Page 59 of Filthy Rich Santas

Tristan looks to his friends. “Are you both in?”

Ryder grins. “Whatever we want as long as we’re on the road? Fuck yes, I’m in. We both are, right, Beck?”

Beckett stays silent, his gaze locked on mine until Tristan prompts him again.

“Beckett?”

He blinks, looking torn, then finally gives a curt nod. “Agreed. But if we’re really going to help Lana explore kink, we need to talk about safe words.”

A rush of excitement has me clenching my thighs together. “Can we just use the stoplights?”

“Tell me you understand them,” he demands, suddenly all Dom.

I nod, my nipples pebbling. “If I need whatever we’re doing to stop, I’ll say red. If I’m not sure, or I just need to slow down, I can say yellow.”

Finally, he smiles. A slow, sensual one that heats me from the inside out. “Good girl. And what does green mean?”

“That I’m all in,” I whisper.

“And right now?”

“Green.”

The three men share a look, silently communicating, then Tristan speaks. “Come here, freckles.”

I blink, then draw in a shuddering breath, feeling like I’m waking up from a trance.

This is really happening.

“Lana,” Tristan says, a note of authority in his voice. “Come here. Now.”

I nod, pushing myself off the couch, and go over to him.

He pulls me down onto his lap, my back to his chest.

“Do you know how jealous Beckett and Ryder were, knowing I got to touch you this morning?” he asks, sliding one hand around me and slipping his hand through the opening in my robe. “That I’m the one who got to see all your gorgeous curves laid bare?”

His voice rumbles against me, the heat of his body like a drug and the words he’s saying even more of one.

Or maybe it’s the way the other two are looking at me while he says them.

Like Tristan is right.

Like they both want me too.

“I think we need to show them what they missed,” Tristan whispers in my ear, his fingers stroking my stomach under my robe. “What do you think?”

I part my legs, letting my head fall back on his shoulder. “Please.”

“Gladly,” he says, a smile in his voice as he tugs on the sash of my robe, letting it fall open.

A low groan from Ryder has heat pooling between my legs, and the intensity of Beckett’s gaze, sharp and hungry as Tristan bares my body to them, has arousal pulsing through my veins like a heartbeat of its own.

Then Tristan’s hands are on me again, first lifting the heavy weight of my breasts and toying with my nipples until I’m panting, then sliding down over my stomach, heading toward my pussy.

“I love how fucking soft you are,” he murmurs, kneading the soft flesh around my waist.

I tense up, then force myself to relax. Mostly.

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