Page 8 of Never Dance with the Devils
When else am I going to have a chance like this? With two men? With a dick like this? Poetry could be written about Riggs’s dick. Or maybe warning labels, butcarpe diem.Orcarpe dickemin this case, I think with a small internal giggle.
I release him from my mouth, wiping at the saliva coating my lips, and look up at Riggs. “Fuck me.” Remembering what Maddox said, I move to lie back on the bed, my head on the pillows like the princess they’re making me feel like as Riggs pushes his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off. He follows me onto the bed, crawling over me like a lion on the prowl.
His gaze is heavy, hot, and promises dark, dirty things. I want each and every one of them. He takes a wrapper from Maddox, who helpfully pulled a condom from somewhere, and sheathes himself before lifting my legs up, opening me up fully until I’m as wide as I can get, and notching at my entrance. “Just relax. Breathe and relax.”
Riggs begins to stretch me deliciously, slow thrust by slow thrust, and though it feels on the verge of beingtoo much, he never rushes, never crosses over the line into pain, sliding more and more of the monster he calls a dick into me. He lowers down to one elbow, his other hand on my hip holding me still. “If you move, I’m gonna blow, and I really want more than a second inside you. I swear I can last longer than I’m about to.” I laugh lightly, and the movement eases the last bit of resistance my body was giving him. “Fuck, that’s all of me.”
“It had damn well better be,” I quip back, groaning and writhing beneath him.
“Am I hurting you? What do you need?” he asks, instantly on alert.
He says he’s on the edge of coming too soon, but even then, he’s worried about me, being caring and sweet. “Move,” I tell him. “Fuck me,please.”
Oh, shit. The word slipped out, not as the polite manners I was raised to have and coached to present myself with, but as a plea. There’s no denying that I’m begging for Riggs to fuck me.
He pulls back the slightest bit and then pushes forward again, and God, it feels so good. So full. I feel his eyes tracing over my face and drag my gaze to his, nodding that I’m okay. I see the worry fall off his shoulders like a visible weight. “You’re fucking amazing. You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told,” I tease, wrapping my feet over his legs and lifting my hips to meet him.
“Goddamn it, it’s like you were made for us,” Maddox grunts. I cut my eyes over to find him still standing at the bedside, watching us as he strokes his once again stiff cock.
How is he hard again? Hasn’t he heard of one anddone? I suspect neither of these two men have heard of that.
“Or you were made for me,” I suggest coyly.
The truth is, this is just a perfect one-time experience, a secret story I’ll replay in my mind on lonely nights to remind myself that I’m not always the picture-perfect Harrington everyone thinks I am. I’m more than my last name, more than the one my whole family turns to for hard truths, decisive action plans, and shrewd thinking. I’m a woman, with needs and wants and desires that I too often ignore in favor of putting other people first. Their project, their deadlines, their bottom lines.
But tonight is all about me. And the men worshiping me.
It feels hedonistic, like it’s something I should feel selfish or guilty about, but instead, I feel fulfilled in a way that has nothing to do with the stretch from Riggs.
“Probably so,” Riggs agrees, lowering down until he’s pressing me into the bed with his arms wrapped under my armpits to hold my shoulders and his face buried in my hair. There’s a sense of being pinned, of being trapped beneath him, but it’s in the most overwhelmingly good way. I feel taken and protected simultaneously. I know he’s holding some of his weight off, not smushing me completely, and I almost want him to relax further. I wrap my arms around him, my hands splayed on his back, welcoming him.
He fucks me slow and deep, the intensity different but no less impactful than Maddox’s rough, wild fucking. They’re like two sides of the same perfect coin, both caring for my body and pleasure but showing it in such different ways.
The way Riggs isstretching me and lying so heavily over me has him hitting some spot deep inside me that I didn’t know existed. It’s not my G-spot, where his fingers were teasing before, but rather something more primal, and to my surprise, another orgasm starts to build inside me. Unsure what’s happening to me, I hold him tightly, and he freezes, not moving as I begin to buck beneath him.
“You okay?” he groans, but it’s quickly followed by a curse. “Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
His breath is ragged, hot against my neck, and I feel the edge of his teeth, not biting, but like he’s grimacing against the onslaught of pleasure.
I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I’m a missile seeking a release, again. But this is bigger somehow than all the other orgasms I’ve had tonight. Finally, a tight band of restraint I didn’t know I was holding on to flies away, unleashing me to the darkness behind my lids. Or maybe the darkness of the universe. My whole being rearranges itself. I think I cry out, I think I shudder, and I’m sure Riggs can feel that I’m coming again, but I’m lost to the roaring in my ears and the waves racking through my body.
As I start to become aware—conscious?—again, I realize Riggs is fucking me deep and hard and fast, his grunts nothing more than a constant rumble in his chest. As the world fully comes back, he roars out his release. I feel him somehow go even harder and bigger inside me, and my body rushes to ease his way, covering him with the sticky juices of my orgasm as he pulses into the condom.
“Holy fuck, Princess,” he murmurs before taking my mouth with a kiss.
“What he said,” Maddox echoes.
I grin into Riggs’s kiss, opening my eyes to find that Maddox has come all over his hand and is already wiping off on a towel I never saw him get.
I look from one man to the other, the gravity of what we’ve just done sinking in. I wait for the shame, the horror, the disappointment in myself to come, but it… doesn’t. I just feel… what is this sensation in my chest?
Happy. I think it’s happiness.
Odd, I haven’t felt that for a long time.
Riggs slips out of me and gets off to give me space. I excuse myself to the bathroom to clean up despite both men saying they’ll help me, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “Kayla Anne Harrington,” I whisper, my hand pressed to my mouth, tracing the smile that refuses to go away, “you are such a slut.”
