Marshall kisses like a man who’s fought himself ragged, making up for every day he pretended not to want this.
I rake my hands into his hair, and Marshall groans, pressing his whole body into mine.
I’m shivering all over, skin prickling, heart beating so hard it leaves glowing imprints on the insides of my eyelids. He slides his hands down to my hips, thumbs digging into my bones, and when I part my lips again, he licks into my mouth.
But he isn’t the only one I want.
I turn my head, my body, toward the bedroom, pulling away from the heat of Marshall’s mouth just enough to see Jesse and Wyatt waiting, pupils blown wide, both of them looking at me like I’m the last drink of water at the end of a week in the desert.
There’s hunger, yes, but more—a brittle, loaded tenderness, a desperate need as loud as a ringing bell. I want to drink that in.
Jesse crosses the space in three strides, crowding into my left side. He puts one hand around the back of my neck, his palm hot, the callused pads of his fingers pressing into my hairline in a way that makes my knees threaten mutiny.
I can smell the pine tar and the aftershave he borrowed from Marshall, and for a fractured second, I’m afraid I’ll combust from the simple, stupid animal joy of it.
“Are you…?” Jesse’s voice is a scrape, sliding across gravel.
He can’t finish the sentence, so I do it for him, kissing him fast, all teeth and tongue. He makes a noise that’s more animal than man, and his hand migrates, pulling me in while Marshall’s got my hips, holding me perfectly between them.
It doesn’t matter that my heart’s racing fast as a cornered rabbit. I let it happen, let myself be the rope in their tug of war, let new hands tangle in my hair and my clothes and my want.
Wyatt is still by the couch, but his gaze is pinned to me, molten with longing. There’s a tremor in his jaw, a pulse jerking in his throat. He’s holding himself at bay with nothing but academic restraint.
I beckon to him.
He doesn’t move, but the hunger in his eyes goes incandescent. He wants to be asked. Maybe needs it. Some shadow of old wounds or just that Wyatt thing of wanting to be sure.
I find the center of my strength, my need, and say, “Come here.”
He does. Of course he does. He stands, shaky but determined, and the three of them close the circle around me.
Wyatt is suddenly there, sinking to his knees, tugging down my jeans and panties, all heat and shadow and intent. His hands slide under my now naked thighs as he pulls me toward him.
I brace, breath caught, pulse hammering. His eyes meet mine as his scruff brushes the inside of my thigh.
My sweater is gone before I even notice, tugged up and tossed aside as Jesse’s mouth follows bare skin. My bra unhooks with a practiced flick. The lace slides down my arms in a sigh.
And then Wyatt’s mouth is on me.
He tastes me with a seriousness that steals the air from my lungs. My vision pricks with light.
His tongue is damn near overwhelming as he devours me. Every slow, sucking pull drags me toward the brink.
I whine, helpless, arching, and his hands hold my thighs, anchoring me to him. The rest of the world blurs out.
There’s only the heat and slick of his mouth, Jesse’s palm against my back, Marshall’s laughter, breathless and awed.
Jesse’s hands are nowhere and everywhere: in my hair, tracing my jaw, flicking along my ribs and the peaks of my chest. When he pinches, just a little, I gasp.
He answers with a low growl, and then his mouth is on mine again, tongue tasting the echo of my own want. I want to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me so that nothing exists beyond the border of his body.
All three of them are so close, orbiting me, gravity gone wild.
Wyatt’s beard is the scratch of field stubble in early spring, a rasp dragging me back to the moment every time I think I might tumble out of it.
His fingers spread, thumbs pressed into the tendon of my inner thigh, and he holds himself utterly still between movements, as if orchestrating the next onslaught in the mind’s eye before committing to it on my skin.
I catch his gaze—it’s bottomless, dark, a plea and a promise at once.
