Cole's mouth is on her breast. I can hear the wet drag of his tongue over her skin. The layered sensation of both of us working her body pushes her toward the edge. Her hips roll against my mouth. Her hand tightens in my hair. She's close.Her thighs tighten, her hips find a rhythm, and the pitch of her voice climbs.
I slide two fingers inside her. Tight. Slick. Her body grips me, and the hot clenching pressure makes my cock throb against the mattress. I curl deep, find the spot, and press.
She comes. Her body locks, her thighs clamp around my head, and her hand fists in my hair. The sound she makes is my name and Cole's tangled together, the two names colliding in her throat. Her walls pulse around my fingers in rhythmic contractions.
I work her through it, slower now, until her hand loosens in my hair and her thighs relax.
Lifting my head, I find her looking at the ceiling with parted lips and unfocused eyes. Cole is beside her, his hand on her stomach, his mouth against her temple. His eyes meet mine over her body.
"I want you inside me," Maya says. To the ceiling. To both of us. She turns her head and looks at me. "You. First."
The word first lands, and my eyes cut to Cole.
I stand and strip. Jeans, boxers. Her eyes track down my body and stop at the piercings. The Jacob's ladder. Silver catching the lamplight. She saw them once before, in her apartment, when her hand went to her mouth and her composure cracked wide open. This time she looks at them and wets her lower lip, deliberate as hell.
"I've been thinking about those," she says. "Since your apartment."
"Have you."
"Every time I close my eyes."
Cole strips beside the bed. Maya's gaze moves to him, the same hunger, the same assessment, her lip between her teeth. She's looking at both of us. Naked in the lamplight, the two bodies she heard through the spare room wall fully visible.
Cole finds a condom in the nightstand drawer and tosses it. I catch it and roll it on.
I get on the bed between her legs. She opens for me, knees wide, her hands reaching for my shoulders and pulling me down. The contact of our bodies, chest to chest, hips to hips, is so complete the breath goes out of me.
Cole positions himself beside her, his hand in her hair and his mouth at her ear, whispering too low for me to catch. She turns her face into his neck and nods.
I line up and press forward.
The first ridge enters her and her whole body stiffens. The sensation is different with a condom, muted but present, each one dragging as I push deeper. Her eyes fly open. Her mouth opens. The sound she makes is guttural, involuntary. She remembers the piercings from her apartment, from the afternoon she sank down onto me and said oh. This angle hits a different spot on the descent.
I bottom out. Fully inside her. Every piercing seated. Her legs wrap around my waist. Her hands grip my shoulders. We're still for one breath.
"The piercings," she says. Wrecked. "I can feel every single one."
"Move," she says. The same word Cole has said to me a hundred times.
I move. The first thrust is slow, a controlled withdrawal and a deep push that seats them again. She gasps. Her jaw clenches. I set the pace, measured, deliberate, each stroke catching the spot my fingers found. Her hips lift to meet mine. Her nails dig into my shoulders. The sounds build.
Cole's hand slides down her body and between us. His fingers find her clit and begin to circle, slow, in counterpoint to my thrusts. The dual stimulation makes her body arch.
"Dante, Cole, I can't—"
"You can," I say against her mouth. Low. "Let go."
Cole's fingers work faster. My hips maintain the rhythm, the angle catching the spot that makes her voice break. She's caught between us, my body above her, Cole touching her between us.
She comes a second time. Harder. Her body clenches around my cock in waves, every contraction amplified while she pulses. I have to stop moving, lock my arms, and breathe through it because the pressure is threatening to pull me over with her. Her face is turned into Cole's neck, the sounds muffled against his skin. Cole stays on her, working her through it, his eyes on mine over her head.
The orgasm subsides. I start moving again, slower, deeper. She's sensitive now, and each stroke makes her whimper.
"Your turn," she says to Cole, her voice scraped thin. She pushes at my chest, rearranging us. "I want both of you. I meant what I said."
I pull out, and she shivers at the loss. Cole is already moving, the coordination between us automatic, six years of reading each other's bodies in a different context. He positions himself on the bed, on his back. She climbs over him, straddling his hips, then reaches back for a condom from the nightstand and rolls it onto him with steady hands. Her hands stay steady. She doesn't look away.
She sinks down onto Cole. His head drops back against the pillow. His hands grip her hips. The sound he makes, low and guttural, the sound from the bedroom wall that Maya heard through plaster, fills the room. It hits low in my chest and stays there.
