Page 85 of Triple Play

“You want to give Shira everything?” he asks, and Blake nods.

“So help me do that.” And he spits once into Blake’s palm, then puts it against his balls. “Wring me out.”

I crane my head back to watch: Blake, a deep red, testing out various movements with his fingers, listening for Felix’s groan.

“That all for me?” I ask Felix.

“Yes.” As simple as that, and he pushes into me, filling me up. “Fuck, she’s so wet inside.”

“Yeah?” Blake must give another squeeze of his hand because Felix pants like he’s about to lose it.

“I can feel you both,” Felix says. “It’s like I’m fucking you both.”

My pussy throbs around him. An ache forms in the back of my throat that matches the one in my chest—that this is the first and last time we’ll ever do this. A few seconds or possibly a few hours later, Felix’s fingers tighten on my hips, and he comes, long and throbbing, pouring himself into me with everything he has to give.

I follow quickly after, my orgasm echoing through me as I gasp and pant and call their names, head tilted back to the ceiling like I’m yelling to distant stars.

I slump off Felix, limbs heavy, body suffused with pleasure, to where Blake’s lying beside us. He wraps me up in his arms—for a second, I worry he’ll go possessive—until he extends his grasp to Felix. Until we’re lying together, floating.

I heave a yawn, something loud and unladylike. “I should get cleaned up,” I say and don’t move.

Felix laughs, then hauls himself up. Water runs in the en suite bathroom before he returns with two damp washcloths, one of which he hands to me and the other to Blake.

“You don’t have to…” Blake says but stops when Felix ducks and kisses his forehead.

“I know,” Felix says simply and waits, then takes the cloths back and chucks them both into the sink before returning.

This bed is a tighter fit than the one yesterday. It doesn’t matter when Felix lies down, when I snuggle into the breadth of his chest. When Blake joins us, fitted against my other side, palm on Felix’s hip like he doesn’t want either of us to move.

Not that I could. Tiredness covers me like a blanket. I give another yawn. “What time do we have to get up?”

“Brayden’s coming around nine tomorrow,” Blake says. “Supposedly.”

Tomorrow. A time that doesn’t exist, not in this bubble. So I close my eyes and drift to sleep, held safe in this little piece of the universe that begins and ends with us.

PART SIX

To Florida

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Blake

I wake up and don’t panic. We’re all still in bed together—three people isn’t that snug a fit if we’re on our sides. Shira’s tiny, but she takes up the most space—feet against my ankles, hair fanning across Felix’s pillow. A bridge where she’s lying between us. Yesterday, I would’ve said she provided some degree of deniability.

Today, I don’t want to deny anything. She knows and she’s still here. Felix knows and he tilted my chin up and brushed his thumb under my jaw. Kissed me and asked me if I was good.

And not the more important question. If I want to do it again today.

I don’t want to move. Moving would mean conceding that it’s morning. The clock reads seven. Brayden will be here soon. We’re two hours, give or take, from where he lives in Augusta in the offseason. A text on my phone confirms he’s just about to leave.

The one morning he’s actually on time… I need to get rid of those thoughts. Brayden’s bringing a car. I called, asked a favor. He said yes. Family isn’t about tallying wins and losses. And it’s not like it’s him I’m really mad at. It’s not like he’s the entire reason I moved away.

We have two hours until Felix and I go back to being who we were when we got on the road: teammates. Two hours until he and Shira go back to being friends. Even if I’ll never forget the wild abandon of her riding his face. Of him licking her where I got her all wet—shamelessly, like he didn’t know shame could even enter the picture.

I stretch, lengthening my spine. The muscles in my shoulder are quiet. I should get up, shower, explore breakfast. Do all the things I have to do and not what I want to do.

So I kiss the back of Shira’s neck. She sighs into it, rolls her hips. Her hair is curly, unbound from the ponytail she put it in to sleep. “I can feel you worrying,” she mumbles.

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