Page 90 of Runaways

I lower my pussy onto his cock, whimpering as it fills me. "Oh, god…Silas…"

"That's it, baby," he says, thrusting up into me. "Such a tight fucking fit."

They're both big, but Silas is thicker. I've gotten used to it over the summer, but at some angles, it still fills me so full that it takes my breath away. This is one of those times.

His eyes find mine in the dark space as I rock my hips, sliding up and down his cock, and he meets me with each thrust, setting the pace as he pushes up into me with his fingers digging hard into my hips. Both of us panting, sweating, with the windows down on a hot summer night. I arch my back a little as I work my pussy over him, and the head of his dick hits just the right spot.

And I'm sure Tate is watching in the rearview mirror. I hike my dress up a little higher, exposing my ass, and fuck him a little harder, losing my pace as my legs begin shaking.

And then his hand closes around my throat. My heart stops; I grab his wrist with both hands, my eyes widening.

"It's okay. Don't stop," he says. "I won't hurt you. I'll let you go when you come all over me."

I nod, and he squeezes harder, further restricting my airway. Using his powerful forearms for leverage, I ride him again, chasing my orgasm while stars form behind my eyes.

And then I come apart, pulsing around him in one of the most intense orgasms I've ever had. When he feels it, he lets me go, and I somehow manage to scream while gasping for air. I'm still shaking when he flips me over, rolling on top of me, my tits falling out of the top of my dress while he slams his cock into me over and over, stilling with a groan when he comes inside me.

"Well, that's great," Tate says. "You probably got drunk guy's blood all over her and your backseat—you realize that, right?"

"It was worth it," he says, lying on top of me and burying his face in my neck.

When we get back to our building, they sneak me into Silas's apartment, where we shower, and Tate gets rid of our bloody clothes. Then, the three of us crawl into bed together, like we have most nights for the past couple of months.

"Silas?" I whisper once Tate is asleep. "Are you awake?"

"Mmhmm," he says.

"Are you drunk?" I ask.

"No, I'm not drunk. Why?"

"I just…" I pause, almost talking myself out of it before continuing. "I just want to know if you mean the things you say to me."

"What do you mean?" he asks. "Did I say something that upset you?"

"No. I mean like…when you tell me I'm pretty…or that you missed me. Do you mean that? Or do you only mean it like…as a friend?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "Damn. Screaming it in your face didn't work, either, did it?"

"What?"

"I don't mean it as a friend, Noah. We're not just friends. And it has been years since I've thought of you in just a friendly way, okay? Noah, if you knew the things that went on in my head, I…"

"What?"

"My mind isn't always a good place to be. But you're always there. The way I think about you—the things I want for you, for us…some of it would probably scare you, and I don't want to scare you. But I want you…every part of you. So, no. I don't see you as a friend. I see you as mine."

Shit. I'm in love with him. I might be in love with both of them. "There's nothing you could do that would scare me."

"Is that how you see me? As just a friend?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Okay," he says, pulling me closer. "Good."

Tate rolls over, slipping an arm around my waist as I burrow my head just beneath Silas's chin. "What we're doing…it's kind of messed up, isn't it?" I whisper.

"No. Don't talk like that, Noah; it freaks me out."

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