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When he pulls back, he licks his lips. “Like honey,” he says, his eyes blazing with heat.

“Or sweet cream,” Tate says. “Freshly whipped, ready to be spread on anything.”

Ares takes his turn, and he presses a kiss to the wet mound of my pussy first. Then he dips his tongue in, circling my clit with the tip.

“Ares,” I groan. “Fuck.”

“You smell amazing down here, firefly. But I think Callan and Tate are wrong. You’re nothing as simple as honey or cream. It’s more complex, more exquisite than that. Like a fine, sweet wine.” He goes back down, eating me out like he’s desperate for it.

“I could see that,” Tate says. “I’d say the kind of wine you only crack open on special occasions, but we all know I want to taste you much more often than that.”

“An indulgence though,” Callan agrees. “Something to be savored.”

“And apparently for sophisticated palates because other men are too stupid to understand what a delicacy they have when they have it.”

All their talk and Ares’ mouth on me is going right to my head. I shake on the bed, twisting back and forth while he licks and laps at me, alternating between fucking me with his tongue and licking at my clit.

The heat rises, threatening to steal my breath and send me crashing right over the edge. None of them try to stop that from happening. Ares eats me out even harder, his little noises of enjoyment just making this better.

I come for them with a low groan, arching up and riding out the waves of pleasure as they come.

Ares laps up what he can of my release and then moves back to let his friends take turns getting their tastes as well.

When I come down, I’m flat on my back, breathing hard, and the three of them loom over me.

Ares gazes down at me with heat in his eyes. “Do you remember the other day in the motel?”

I nod because how could I forget that?

“Did you count?”

“Count what?” My brow furrows, my brain too soupy right now to do math.

“How many times Tate made you come,” Ares says with a smirk. “Because I’m planning to beat his record tonight.”

38

BRYNN

I shiver at the way he says that. I remember the time in the motel, obviously, but it’s hard to remember exactly how many times one of them made me come. I was hazy with lust at that point.

“Three, I think?” I tell Ares.

His smirk just grows. “I can beat that.”

“And you think I can’t do better tonight than I did then?” Tate asks.

“But does quantity matter more than quality?” Callan interjects. “What if I can give her better orgasms than you can?”

Ares snorts. “I can make her come faster than you can either way.”

“Same question,” Callan shoots back.

They’re being competitive, but it’s friendly, and I know underneath all that is the teamwork that they so often display when it comes to me. They’re working together to get me off, and no matter who wins their little contest, I’m going to be a fucked out mess by the end of it.

I start to reach for them, wanting to touch or kiss or something. But Callan catches my wrists before I can.

“This is about you,” he says. “I’ve seen how fast you can make a guy lose control.” He smirks, and I know he’s thinking about earlier when Ares was on the phone. “We want to make this last, so you need to keep your hands to yourself, wildflower.”