Page 75 of No Save Point

Carter groans, his hands sliding to my stomach, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against my skin, so fucking sweet, so fucking perfect, even as he watches Tate use me.

“You’re amazing, Haven,” he breathes, his lips pressing against my stomach, my hip, my thigh, as if he’s worshipping me, as if I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

Tate starts to slow, his thrusts turning deeper, heavier, dragging his cock along my tongue, letting me feel every inch, every pulse as he gets closer, as his grip on my hair tightens, as his breath starts to break, sharp and uneven.

His dirty talk, once so smooth, so controlled, is coming out in stuttered murmurs now, rough, desperate, barely keeping its usual arrogance.

“F-Fuck—your mouth—” His groan vibrates deep, his thumb brushing my cheek, his voice dipping into something softer, something wrecked. “S-So f-fucking perfect—God—”

I can feel him throbbing against my tongue, can hear the low, shattered breaths he lets out, can see the way his thighs tense, the way his muscles flex, he’s barely hanging on, barely able to hold back, barely able to stop himself from finishing right here, down my throat.

He glances at Carter, jaw tight, eyes dark, voice strained as he forces the words out through gritted teeth. “G-Get a…a towel. C-Clean her up.”

Carter jerks his head up, his brown eyes still glazed, his face still flushed, his body still recovering from the orgasm he just gave me, from the way he filled me, from the way I’m trembling around him. He moves, stumbling slightly as he gets up, still breathless, trying to keep up with everything happening.

I hear the drawer open, the sound of fabric rustling, the warm weight of a towel pressing between my legs as Carter carefully, gently, starts cleaning me up, his touch soft, delicate, as if he’s trying to make up for everything they just did to me.

ate lets out another broken groan, his cock twitching, his breath shuddering as he thrusts deep into my mouth one last time.

The second Carter finishes cleaning me up, the warm towel brushing over my swollen, aching pussy with the softest, most careful touch, Tate pulls out of my mouth with a low groan, his cock slipping free, glossy with my spit, twitching, desperate, but he doesn’t let himself finish.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open again, and his mouth is on me. Hot, wet, filthy, devouring me with a hunger that makes my entire body jolt, makes my back arch, makes my thighs tremble.

“Tate—fuck—” My fingers sink into his dark hair, tugging, trying to ground myself, trying to process the way his tongue flicks against my clit, the way his lips wrap around it, the way he moans as he eats me like he’s starving for it, like he needs to make me fall apart again before he lets himself have what he wants.

He’s stroking himself as he does it, his fist tight around his cock, his body tensing, his breath hot against my drenched, overstimulated pussy as he pushes me closer—closer—closer.

Carter is kissing me. His lips brush against mine, his hands sliding up my sides, over my ribs, into my hair, holding me there, keeping me grounded even as Tate devours me, even as another orgasm coils in my stomach, tight and devastating.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Carter whispers between kisses, his voice gentle, so fucking sweet, so fucking different from Tate’s brutal desperation. “I love watching you like this. I love feeling you like this, you’re so good for us.”

“That’s the problem. You’re too fucking good.” Tate hums against me. “And I want to watch you come so hard you cry.” His lips vibrating over my clit, and I shatter.

“Oh, fuck—Tate—” My entire body locks up, my nails biting into his scalp, my back arching, my legs shaking as another orgasm slams through me, as I come hard against his mouth, as my vision goes hazy, as my breath breaks.

Tate doesn’t stop, he’s on top of me, gripping my waist, yanking me down, slamming his cock inside me in one deep, brutal thrust just as I’m still riding out my orgasm, just as I’m still pulsing, still trembling.

I moan desperately, my head tipping back, my body writhing beneath him, his cock so thick, so deep, stuffing me full all over again as I gush all over him, soaking him, my pussy clenching, squeezing, pulling him even deeper.

“Fucking hell, Haven—” Tate groans, his fingers digging into my hips, his breath ragged, his cock throbbing inside me, barely holding back.

Carter is still kissing me. His hands caress my face, his lips brushing over my cheek, my jaw, my mouth, whispering soft, sweet things that sound like comfort, like affection, like something I can’t process right now, not when Tate is still deep inside me, still throbbing, still filling me, still holding me there like he owns me.

36

Carter

We’re sprawled across the bed, the floor, whatever the fuck surface we ended up collapsing onto, completely exhausted.

My body feels like it’s been put through a goddamn wringer, my muscles are sore, every nerve still tingling from what we just went through.

Tate is half-draped over Haven’s side, his chest rising and falling in deep heavy pants, his fingers idly tracing against her thigh, staking his fucking claim like he can’t help himself.

Her skin is glowing, her lips still slightly swollen, and her hair a chaotic mess against my chest. Her eyes barely open as she breathes out a soft, exhausted sound that I don’t even think she realizes she made.

Tate snorts. “God damn” he murmurs, his voice full of that signature smugness. “You’re gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Haven grumbles something unintelligible, moving slightly against me, her cheek pressing against my collarbone.

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