I watch them. Maya on top of Cole, her hands on his chest, her hips rolling. His hands on her waist, guiding.
She looks at me over her shoulder. Dark eyes. Sweat on her collarbone.Where are you? Why aren't you here? I said both.
I get behind her, chest against her back and mouth at her ear. She leans into me, that fraction of surrender, and the weight of her body settling between mine and Cole's empties my lungs.
My hand wraps around her throat. Light. Resting. My thumb on her pulse point, her heart hammering against my fingertip.
"Is this okay?" I ask against her ear, because the hand on the throat means something different for her, and the difference matters more than the wanting.
"Yes." Zero hesitation. "Don't let go."
Her pulse pounds against my thumb. I hold.
My hand stays on her throat. The other finds her hip, guiding her rhythm on Cole. She rides him while I hold her, my chest against her back, my mouth on her neck, my palm at her throat. The sounds in the room are obscene. Cole's moans. Maya's breathing. The slick rhythm of her body moving on his. My own breathing ragged, the control fraying.
I reach down between them, find where they're joined, and slide my fingers up to her clit. She bucks at the contact. Cole groans beneath her. My fingers work her in rhythm with her own hips, my mouth at her neck, my hold at her throat, and her rhythm catches between my touch and Cole's hips.
"I'm close," Cole says. His voice thin. Desperate. "Maya, I'm—"
"Come," she says. A command. From above him, with my hand on her throat and my fingers on her clit. She doesn't look away from him. "Come for me, Cole."
He does. His body arches off the mattress, his hands clamping on her hips and pulling her down, seating himself deep while his orgasm tears through him. The sound he makes is her name. Maya. The word cracks open mid-syllable, the same broken register he used for mine against the wall.
She follows him. My fingers tip her over the edge, her body seizing, her hand flying up to grip my wrist at her throat, holding on, keeping me there while she comes. The orgasm movesthrough her in waves I can feel against my chest, through my fingers, in the clenching of her body around Cole that makes him gasp through his own aftershocks.
Her grip loosens on my wrist. My hand falls from her throat.
I haven't come. My cock aches against the curve of her ass.
Maya lifts off Cole, turns in the space between us, and faces me. Her eyes are glazed. A flush covers her body. She's shaking.
"You didn't finish," she says.
"I'm fine."
"You're so hard it looks painful."
"The pain is manageable."
"I didn't ask if it was manageable." She pushes me with both hands on my chest, down onto my back. She's kneeling over me, and her hand wraps around my cock. The contact is so direct my hips jerk and a sound exits my throat that I would make only in front of these two people.
Her thumb traces the first barbell, then moves up, finding each one. The same exploration from her apartment, but this time her grip is steady and sure. She presses the sixth barbell just below the head, and my hips buck off the mattress.
"Let me," she says. "You've been in control all night. Let someone else drive."
Cole pushes up from the sheets, his hand on her back, supporting. He steadies her while I shift beneath them. She reaches for a new condom from the nightstand, tears the wrapper, and rolls it onto me with a grip that is firm and deliberate, her fingers adjusting to each barbell on the way down.
She lowers herself onto me slowly. Each piercing enters her slowly, and her mouth opens the way it did in her apartment. Her eyes flutter. Her head drops forward.
"Oh." The syllable from her apartment. The same broken sound, dragged out of her from the inside. This time she saysit with her eyes open, looking at me, letting me see what the piercings do to her face.
She rides me with her eyes locked on mine and her hands planted on my chest, focused with the same brutal precision I use when I want a room to obey. She pins me there with her palms on my chest until I'm flat on my back beneath her, taking orders from the woman running this room.
Cole reaches between us. His fingers trace where she's stretched around me, the barbells visible on each upstroke, the explicit contact of his hand on both of us simultaneously. Maya gasps. I groan. Cole makes a sound I have never heard from him with his fingers touching both of us.
"Come," Maya says, looking down at me, her voice wrecked but certain. "Let me see you."
I grip her hips, hard, fingers pressing in and pulling her down. I thrust up into her, and the orgasm hits all at once. My body arches. Her palms press harder into my chest. My hands are on her, her hands are on me, Cole's hand on both of us until it passes.
