He blinks up at me, processing. Then understanding floods his face and he actually moans—a low, desperate sound that goes straight through me.
"Fuck yes," he breathes, already moving, already complying. He shifts back slightly, lowers himself to the floor with surprising grace for someone so large. Lies flat on his back on the kitchen floor, looking up at me with absolute worship in his eyes.
The visual is obscene. Zay on his back, fully clothed in jeans and a t-shirt, surrounded by the mundane reality of Xavier's kitchen—the breakfast dishes still in the sink, morning light streamingthrough the windows, coffee pot still warm on the counter. And me, completely naked, standing over him.
"Val," Xavier's voice cuts through the haze, rough and commanding. "Look at me."
I turn my head to meet his eyes. He's leaning forward in his wheelchair as much as he can, eyes dark with lust and something more possessive.
"You're fucking perfect," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. "Now sit on his face and let us watch you fall apart."
The command sends a shiver through me. I look over at Asher one more time. He's still frozen in his chair, but his chest is heaving with rapid breaths. His eyes are locked on me with such intensity it feels like being burned.
"Watch," I tell him softly. "Touch yourself if you want. I want to see you lose control too."
Zay's hand immediately goes to his cock, stroking himself with rough, desperate movements. His eyes never leave me.
Then I move to straddle Zay's face, lowering myself slowly, giving him time to adjust, to breathe, to prepare. His hands come up to grip my thighs immediately, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"Please," he begs against me, the word vibrating through my core. "Please, Val."
I sink down fully, and the first touch of his tongue makes my head fall back, a gasp escaping my lips that I don't even try to contain.
"That's it," Xavier's voice comes from somewhere behind me, encouraging and dark. "Show us. Show us how good he makes you feel."
Zay's tongue works with devastating precision—licking, sucking, exploring like he's trying to memorize every sound I make, every way I respond. His hands grip my thighs harder, holding me in place when I try to move, controlling the rhythm. Below me, I can hear the wet sound of his hand working his cock, can feel the vibration of his groans against my core.
I'm already close. Too close. The combination of his mouth and being watched and the knowledge that Zay is getting off while tasting me—all of it—is too much.
"Zay," I gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard. "Oh god, Zay?—"
"Let go," Xavier commands. "Come for us, baby. Let us see it."
And I do. I shatter completely, crying out as pleasure crashes through me in waves that seem endless. Zay doesn't stop, doesn't let up, just holds me through it while I shake and gasp above him. I hear him groan, feel his body go rigid beneath me, and realize he's coming too—my orgasm triggering his, both of us lost in it together.
When I finally come back to myself, breathing hard, hypersensitive, I lift off him carefully. He's grinning up at me, face flushed, lips wet, hand still wrapped around his softening cock, looking absolutely triumphant.
"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.
"So good," I manage, still trembling. "You too?"
"Fuck yes," he breathes. "Came so hard I saw stars."
I look over at Xavier. He's gripping himself through his jeans, eyes dark with need. "Come here," he demands. "My turn."
Then I glance at Asher. He's still sitting there, but his control has completely cracked. His hands are gripping the armrests of his chair now, knuckles white, and he's staring at me like he wants to devour me whole.
"You know I've got to save you for last, Xav," I purr, dropping down to my knees, looking at Asher through my eyelashes. "The best things are worth waiting for."
Xavier makes a frustrated sound but doesn't argue. He knows I'm right. He'll get his turn.
I crawl across the cool hardwood floor toward Asher, the sensation a delicious contrast to the heat still pulsing between my thighs. My body feels liquid, used in the best way, but there's a hunger in me that's only been whetted, not satisfied. The air is thick with the scent of us—sex and arousal and something electric that makes my skin prickle.
Asher is my target now.
He hasn't moved from his chair since this started. Still sitting there with that rigid control, but I can see how close he is to breaking. How badly he wants to reach for me. The belt on his jeans is thick black leather, the buckle cold and heavy-looking. His t-shirt strains across his chest with every controlled breath he takes.
I move slowly, letting him watch every shift of my hips, every sway of my breasts as I close the distance between us. Let him see exactly what he's been denying himself.
