Page 14 of Reckless Hearts

My orgasm overwhelms me—intense, unstoppable, soul-shattering. Incoherent words tumble from my mouth as they continue their relentless pursuit. I’m lost somewhere between pure euphoria and a surreal, otherworldly state.

Trick shudders beneath me, his orgasm claiming him as I convulse again, another explosive climax tearing through me.Wes thrusts urgently, pushing me higher into this dizzying wave of bliss. I feel like I’m floating between dimensions, completely transcending reality.

Wes groans, his breathing shallow as his cock jerks and convulses while his hands grip my hair. We collapse into a tangled heap, my head nestled into Trick’s shoulder while Wes’s rests against the back of mine. I’m completely spent, too drained to even lift my head, let alone make a trip to the bathroom. I focus on my breathing, syncing with the rise and fall of their chests.

Wes’s lips brush against my neck. “You did so well, baby. We’re so proud of you.” He rolls to the edge of the bed, giving me enough space to slide between them. I’m left with the choice of staying on top of Trick’s warm, solid body or dealing with the cum-soaked sheets. Despite the warmth, I opt for the latter. I’ve never been one for cuddling, anyway. I roll off Trick and position myself between the two men who have, without a doubt, flipped my world—and all my expectations—upside down.

“You good?” Wes asks, breaking the charged silence.

“Better than good,” I reply.

Trick wraps his arm around me as I trace my fingernails along the planes of his stomach. Now that we’re satiated, I take a closer look at his tattoos. Angels, cherubs, winged creatures, and mythical beasts in shades of red, white, black, and turquoise hold me captive. His arm furthest from me is completely blacked out with white floral detailing, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a cover-up or just a trend thing.

“Who got you smiling like that?” Wes’s mask looks almost comical now that I’ve fulfilled my depraved little fantasy. I didn’t even realise he was watching me.

“Who do you think?” I say, the blush creeping on my cheeks having nothing to do with the fact that I’m overheated, overstimulated, and worn out.

“Hey, Tatum. Trick or treat?” Wes's hands slowly slide to the bottom of his mask.

“Don’t,” I say, surprising myself with the abruptness. He freezes, fingers hooked on the mask's edge. I’m curious to see his face, but I’m not ready to confront the reality of their identities after what we've just done, after feeling so exposed. “Keep it on.”

“Playtime’s over, princess,” Wes says, his voice edged with something I can’t quite place without a facial expression.

“I think it’s better if I don’t know what either of you look like. You know, keep the fantasy alive and all that.” I try to sound playful, though I’m struggling to keep my composure as I swallow around the lump in my throat.

How do I tell them I don’t want the night to end? That seeing their faces would make this feel too real?

This was supposed to be a fantasy. One night. Then I could be satisfied and move on. But the longer the night goes on, the harder it becomes to accept that this might end.

Wes sighs. “As you wish. But it’s coming off the moment you fall asleep.”

Fair game.

8

Ihave a moment of silence for my long-suffering bladderetal, as my eyes flicker open. Light filters through the window, casting the room in soft shades of gold. I’m dressed in a pair of men’s briefs and a black T-shirt that smells faintly of smoke, sweat, and musk. There’s nobody beside me, but a dip in the mattress and a groan signal someone behind me.

I roll off the bed, the ache between my legs catching me off guard as I step onto the cold floor and catch a glimpse of my wild state in the mirror. I look like shit, but I regret nothing.

I take a cleansing breath and sneak a glance behind me, expecting to see the ghost-like mask this early in the morning. Instead, I’m met with a real human face, and I know from his build and tattoos that it’s Wes.

Fuck, I’m so screwed.

He’s absolutely fucking gorgeous, because why the fuck wouldn’t he be?

I should be relieved, but instead, all I feel is existential dread in the pit of my stomach. This shouldn’t complicate things, butit does. And the more I gawk at him, the harder it will be to walk away and forget.

Messy, dark hair covers half of his face, stuck to his skin, slick with sweat. Piercings in both nostrils of an aquiline nose, and a hole on one side of his lip where metal should be, stretched ears with small black plugs, and grown-out stubble on a prominent jaw...

And the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen.

It takes me a moment to realise that I’m staring at him open-mouthed, fangirling over how handsome he is, while I’m over here looking like I’ve just crawled out of a grave. I must be quite the spectacle to wake up to.

“Good morning, dead girl,” he says, his raw morning voice stirring my insides. As if my pussy needs any more attention after last night.

“Hey, I was just—”

“Bailing?”

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