Page 58 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

But before I can get anything else out, my toes curl. I let loose and I fall.

I come so hard I forget my own name, crying out as pleasure explodes behind my eyes, pulsing through my limbs, and making my whole body shudder. He doesn’t stop until I’m gasping, limp, twitching from overstimulation, and completely wrung out.

He scoops me up, my legs locking around his waist as he carries me across the room. The edge of his couch digs into the back of my thighs when he sets me down, like he knows exactly how much pressure my body can take before it turns into pain.

Fletcher pauses, his hands braced on either side of me as he spreads me open on his couch, his eyes lighting up.

His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, his eyes locked on mine.

Then he kisses me again, filthy and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. And I moan into his mouth, because I’ve never felt more wanted. More taken. More his.

“I need more,” I murmur. “It’s time for you to be naked too.”

With a smirk, he leans back and tugs his shirt over his head. Most of all, I love the mischievous glint in his eyes. That look sets me on fire.

His belt clinks as it joins the shirt, and his pants slide down, pooling at his feet. And, oh shit. He’s big. Hard. Thick and flushed, and already dripping at the tip. My mouth actually waters.

“You’re staring,” he says, his voice dark as honey and smoke.

“I know, but you just look so good…”

He strokes himself once, his eyes never leaving mine. “So do you.”

He slides back atop me, braced on trembling forearms, the heat of his chest searing mine. Every inch of him presses downward, lean muscles taut, the line of his jaw set in hungry determination.

His mouth lowers, lips grazing mine in a kiss that tastes sweet, desire laced with fierce devotion. I feel the hard length of him against my inner thigh, slick with my own warmth, and I shift, angling my hips until I can feel his tip graze the spot that aches for him.

He holds back, just out of reach. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, gentle and knowing. When he pulls away, his dark eyes study me.

He rasps, “Do you want me to go slow… or the way I’ve been craving you all night long?”

My pulse hammers in my ears. My wrists lie free against the couch cushions, but I don’t move them. I don’t want to break this spell.

“I want you,” I whisper huskily. “Exactly how you want me.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His only restraint.

“Be sure, June,” he warns.

I curl my legs around his hips, drawing him closer.

“Fletcher,” I murmur. “Ruin me.”

His breath hisses through clenched teeth, and for a heartbeat the world spins. Then he pushes in with one fierce thrust, deep and all-consuming.

I gasp, back arching in an involuntary bow.

“Fuck, Fletcher, that feels so fucking good.”

That’s all he needs. He pulls back slowly, then slams forward. Hard, relentless. Each thrust jerks the breath from my lungs, every slam against me presses new, filthy sounds from my throat. He pivots my hips higher across his waist, angling himself so he hits that sweet, trembling spot. My head falls back, lips parted in a silent plea as pleasure floods me.

The couch bites into my hips every time he drives forward, solid and unyielding, forcing me to take him exactly where he wants me. Exactly where I’m already begging without words.

“Touch yourself,” he pants roughly. “Let me see you lose it again.”

I reach up, slick fingers seeking the swollen peak of my clit, drawing tight, circular strokes as he plunges into me. He pauses, watching, eyes dark with possessiveness.

“Good girl,” he groans. “Just like that. Show me how you fall apart.”