Page 151 of Picture Perfect

Saint's hands grip my hips, his thumbs circling slowly. "We're going to worship every inch of you," he vows, and I can hear the truth in his words, a sacred oath spoken in the language of touch.

Lost in the sensation, I surrender to their ministrations, my mind clouded with the intoxicating blend of power and desire. They are everywhere, all at once, and I am the center of their universe.

Heat sears through me, a rising tide of yearning as their hands and mouths worship the canvas of my body. Saint's lips trail fiery paths down my abdomen, his tongue drawing circles that ignite sparks beneath my skin. Dre's fingers dance along my inner thigh, teasing, promising more. Chess's mouth finds mine, his kiss a heady blend of sweet and sinful that makes me dizzy with want.

"Fuck," I gasp, feeling myself teeter on the brink of something monumental. My breaths come in short, ragged gasps, each one a silent plea for more—more touch, more sensation, more of them. “Please don’t stop.”

"Never," Chess vows against my lips, his voice laced with the same hunger that claws at my insides.

"Can't stop," Dre murmurs, his breath hot against the sensitive skin where leg meets hip. "Need you too much."

Saint's gaze locks onto mine, depths of midnight blue swirling with emotion. "You're so beautiful like this, Addy. Open and undone." His words are a caress as tangible as his touch, stroking the raw edges of my desire.

"More," is all I manage to utter, a desperate whisper that seems to echo around us.

Chapter sixty-six

Dre

I'm on the edge, teetering between observer and master—a role I've played too many times to count. But this is different. This isn't some back-alley fling or a bout of rough, forgettable sex. It’s my snowflake.

Her green eyes are glazed over with desire, her body a siren's call I can't resist. I want to hold back, I do. I know Saint won’t like me taking control, but I need it. So, 'he’s just going to have to deal with it.

"Saint," I command, my voice thick with authority, "sit down."

He moves, a shadow in motion, his dark curly hair brushing against his forehead as he settles onto the bed. Addy's breath hitches, anticipation painting a flush across her pale cheeks. I guide her gently, a stark contrast to the storm of demands brewing inside me.

"Ride him," I breathe into her ear, and she shudders, complying with an eagerness that stokes the fire within me.

From my vantage point, I take in the sight before me: Addy astride Saint, lost in the rhythm they're creating. My hands find their own tempo, mirroring the urgent need building like a crescendo within my veins. I'm not just watching—I'm part of this symphony, conducting each moan, each gasp, each shudder.

It’s a fucking masterpiece.

"Good girl," I murmur, my voice laced with approval and something darker, hungrier. Addy's body moves with a grace born of raw pleasure, her blonde hair cascading around her in waves. I can't tear my gaze away from where she and Saint connect, the sight sending a jolt straight through me.

"Fuck, Princess," Saint groans, his voice guttural and strained. His hands grip her hips, guiding her down onto him with a possessive urgency that only spurs me on further. “Fuck.”

"Keep going," I instruct, my hand moving faster over myself. The power to direct this scene, to ensure that Snowflake's cries are of ecstasy and not pain, thrums through me like electricity. Watching her unravel is a privilege I don't take lightly—it's a testament to the trust she's placed in us, the unspoken bond that ties our broken pieces together.

Saint’s voice floats through the haze of our passion, gentle yet laced with an edge that only heightens the moment. "You're perfect, Princess," he murmurs, his praise a contrast to the filth spilling from my lips. And she soaks it all up, revels in it—the dichotomy of dirty and divine.

"Snowflake," I call out, my voice low and steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "Take Chess in your hand." My eyes lock onto hers, green flames dancing within them, as she complies, her fingers wrapping around Chess's length. His sharp intake of breath is a sound of pure pleasure, and it echoes in the room, stoking the fire within me.

I stand back, watching her stroke him, witnessing the expert movements of her hand. But when she glances over her shoulder, seeking me out, those emerald eyes are like a beacon calling me home. The need that grips me is visceral, undeniable.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, and without another thought, I'm moving towards her, my body acting on its own volition. I press myself against her back, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. My hand snakes around her throat, a gentle but firm reminder of my presence. Her breath hitches, and I can't help the dark smile that tugs at my lips.

"Keep riding him, Snowflake," I whisper into her ear, my voice rough with desire. Saint's hands are on her hips, helping her move, but my focus shifts to Chess. "Touch her, Chess. Make her feel good."

Chess doesn't hesitate; his fingers find her clit, and together we create a rhythm that has my snowflake gasping for air. Her movements become erratic, spurred on by the dual sensations. I can't resist the urge to explore further, so I dip my fingers lower, gathering the wetness that proves her arousal before pressing against the untouched part of her.

"God, Dre..." Her voice breaks as she looks back at me with a mixture of longing and anticipation. There's a promise in her gaze, an unspoken plea, and I know I'm not the only one teetering on the edge of control.

"Shh," I soothe, even as I continue my teasing assault. "Just let go, Snowflake. We've got you." My words are a vow, a pledge to push her to heights she's never known, to be the conductor of this carnal symphony until the final note is played.

My breath comes out in heavy pants as I watch Snowflake, her skin flushed with desire and the exertion of riding Saint’s cock. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his eyes locked onto where their bodies meet. The sight is intoxicating, but it's the promise of what's to come that has my blood thrumming through my veins.

"Snowflake," I growl, low and demanding. I reach around and gather some of her arousal on my fingertips before pressing them to that little rosebud between her cheeks. "I'm going to take this last piece of you soon." My fingers press more insistently at her entrance. "And when I do, I want to see you unravel between me and Chess."

---