Page 67 of Unstitch

Sacred.

That his cock, thick and long and straight, its crown flared and ruddy, isn’t even the most spectacular part of him is a revelation in itself.

I want that cock in my grip, leaking and pulsing and straining, but I also want his nipples under my tongue.

I want the contours of his arse nestled just so against my dick as he settles in my lap.

I want to tug with my teeth at the delicate crease of skin where his arm bends.

I want to rub arnica into the mottled bruise that my teeth have left on his shoulder.

He comes right up to us, toe to toe with Darcy, and I reluctantly unwind my arm from her waist and release her cunt, because this is her fantasy, not mine, and the thought of leaving a woman’s fantasy hanging is positively offensive.

He’s close. So close that if I were to rest my chin on her shoulder, I could kiss the side of his neck. And that will have to be enough.

For now.

There’s a wall of marble to my right. A wall of glass to my left. The whispers of our breaths mingle with the thud-thud of the water. The woman wedged between Dex and me is beautiful and sexy, and I can already tell that she’ll need us to hold her up, so tired and aroused is she. I press forward, my dick snug between the cleft of her cheeks, her head lolling back against my shoulder.

I may not be able to touch him, but I can mastermind this situation. He’s already shown me what a compliant little puppet he can be when I command him. My view is limited: the top of his head as he dips it to Darcy’s mouth, the angry teeth marks I left on his skin, the muscles working below it. He tilts her head to the side and my view improves: their lips sliding. Noses rubbing. Tongues dancing.

Trying to unwind this guy is akin to the fable about the wind and sun competing to strip a man of his overcoat. I’m definitely the wind. I believe in brute force. I believe that when someone is fannying around on the precipice, a well-timed push is the best way to get them moving.

But Darcy is the sun, and she’s shone her light on both of us, and it’s so warm, so radiant, and so irresistible that she has Mr I-Don’t-do-Threesomes stripping off and cavorting naked with us—her—us in the shower.

‘How does she feel?’ I murmur, acceptance yielding to FOMO as I brush my hands up her arms. ‘Nice and slippery? Are her nipples hard?’

He breaks their kiss, breathing roughly, bringing his hands up to palm her tits. To squeeze them.

‘Yeah,’ he grits out. ‘So fucking hard.’ And he dives back in for a kiss she clearly likes, given the way she grinds against my cock.

‘And her clit?’ I persist. ‘Rub it. I’ll take her cunt.’

What she really needs is my dick buried deep inside her, but I know the filth of this scenario will get her there with just our fingers. I waste no time in squeezing my hand between our bodies, my fingertips tracing a line between her cheeks, past the ring of muscle I really need to work on, to where she’s slippery and open for me.

If I have my way, Dex and I will both take Darcy with our cocks at the same time, and I really, really need to work her up to that. It’s never too early to start stretching her.

Meanwhile, my fingers are slipping and twisting inside her. My knuckles brush Dex’s fingers, and it sends an impossible frisson of arousal through me to think he’s touching her so intimately at the same time that I am. I brush my thumb over her other hole again.

‘I’m going to take you here soon, sweetheart,’ I mutter in her ear. ‘I’m going to fuck your arse while Dex fucks your cunt, and you’re going to let us. Imagine how full it’ll feel having our dicks everywhere.’

‘Oh my God,’ she moans into his mouth. They’re still kissing, messily and hungrily and unabashedly as he works her clit and kneads one tit. I reach my free hand around and massage her other tit with all the urgency of a man who knows what he’s missing out on. I want this “Darcy sandwich”, as she calls it, to be as filthy and full-on as it can be. I want her overwhelmed to the point of obliteration, wedged between two hard male bodies as we ravage her from the front and the back.

The water streams over us, the air thick with steam and sex. I’m rutting against her, and from the strangled, rhythmic grunts Dex is making, I’m pretty sure her elegant little fingers are wrapped firmly around his dick. She squeezes a hand behind her, little beauty, and grabs my dick, too. Her leverage is non-existent in this position—I’m far too close for her to really have a go—but the knowledge that our delicious little plaything is working us as we work her has my head spinning.

And I’m not the only one, because she comes like this, bucking and mewling and rubbing her arse against me and her tits against him like the dazzling little champ she is.

47

DEX

My dick is granite and my brain is vapour.

It’s all too much: kissing her wet mouth and petting her soaking skin; stroking her tongue and teasing her nipple; fondling her clit as she pumps my dick; knowing her other hand is around him; knowing his fingers are inside her; brushing against them as we stoke the fire of her orgasm together.

And when she combusts and sags back against him, my haze of pride and desire and adoration has me forgetting to make space. It has me leaning in and kissing her, telling her how clever and wonderful and perfect she is. It has my knuckles brushing at the hollow above Max’s collarbone as I slide my hand around her head so I can grip her hair. Kiss her harder.

Darcy’s the one to break this improbable throupling, laughingly, breathlessly sliding out from between us, a palm on my chest to push me away.

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