Page 40 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

Suddenly, he pops into my throat with a long, low groan. In seconds his thick cock is all the way down my throat, and he’s got my breasts in his hands, pinching my nipples so hard it almost hurts.

“Jesus, you look fucking hot right now,” he growls. “That feels so fucking good, Lark.”

He pulls himself out, and I gasp for air, Gavin still buried balls-deep inside me, massaging my clit with his thumb as I suck at the head of Cash’s cock, lavishing my tongue on it.

I feel amazing. I feel like a goddess, more filled and satisfied than I ever thought possible. It’s dirty andfilthyand completely wanton, but I want more of it. I want them to fill me up, make me come, use my body for pleasure just like I’m using theirs.

I pull Cash back to me, and this time I swallow him instantly, his cock sliding down my throat like it was made for it. Gavin moves faster, harder, fucking me deep and hard, deeper and harder than I ever thought possible.

It’s good. It’s so fucking good, it’s mind-blowing. Before I know it, I’m on the brink of climax again, moaning and whimpering around Cash’s cock. If I could I’d beg them not to stop, toneverstop.

I come like I’ve been struck by lightning, my whole body electrified all at once, shocks moving along my limbs. I feel like my skin is sizzling, every nerve sparking, and it moves through me again and again, ceaseless. I want to beg them to fuck me harder, to never stop, to fill me up and wring me out, but then Cash pushes his cock down my throat one more time and he’s coming hard in spasm after spasm and I’m swallowing him while he moans and whispers my name and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

A second later Gavin comes, slamming into me, burying himself deep and emptying himself in wave after wave, groaning, whispering something I can’t even hear.

When it’s over he pulls me upright, sits me on the table again. Gavin kisses me hard, long and slow, and then Cash does the same. It’s chilly but together, they hold me in their arms, let me come down and warm up.

There’s a part of me that’s slightly embarrassed, a part of me that whispersgood girls don’t, but I tell that part to go fuck itself.

Who cares how love works, whether it’s between two people or three or four? I’ve fallen for all these men, and I don’t really care what anyone else thinks — even that irritating, puritanical part of myself.

“Bedtime?” Gavin asks, still holding me against him.

“It’s not even eight o’clock,” Cash points out.

I yawn, and they both chuckle.

“Come upstairs to my room,” I tell them. “Stay over. We can read in bed until we fall asleep.”

“Or until we’re ready for round two,” Gavin says, his voice low and mellow.

I just laugh.

“I think I can barely stand, let alone dothatagain,” I tease.

Cash grins. Gavin smirks, that feral light back in his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he says.

Chapter Fifteen

Gavin

I’ve never meta girl this impossible to get off my mind. It feels like every second I’m awake, I’m thinking of Larkin. I think of her half the time that I’m asleep, too, during the nights that she doesn’t spend the night in my bed.

The four of us settle into our new… whatever it is. Any reservations that I might have had about sharing Larking are completely gone, because Dalton and Cash are practically my brothers. We traveled around the United States in a van for a few years together, playing shitty clubs and sleeping in the parking lots of rest areas while we tried to make it as a band.

And we did. God almighty did we make it big, our debut album suddenly blowing up like a neutron bomb. We went from the shitty clubs in seedy areas to suddenly selling out stadiums all around the world, and it’s been insane.

Completely, utterly, wildly insane. I think that’s why I’ve barely seen Slate outside of rehearsals since we got here — he’s never exactly been mister extrovert, and the added attention’s been hardest on him. If he needs a few weeks of solitude to get back to himself, Godspeed to him.

But the rest of us… it’s a different story. Larkin is somehow inexhaustible, always ready for any of us. Hell, she loves it, comes to my suite sometimes at night, saying that she can’t sleep.

I fuck her on my couch. I fuck her in her studio while her tea gets cold. I fuck her with Dalton on the lounge chairs beside the heated swimming pool; I fuck her with Cash on the bear skin rug in front of the huge fireplace in the lobby. Half the nights I spend in her bed, two of us tangled around her while we all sleep.

Two weeks go by, and then, suddenly, we’ve all been there over a month. We’ve got two more months before the residency is over and The Centennial is open to real guests, but the realization feels like a dull arrow to the chest.

Two more months, and then what?

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