He pressed two fingers in.
The stretch registered across my whole lower body at once, the slow thick fullness of it working in by degrees, and he took his time, pulling back an inch before pressing in a little deeper, then back, then deeper again, working the slick into me with each slow pump. My hips had started moving without me asking them to, pushing back into his hand in small greedy rocks, chasing the depth every time he pulled away.
“That's it,” he said behind me. “Take it.”
His fingers curled and I felt my whole body clench around them and the sound that left me was high and unguarded and completely past managing. My cock was pressed hard against the cool glass through the soaked lace of the thong, leaving a wet smear on the pane every time my hips rolled forward.
Rook dropped to his knees behind me.
I didn't register the movement until I felt his breath at the back of my thigh, warm against the lace border of the stocking, and then his mouth pressed open against the skin just above it. He kissed up slow, trailing his lips along the inside curve of my ass, fingers still working steady inside me, and the combination of his mouth and his hand had me panting against the window in small wet breaths that kept fogging the glass in overlapping rings.
Then his tongue joined his fingers.
He pulled his hand back just enough to make room and pressed his mouth in, tongue flat and wet and licking along the length of his own fingers still inside me, and the sensation of both at once was so overwhelming my knees threatened to go. My forearms came up flat against the glass to brace myself and my cheek pressed harder against the cool surface and the sound that tore out of my chest was raw.
“Fuck. Rook. Fuck.”
He hummed against me in answer and the vibration of it went through my whole pelvis.
He worked me like that for a long minute, tongue and fingers together, the sounds wet and continuous and unhurried, his free hand gripping the back of my thigh just below the lace to hold me open. Every so often he would pull his mouth back just far enough to spit again, deliberately, adding more slick, and the warmth of it sliding down over his fingers and my thighs had me shaking against the window.
“One more,” he said against me.
The third finger pressed in slow.
The stretch went deeper than the first two, and he held there, three knuckles seated, his other hand smoothing up and down the back of my thigh in long reassuring strokes while my body worked through the fullness of it. His mouth came back and pressed against the stretched skin where his fingers disappearedinto me, kissing there, licking around the edges, and the attention of it, the specific worshipful greed of it, made my eyes sting.
“Rook—”
“I know.” His voice was a low rumble against my skin. “I've got you.”
He began to move.
Three fingers working in slow deep pumps, curling on every pull, and the wet filthy sound of his hand moving inside me filled the whole room. His tongue dragged up the seam of me between pumps. His free hand came up and squeezed one cheek and then spread me wider, opening me further for his mouth and his fingers both.
He worked me like that until my legs were shaking. He curled his fingers one more time and I made a sound that was almost a sob and he pulled out slow and I felt the absence of him like a physical thing.
“Stay,” he said.
His footsteps moved across the carpet behind me. I heard the drawer of the nightstand open and close, and then the soft click of the lube cap, and the sound of him slicking himself with slow unhurried strokes that I could hear through the quiet of the room.
Coach had Jace pressed fully against the glass now, chest to the pane, palms flat, the full length of Jace's body laid out against the window from cheek to thigh. Coach stood behind him, broad and unhurried, and I watched him line himself up and press in slow with the steady authority of a man who had done this exact thing a hundred times before.
Jace's mouth opened wide against the window.
The glass fogged around his face in a wide cloud. Coach drove in all the way and held, his hands at Jace's hips, and the sightof them pressed together like that with the lit room behind them made something in my chest pull tight.
Rook came back to me.
His cock slicked and hot against the back of my thigh, his hand flat between my shoulder blades, pressing me deeper into the window. His other hand came down and pulled the lace aside again, holding it out of the way with two fingers, and I felt the blunt slick head of him press against my entrance.
He didn't push in.
He rocked his hips forward just enough to nudge, teasing, letting me feel the shape and the size and the weight of what was coming without giving it to me yet. His chest pressed against my back, hair dragging across my shoulder blades, and his mouth came to rest at the curve where my neck met my shoulder.
“Feel that?” Low and rough against my ear.
“Yes—”
