"I'm close," Simon warned, his voice straining. "Daniel, she's clamping down. She's going to spike."
"Guide her," I commanded, moving back to her mouth, hovering inches away. "Tessa. Listen to me."
Her eyes flew open. They were wild, panic warring with ecstasy.
"They laughed," she whispered, the old ghost surfacing at the moment of crisis. "They're going to laugh."
"No," I said firmly. "Listen to the room. What do you hear?"
I waited.
"Breathing?" she rasped.
"Rough breathing," I corrected. "Desperate breathing. You hear three men who are ready to tear the world apart just to hear you come. You hear hunger, Tessa. Not laughter. Hunger."
I grabbed her face, forcing her to look at me.
"Feed us," I groaned. "Give it to us."
That broke the dam.
The realization that her pleasure wasn't a spectacle, but a sustenance, shattered the last of her resistance.
She screamed.
It was a long, open-throated wail of release. Her body bowed upward, lifting off the rug, sustained only by Anders’ grip on her arms and the tension of her own muscles. Simon swore, a filthy stream of praise as he worked her through the spasms, his hand moving in a blur.
"Yes!" I shouted, praising her volume. "Loud! Be loud! Let them hear you in the next town! Let the ocean hear you!"
I kissed her while she screamed, swallowing the sound, mixing it with my own growls. I drank her release. I felt the tremors run through her body and pass into mine, shaking me to my core.
She came for what felt like forever, wave after wave of heat rolling off her, scorching us. The scent in the room turned thick and resinous, honey, berries, bourbon, chocolate, spice. A sensory bomb that obliterated the smell of the sterile house.
Slowly, she collapsed.
She fell back against Anders, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Her legs fell open, trembling, exhausted. Simon slowed his hand, but didn't leave her, gently stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, grounding her.
I rested my forehead against hers. We were breathing the same air.
"Did you hear it?" I whispered, my voice wrecked.
"What?" she breathed, her eyes closed, a faint smile ghosting her lips.
"The silence," I said. "No laughter. Just the fire."
She let out a shuddering sigh, lifting her hand to trace the line of my jaw. Her fingers were damp, shaking, and warm.
"You talked so much," she murmured sleepily. "You really do have a lot of words stored up."
"Millions," I promised, turning my face to kiss her palm. "And I'm going to use every single one of them until you believe me."
"Believe what?"
"That you're the main character," I said. "And the main character doesn't fade to black. She burns."
Anders shifted behind her, adjusting his grip so she could settle more comfortably against him. He looked over her head at me. His blue eyes were blown wide, dark with the same intoxication I felt.
"Pack," Anders whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a classification.
