Page 110 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Julian flicks his gaze up at me, a brilliant slice of feral delight, and doubles down. His mouth never breaks pace. He’s caustic, precise, insatiable, but his hand finds mine, threading our fingers together in a way that betrays the sliver of real, fucked-up sweetness in him.

My nails dig into his skin. He just squeezes tighter, pinning me to the mattress from the inside. Xander’s other hand lands on my throat, thumb pressing just enough to send a black ripple through my vision.

My entire body rings like a tuning fork, nerves sparking. I thrash, not to escape but to shove them both deeper inside my skin, unsure whose touch I crave more but knowing with a savage certainty that I could die right here and feel it was enough.

The door rips open, a sprawl of too-bright light knifing across the bed. Gabe stands there, expression spun from equal parts horror and hunger, one hand already knifing through his hair in that self-soothing tic. I love that he sees me like this: ruined, wild, beyond recognition.

Julian glances up, tongue still working on me, a predator showing off its kill. Xander doesn’t even look, he just grinds his palm into my pulse, keeping me tethered to the now.

I force my hips up, as if I might break the axis of the planet and devour them all whole. I don’t want to be the center of attention. I want to be the fucking epicenter, the crater after impact, nothing left standing but the raw, fused glass of sensation.

All three of them watch me, with awe, with the clinical appraisal of a project reaching its critical phase. I lose track of hands, of mouths, of where their bodies start or end. My insides crack and remake themselves on the out breath.

Gabe closes the door, voice a careful hush. “You called?”

He’s trying for ice, but his hands tremble when he peels the shirt off his body. I writhe up, wanting him closer, wanting him to see firsthand the damage the others have done.

“Get over here,” I order.

He does.

Gabe kneels on the mattress beside me, all clean lines and muscle and the intense tension of a man who never expected to fuck up this bad and love it.

His hand goes to my cheek, feather gentle, even as his eyes track the red-stained bites on my throat, the Xs and Os of a territory battle he’s just now realizing he wants to win.

Xander keeps his grip on my neck; Julian never stops working my clit, tongue and teeth and the impossible pressure of a man who doesn’t believe in mercy.

Gabe just looks at me, his thumb tracing the line of my chin. Then he kisses me, mouth as open and hungry as his eyes.

He tastes like sugar and want. When he pulls away, I’m shaking. Not fear, not quite, all the usual controls have melted.

I’m a live wire, strobing between them, each point of contact searing like a fuse inside my veins. I clamp a hand behind Gabe’s head and pull him in, teeth colliding, mouths wet and frantic. He moans into my mouth, a sound that vibrates down my spine and pools in my pussy.

Julian is relentless. He works me with the edge of a sadist and the patience of an engineer, tongue flicking in patterns designed only to dismantle me. Xander shifts down, his mouth hot and strange at my breast.

He bites hard, then lets up, all the while constructing a fresh latticework of bruises for me to admire in the bathroom mirror tomorrow.

I want to tell them to slow down, to stop, to let me catch up, but the words dissolve into animal sounds, some of which might be a plea and some a threat. The mattress whipsaws with movement; fabric and skin and breath glaze over my senses until I can’t tell whose hands are where, what body is mine and which have always belonged to someone else.

I’m close.

I want to stall, throttle the moment and pin it down for later, but my body betrays me. Julian’s thumb circles my clit in counterpoint to his tongue, building a pulse I can’t outrun.

He murmurs against me, a deep, satisfied vibration, and my hips try to buck, try to get free, but Xander’s hand clamps them back to earth. Gabe’s forearm is braced across my chest, holding me down with a gentle, unyielding weight.

I feel the heat of Xander’s mouth on my throat, the possessive pressure of Gabe’s fingers, the feral tickle of Julian’s tongue, and the three of them merge into one living, breathing assault course I will run until my body gives out.

When it happens, it’s a detonation.

My vision crosshatches with static and color. I rut against Julian’s mouth shamelessly, animal, and let go with a ragged cry that echoes off the drywall, tears open my own throat. I dig nails into Gabe’s bicep so deep it leaves trenches, mark Xander’s shoulder in a half moon constellation.

Electricity fans out from my center, whites out everything it touches. Nerve endings sparking then going blissfully blank, body rebooting like a dropped phone. I can’t breathe or talk.

It feels like all three of them are holding me under, drowning me on dry land. And I love it.

It’s a full minute before language sifts back into my skull. The room swims into focus in jagged shards: Gabe’s jaw scraped red where I bit him, Xander’s knuckles white around my wrists, Julian’s mouth slick and victorious.

“More,” I gasp. “I want you. All of you.”