Page 30 of Our Elliana

“Stay with me. Only with me,” Elle reminds me, speaking so softly I doubt the others can hear.

Then, she seals her mouth over mine. The truth is I really like her kisses, and I feel my panic becoming less. When she sucks on my tongue, I close my eyes, losing myself in the taste of her lips and intoxicating touch. My hands are full of totally naked woman, and my body wants more.

I’ve become calmer at her words, her reassurances. Elle’s not going to make me perform like a circus animal, and deep down, I think I know that. I recall what I’m doing here and the reason why.

Besides, it’s not like being with her is torture.

It’s never felt evil, either, despite what that voice in my head keeps telling me. I’m here to serve her, and she’s requested something from me. It’s my duty to provide it. In fact, I think I specifically remember “a craving to fulfill fantasies” from her profile. She wants Elegance to help her live out what her real life couldn’t provide.

Which means I have a job to do.

I unbutton the first few buttons of my shirt and toss it and my undershirt over my head. I next take over the kiss, bending down and lifting her by the hips up onto the tabletop, not caring when that makes more of the cards fly all over the place. She leans her head back exposing her throat, and I take the hint, smoothing my lips along that warm sweet-smelling skin instead.

Elle throws out directions we’re all supposed to follow. “Everyone, get whatever’s left of your clothes off.”

Less than a beat later, I catch a flurry of activity out of my peripheral vision as the other men remove their underwear. Luckily, Elle tears my jeans open, diverting my attention. It’s not as if I haven’t been in locker rooms before. I’ve seen some guys letting it all hang out, especially at the fire station.

But at my Latter-Day Saints School, propriety and obedience were prized as high if not higher than intelligence. When we showered after a P.E. class or a game, we all came out with towels around our waists and kept our faces turned toward our lockers until we were at least mostly covered.

The same isn’t the case now. I can tell that both Jackson and Tristan are currently standing beside the table as bare as the day they were born. Well, other than Tristan’s watch—which he is removing—or Jackson’s collection of narrow leather band bracelets and his pseudo necklace with its guitar pick trailing down.

Elle, for her part, is wearing all her piercings, and a real necklace. Hers is silver and hangs in a Y. The chain loops through a roughhewn silver heart and ends between her breasts in a pearl. It matches her other pearl. The one that’s...

She chooses then to stroke me.

Where I’d already been hard, now I might as well be an axe handle. I’ve never had an erection in front of anyone but Elle before, or at least not one I didn’t hide. But there’s no hiding anything anymore. Her stroking feels so good, but I can’t quite forget our audience.

“Pull these off,” Elliana murmurs to me, indicating the attire below my waist, and I drop to do it.

I catch sight of the other two, realizing that they’re each handling themselves right there beside us.

Is that allowed?

“Right here,” Elle tips my chin back toward her. “Stay with me, honeybunny. Suck my tits.”

Like always, I’m so glad to receive a command from her that I obey it without pause. I wrap my lips around that beaded flesh, my tongue flitting along her nipple piercing. She moans as usual, and it’s not as difficult to shut everything else out. I suckle her breasts, deploying my fingers to her sopping center.

I lick along the hollow of her neck under her ear, ignoring my own need for release by concentrating on kneading her mound with one hand while continuing my intimate massage with the other. She’s slippery, so I bring some of that moisture up to her clit. I’ve been rubbing my thumb along her pearl for a solid two minutes when her mewls escalate into cries.

“Sweet baby Jesus, fuck me, Noah. Fuck me with your thick cock, right now.”

Caught up in the moment, I do. Thrusting my shaft inside, I feel her hot and tight around me. She orders me to flick my fingernails across her nipple piercings, so I bring both hands up to do her bidding while simultaneously thrusting in and out of her. Her hips are rocking against mine, and a building surge of pleasure is compounding within me.

Jackson is groaning as he gyrates there at our side, but I ignore him, narrowing my entire universe to her. I’m sweating and so is she as I feel the first tremors of her climax taking her over. She shrieks, loud and long enough that it reverberates against all the glass surfaces in the room, and as my balls contract, I come, too.

I glance at her freshly sated form, knowing I’m the one responsible. Not Jackson. Not Tristan. But me. And again, I feel the sensation I felt that first night rising inside me.

Pride.

Buzzed and breathing hard from the glory of my orgasm, I finally allow myself to peek up just as a clear fluid oozes out of Jackson’s tip. He fists himself even harder, and within seconds the fluid switches to the thick whiteness of his seed as it spackles his hand, stomach, and the tabletop before him.

“Yes. Fucking Christ, yes.”

At a movement from the opposite side of the table, I glance over at Tristan. Now that he’s totally bare, I can see the full extent of his length, which seems extreme. My gosh. How on Earth does he fit inside Elle?

She’s still lying flat on the table, her hair like a halo around her, when she reaches over toward Jackson with her left hand.

“Give it to me. Give me that come.” She next rolls her head to stare at Tristan as she stretches out her right hand. “You, too. Fill my palm up with it.”

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