Tate’s mouth is right against my ear again, his voice a little rougher threading under my skin. “That’s it,” he groans, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings. “Let us take care of you.”
I let out a broken sound as Tate’s fingers move with pressure on my clit. Every brush, every press is calculated. Carter slides down to the floor in front of me, kneeling between my legs. His palms rest on my thighs, completely focused on me. “You’re so sensitive.” he says softly. “You feel everything, don’t you?”
I nod, or maybe I gasp—it’s hard to tell which, because one Carter’s hands stays clamped around my thigh, holding me open, while the other drifts lower. “So wet,” he murmurs.
He leans up and kisses my jaw, tracing soft, open-mouthed kisses down my throat. Every breath I take feeds the tension. Every sound I make guides him. He listens with his hands, with his mouth.
Tate moves closer beside me, his thigh pressed tight against mine, hand dragging down over my stomach. He doesn’t kiss, he bites, teeth sinking into the curve of my shoulder, just hard enough to make me gasp.
“Fuck,” he grits out, fingers slipping between my legs. “You’re soaked for us already.”
He slips two inside, hitting that spot that makes my breath catch, and when I whimper, he does it again.
“Thought about this every goddamn night,” he groans, thrusting his fingers harder. “Wanted to know if you’d fall apart just from this. Guess I was right.”
My back arches. Carter groans softly, then he slips lower too, his fingers finding my clit and circling, slow and sweet, drawing little gasps out of me like he’s collecting them.
“You’re s-so good for us,” Carter whimpers, lips brushing my temple. “So perfect like this. Let us make you feel good, baby. Let go.”
“You hear that?” Tate says, grinding his palm against Carter’s hand forcing him to add more pressure to my clit. “You’re dripping, pretty girl. Fucking love how messy you get.”
Carter moans against my skin. “You’re close already, aren’t you? Just from our hands, take what you need.”
My hips jerk. I can’t stop it, I reach out blindly, grabbing Carter’s shirt, Tate’s wrist, anything to anchor me as the pressure builds, tight and sharp.“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please—don’t—”
“We’re not,” Carter breathes. “We’re right here.”
“Not until you fucking scream,” Tate groans.
I come hard, body locking up as a wave rolls through me, loud and wild and helpless. Their hands keep moving, working me through it. By the time it ends, my brain’s gone static.
Tate notices and before I can argue, he scoops me up with one arm under my back, the other beneath my knees.
I groan softly, tucking my face against his chest. “You’re gonna bruise my pride.”
“Shut up,” He mumbles, but I’m too relaxed in his arms to care.
Carter’s smoothing a hand over my hair as we head down the hallway. “I’ll grab water.”
“Thank you,” I sigh, eyes slowly shut for a second.
Tate nudges open my bedroom door with his foot and lays me down gently on my bed, his touch surprisingly careful for someone who just had his hands all over me. He steps back, rubbing the back of his neck, this soft part isn’t his comfort zone.
“I want you both to stay in here,” I murmur, tugging the blanket up. “Cuddle with me.”
Tate snorts. “Yeah, hard pass. I’m not sleeping in a bed next to my brother.”
“You’ll break that rule for me eventually.”
“Sleep tight, pretty girl.” He disappears down the hall.
A few seconds later, Carter appears with a glass of water. He sets it down on the nightstand, then climbs into bed next to me without hesitation. His arms wrap around me the second he’s close enough.
I press my face into his chest. “You always smell like something good.”
“Laundry detergent and cinnamon gum?”
“It works for me.” We lie there like that for a minute, quiet, warm, tangled up in blankets and everything we aren’t saying.“Thank you,” I whisper. “For earlier. For this. For… you both coming.”
