mouth:
"You're so beautiful when you come. We're just going to keep making you come."
I'm shaking. Every muscle trembling, aftershocks still pulsing. Reid presses a kiss to the base of my spine. Jace strokes my hair off my face. For a moment the room is just breath and warmth and the low glow of embers.
Then Owen stands.
The leather of the armchair creaks as he rises. He tucks himself back in, buttons his jeans, and the precision of the gestures, the control of them, is so at odds with what I just saw in his eyes that the contrast alone sends a fresh pulse of heat through me.
He walks to where I'm draped over the sofa, boneless, trembling. He doesn't touch me. He stands close enough that I can feel the heat of his body and the barely contained energy in him, the coiled tension of a man who has been watching and waiting and has decided that the waiting is over.
His voice, when it comes, is low and clear and cuts through everything.
"Bedroom."
27
OWEN
