Page 373

Ezra’s hand remains on my waist while Malakai kisses me, and Rhett continues working between my legs.

Too many hands.

Too many mouths.

Exactly enough.

I moan into Malakai.

He pulls away. “Still want all of us?”

“Yes.”

Rhett’s fingers stop.

I nearly scream.

“Rhett.”

“Answer him properly.”

I twist as far as the restraint allows and glare over my shoulder.

“I want all three of you.”

His grin is pure fucking trouble. “There she is.”

Then everything changes.

Not into the frantic choreography of the first Communion.

Something slower.

Dirtier.

More familiar.

Ezra keeps me in his lap while Rhett kneels behind the couch, his hands roaming wherever he can reach. Malakai stretches beside us, one hand sliding along Ezra’s thigh before Ezra catches his wrist and pulls him closer.

Their mouths meet.

I stop breathing.

Not because I’ve never seen it before.

Because I have.

Many times now.

But it still does something to me.

There was a time when every touch between these men carried centuries of things they refused to say.

Now Rhett can reach over and drag Malakai into a kiss simply because he fucking wants to.

Ezra can catch Rhett by the back of the neck and pull him in next.

Nobody hesitates.