Page 91 of Unstitch

Cute.

‘Nah. If you’ve got each other out of your systems, you can make it all about me now,’ I say, eyeing him up appreciatively. Honestly, what a welcome. Two hot as hell, half-naked gods waiting for me. A girl could get used to this.

‘Exactly right,’ Max says with a grin before stooping to give me a very thorough, very X-rated kiss. He tastes of red wine and smells of shower gel and, I dunno, pheromones, probably.

‘You wore that dress I love,’ Dex says when we come up for air, pouring out a glass of red for me.

I give him a little shoulder shimmy. I’m wearing the black halter-neck dress from the night we met, and I’m tickled he noticed. ‘I did indeed. You told me you liked my boobs in it, so I thought you could take it off me later.’

‘You look very fuckable,' Max adds with a downright lascivious smirk, and I bask in his affection like a cat in the afternoon sun.

‘Just the look I was going for.’ I reach over and swipe my finger through what looks like moutabel or babaganoush—I never know the difference. ‘Fuck me, this is amazing. Did you make it?’

‘I thought you were going to eat before you came over,’ he says.

‘I did. And your point is?’

He laughs. ‘Told you Little Miss Leftovers would be all over it,’ he says to Dex. To me he adds, ‘Dex was worried about not getting through all the food.’

‘Never fear, Darcy’s here,’ I say cheerily, pulling the bowl of aubergine towards me and nabbing a wedge of pita to better shovel up this smoky, gloopy goodness. ‘Now, tell me everything. I want a blow-by-blow account.’

‘Actually,’ Max leans over and hooks a couple of fingers over the rim of the bowl, watching my face as he does, ‘I wouldn’t eat too much more if I were you. You won’t want a full stomach for what we’ve got planned for you.’

His voice is careful, and gentle, and ominous as fuck. Nerves hit me with blunt, immediate force, turning the pita and aubergine to gluey mush in my mouth. I stare at him with wide, scared eyes as I chew.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I’ve known, and I suppose I hoped, this was coming, but I’m honestly not sure I’ll ever be ready, and, more importantly, I’m not sure I’ll ever believe it’s anatomically possible to take these two. There’s a massive difference in my head between the theory of being entangled with and filled up by them and actually, physically accommodating two very large dicks.

‘Both of you?’ I croak through a mouthful of food, looking from Max to Dex and back again.

‘Only if you want to,’ Dex says, brushing his lips over my bare shoulder as he slides my wineglass towards me. ‘Only if you’re ready.’

I pick up my glass and gulp as I push the bowl of dip towards Max with my fingertips as if it’s radioactive.

62

DARCY

It’s later now, and I’m nicely buzzed from the wine. Through the French doors, the park is all muted indigo shadows beneath a lavender sky. We’ve talked, and laughed, and kissed, and I’ve watched with amazement how the guys are together. How comfortable, how easily affectionate. How often their gazes turn to each other. It’s truly amazing to see.

I really should have turned up an hour earlier than I did and brought a bucket of popcorn. I can’t wait for them to reenact all those orgasms so I can watch.

For now, though, it’s about me.

They’ve made that much clear.

I’m sitting on Max’s lap on the sofa, in almost the exact place where he first bent me over and fucked me. His dick is swelling against my arse, his hands are all over my skin, rubbing and smoothing and admiring, and his mouth can’t stay away from my shoulders, from kissing and licking and nipping them.

He gathers my hair back in a single handful and twists it into a rope, and I gaze dreamily up at Dex, who’s standing in front of me. He’s still in his shorts, that line of dark hair bisecting his olive abs, and the mere view of his body has me wanting his skin flush against mine.

‘Have at her,’ Max tells him, and he gets down on one knee. It’s such a courtly, respectful gesture. A worshipful one, even. It’s the pose of proposals, of genuflection, of receiving one’s knighthood. And he looks like an angel, his dark hair falling over one eye. He’s a storybook knight. He’s every girl’s Prince Charming, come to propose.

Which is why it’s so ridiculously hot when he doesn’t pop out a ring or make the sign of the cross but reaches behind my neck with a knowing smile and tugs hard at the silky tie so my halter tumbles down and my breasts are there for him to do with as he likes.

Max releases my hair and lays it over one shoulder in a rope. His hands slip under my arms and around my ribcage, cupping my breasts and supporting them, displaying them for Dex’s gratification. I can’t explain it, but the push-pull of having Max behind me and Dex in front of me, of Max’s hands thrusting me forward, serving me up to Dex, is so erotic. I’m a plaything, a little doll for them to amuse themselves with.

Dex leans forward, all lashes and cheekbones and lips, kissing me slowly, self-indulgently, as Max’s thumbs flicker over my nipples and his lips find my neck. I arch into Max’s touch, into Dex’s mouth. My pussy is already heating, dampening, at the intensity of it all, and we’ve barely begun.

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