Page 19 of Mistletoe and Mischief

“That’s it, Babygirl. Come for us,” Blake growls, his hips slamming into me with increasing force.

“Let me watch you come.” Landon tucks his thumb into my mouth.

I suck. Why is this turning me on so much?

Pressure builds inside me, a coil tightening until—

My orgasm tears through me, my screams lost in the stars. Waves of pleasure ripple through my body, and I’m dimly aware of Blake’s cock pulsing inside me as he finds his own release.

His warm seed sprays into me and spills out. I love the sounds of wet, sloppy sex.

Landon’s gentle with my sensitive clit. “That’s it, scream while he pumps you full of cum.”

I sag into Blake, my body trembling as my breath comes in ragged gasps. Blake’s arms wrap around my waist and we settle into sated bliss.

“We’re not done yet, Peaches.” Landon’s voice is a husky whisper after letting me drift for a moment. “Just a little break.”

I blink at him, my body gearing up for what’s next.

Landon winks, then stands. “Let us know when you’re ready to switch.”

Is something wrong with me that I’m thinking of how this would be even better with Trent?

Eleven

Trent

I pull into the food truck lot, gravel crunching under the tires of my BMW Z4 as I park and shut the car off. The familiar sight of the brightly colored taco truck Jasmine loves hits me like a sucker punch.

I grip the steering wheel tighter. What am I doing here?

My finger hovers over the ignition button. One push and I could be out of here before Jasmine shows up. Before I have to face her again. The memory of our last encounter in my bedroom flashes through my mind—the tension, the awkwardness, the sight of her wrapped in nothing but a sheet… until she was wrapped in nothing but her feminine beauty.

I shake my head, trying to clear the image. The hushed conversations from when my roommates returned home after a helicopter ride with her take its place. They’re no more immune to her charm than I was.

They won’t be any more able to deal with the heartbreak than I was. Despite them trying to keep quiet, I heard their desires to have a future with her—which is bound to be why she texted me.

I pull out my phone, rereading our text thread to remind myself why I’m here.

Jasmine:I need to ask you something. Can we meet?

Me:Ask your new toys.

In retrospect, that was a little rude. I consider apologizing, but it won’t matter when she dumps them, which is what I presumes she wants to ask me about. I continue reading.

Jasmine:It’s about them.

As I figured.

Jasmine:Please. I don’t want to get in the middle of your relationship with them.

That’s when I caved. If there’s any way to mitigate the heartbreak, I’ll try. At least that’s what I told myself. Maybe I just agreed to meet because I want to hear it first.

Me:When and where?

My thumbs hover over the screen, tempted to send a quick cancellation message.Sorry, something came up. Can’t make it.

Instead, I toss my phone aside, pressing the ignition, and putting the car in reverse, ready to bolt. But as I back out, a flash of red entering the parking lot catches my eye—a Volkswagen Beetle, painted fire-engine red with black polka dots and giant eyelashes on the headlights.

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