“He’s, god, his tongue is—” She breaks off. Her hand yanks Cole’s hair. Her hips lift against his mouth. “I can’t talk, and he’s doing the thing where he—”
Cole does something that makes her whole body jolt. Her sentence dies. Her head presses back into the pillow, and the sound that comes out of her is sharp, high, and wordless.
“Fuck you,” she says, breathless.
“Soon,” I say.
She comes hard, thighs clamping around Cole’s head, hand gripping my arm, body bowing off the mattress. Cole keeps her there through it, mouth on her, hands on her hips, without rushing. I feel every tremor that runs through her, watch her face as it fractures into pure, unraveled pleasure. It’s a victory as potent as any on the ice.
Afterward, she sinks back into the sheets, breathing ragged.
Cole lifts his head, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at me. His lips are slick, his eyes heavy-lidded.
“She’s all yours,” he says.
“I was always all both of yours,” Maya says, eyes still closed. “Don’t pretend there’s a handoff.”
Her eyes open. She looks at me, then at Cole. Back to me.
“Both of you,” she says. “Different this time.”
Cole goes still.
My attention cuts to him.
Maya sees it. Her mouth curves, soft and dangerous. “I want him inside me,” she says, looking at Cole. Then her eyes come to mine. “And I want you inside him.”
Cole’s breath punches out of him.
His hand tightens in the sheet.
The words hang in the air, a live wire. My own body reacts before my mind can catch up—a sharp, visceral heat that pools low in my stomach. I look at Cole, at the wide, dark eyes, the parted lips. The trust there is absolute, and it steals my breath.
“Cole?” I ask.
His eyes are on mine now, dark and wide and already answering. Still, he nods once. “Yes.”
The single word is rough, certain. It echoes in the quiet room.
Maya pushes up on her elbows. “Good. Get undressed. Both of you. Now.”
I strip. Her eyes track down my body. When they reach the piercings, her lip catches between her teeth, the same reaction every time, except now it is followed by a reach. Her hand wraps around me. Her grip adjusts to the barbells, thumb riding over each one. She presses the sixth. A bolt of sharp, bright pleasure shoots up my spine, and my jaw locks.
“Every time,” she says, satisfied.
“Every time,” I confirm through my teeth.
Cole strips beside us. Maya’s free hand finds him. She strokes us both at the same time, her eyes moving between our faces, watching what her hands do to us. The dual sensation is overwhelming—her palm on me, her fingers on him, the friction just shy of enough. I watch Cole’s throat work, watch his eyes fall shut for a second, and the sight is almost as good as the touch.
“You look very pleased with yourself,” I say.
“I’m holding two national champions in my hands. I’m allowed to be pleased.”
She lets go. Cole reaches into the nightstand, gets the condoms and lube, and hands one condom to me. His hand is steady. His breathing catches once—a tiny, telling hitch.
“Come here,” Maya tells him.
Cole rolls on the condom with hands that look almost controlled, then moves over her. Maya lies back against the pillows, knees parting as he settles between them. He lowers himself into her, one hand braced beside her head and the other gripping her hip.
