Three of them. All at once. Rogue’s mouth on my neck, his hands on my breasts. Armen’s thumb on my clit, steady, precise. Sting driving into me with a rhythm that starts controlled and then falls apart.
That’s when I feel it.
Sting’s rhythm breaks, not because he’s close but because something in him is giving way. His thrusts go from measured to urgent to something else entirely. It’s ragged, out of control. And I fucking love it.
He grips hard, like he’s trying to go deeper than deep. His head drops, and his breathing is harsh and broken, like the breathing of a man who’s losing a fight with himself.
Something coming from deep inside him, a sound I’ve never heard from him, in this place or anywhere else. It’s need. Pure, stripped-down need. The kind that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with what’s happened between us outside this room.
Armen’s thumb is still working me and Rogue’s still holding me. But the room has narrowed to Sting’s face and how he’s moving inside me, like he’s trying to say something his mouth can’t.
“Look at me,” I say.
He lifts his head. The mask has slipped back up to his mouth and jaw, its natural place. But his eyes are exposed. And what’s in them makes my breath catch. It’s just Sting, stripped bare, looking at me with everything he’s been carrying around.
I come again, looking into his eyes and it’s so goddamn hot I am close to tears. Armen’s thumb, Rogue’s hands, and Sting’s eyes, it all pushes me over the edge. I come again and then he does, burying himself deep with a shudder and a groan.
Rogue tenses, his breath catching against my neck and he finishes behind me, spurting his cum on my back. Armen turns my face to kiss him.
We stay tangled for a while. Rogue peels off first and plops down on the couch, one arm over his eyes, breathing slow. Armen kisses my shoulder, adjusts himself, and gives Sting a look that I can’t read but that carries weight.
Then it’s just the two of us.
He is still between my legs, still inside me. His breathing hasn’t steadied so I just run my fingers through his hair without speaking.
So I wait.
He lifts his head and pulls his mask down to his neck, exposing his face. The bone-white barrier is gone and it’s just him. His lips part and I can see words forming, the effort behind his eyes, and how he’s trying to release something that’s been locked inside.
He closes his eyes, opens them, then looks at me. “Stay. Please.”
One word. That’s all he can manage. One word that meansI read the papers, your father was clean, and I’ve been carrying this because I didn’t know what to say.
51
VI
Rogue and Armen are gone.The private room is quiet. Just the low hum of the club below us through the floor.
Sting is on his back and I’m on my side near his shoulder. We’re staring at the ceiling.
“Didn’t know you had a mask kink,” he says.
“I don’t have a mask kink.”
“You absolutely have a mask kink. Your whole body changed when I got in front of you with it on. Plus, I know how you and Rogue played around.”
“First, my whole body changed because your mouth was between my legs. Second, the three of you are blabbermouths.”
“Sure. Whatever,” he says.
“Shut up.”
He almost laughs. Almost. I can hear it in his exhale, the ghost of amusement from a man who doesn’t laugh enough.
We don’t say anything for a minute, and then my brain goes somewhere else entirely.
Dad’s papers.
