Page 113 of Seven Lost Summers
My hand slides to the back of her neck, holding her in place, grounding her in the storm we’re about to pull her into.
“We’re gonna make you feel so fucking good you won’t know if you’re begging for my cock or his by the time we’re through with you,” I add.
Theo growls against her neck, his mouth closing hard, his teeth grazing before he sucks a mark into her skin that’s going to stain her for days. His lips drag, pulling blood to the surface until it blooms deep under her flesh. He growls again. The mark is more than a bruise. That mark is a claim. He wants her to wear us on her skin, every inch of her screaming that she’s been touched and fucked by our hands.
She arches between us, her spine curving in a perfect, desperate bow, head tipping back until her throat is bared, chest thrust forward in an offering. Her nipples stand hard, begging for my tongue. Her hips move in small, hungry rolls, every shift screaming that her pussy is already slick, already aching for one of our cocks.
I pop the button on her jeans, my fingers fumbling for a second because my hands won’t fucking stop shaking.
Not nerves—just years of caged-up want breaking loose. I’ve never needed anyone stripped bare this badly.
My chest is tight, my throat raw, my cock pounding so hard I swear I could come from anticipation alone. I need her naked the way I need to breathe. Maybe more.
I drop to my knees, greed crawling under my skin, and peel the denim down her legs. My knuckles scrape soft skin as I drag them off, my mouth watering with every inch of thigh I uncover. She’s soft and perfect, begging for teeth, for marks, for my fucking tongue. Her thighs part slightly, unsteady on her feet, and my hands lock around them, steadying her as I strip away the last barrier between me and everything I’ve craved.
She sways, trembling, as I toss the jeans aside.
“Holy fuck,” I groan, my voice breaking.
Red lace.
High-cut, clinging to the curve of her hips in a way that makes my chest tight. The fabric is barely holding together, a scrap standing between me and heaven. It clings to her, soaked through, a dark wet patch spread across the center where her pussy is leaking for us. My jaw locks, my cock throbs violently against my jeans, and a guttural sound rips out of me. I drag my fingers up the curve of her thigh, pausing at the edge of that soaked lace, and my hand trembles as I hook a finger under the fabric.
I pull the lace to the side slowly, torturously slow, and when the wet heat of her folds comes into view, the sight rips the fucking air from my lungs.
A thin strip of soft hair at the top her folds bare.
My tongue drags over my bottom lip without a single conscious thought, hunger twisting so deep in my gut it hurts.
Her pussy glistens, every inch swollen and drenched, slick painting her skin in wet, perfect shine.
I wonder if her clit throbs for me, desperate, aching for a mouth to close around her. I want my tongue on her, the pulse hammering against me, sucking until she’s crying and dripping down my face. I want her taste coating my tongue, sweet and filthy as fuck.
The thought slams through me so hard I don’t even register my own hand moving.
Instinct drives the action. My palm outlines the bulge in my jeans, fingers wrapping around my cock through the denim, giving myself a slow stroke just to keep from losing my fucking mind. The pressure isn’t enough, not even close, but this is all I can do to stop myself from shoving her to the floor and burying my face between her legs right fucking now. The scent of her hits, and everything outside this moment dies. All that exists is this dripping cunt and the feral, starving need to taste every drop of her.
I spread her open with my fingers, dragging the slick folds apart. The sight is fucking savage. Shining. Dripping. My mouth waters so bad I can already sense her on my tongue. My cock pulses, a brutal, aching throb that has me biting back a groan. Every part of me strains toward her, chest tight, lungs raw, the need to get my tongue in her so heavy the pressure borders on pain. I want her flavor smeared over my lips, running down my chin, soaking my tongue until I can’t breathe without her. I want her shaking apart on my face, sobbing my name into the air while I drag every filthy sound out of her body.
“Fuck,” I rasp, the words shredded and low as I glance up at Theo. “You see this shit. She’s dripping. This greedy little pussy is begging to be split wide open and fucked so deep she won’t walk tomorrow.”
Theo peels his mouth from her neck, lips wet, eyes black with want. A dark, filthy grin curves his mouth.
“Lick her,” Theo snarls, his voice full of filth, every word vibrating against her skin. “Get your fucking tongue in that pussy. Make her scream for more. Make her come so hard she forgets her own name. I want to see her dripping down your face, shaking all over you while I hold her open. Go on, Nate. Taste her. Take everything Quinn’s pussy gives when she’s already cock-drunk before either of us have even fucked her.”
Her whole body jerks at his words, a soft, broken whimper spilling out, and that’s all the permission I need.
I grab the thin lace at her hips and tear.
The fabric rips away under my hands, and the second the barrier is gone, her hips jerk instinctively. A soft, startled sound escapes her throat.
Theo doesn’t say a fucking word. He doesn’t have to. Hunger takes over his body, pure instinct, and before I can breathe, he’s bending low, his palms sliding under the backs of her thighs. His hands grip her tight, rough enough to make her whimper, and then he lifts her clean off the floor, effortless in his strength.
Quinn lets out another gasp. Her head tips back, neck arching, her face turning into the crook of Theo’s neck as he locks her in his grip. His hands are clamped around her thighs, fingers digging into soft skin, holding her wide and open for me.
Her arms scramble, reaching for something to steady herself, but Theo has her caged against him, her back molded to his chest. She’s not going anywhere. His hands tighten, pulling her thighs further apart until she whimpers, that high, wrecked sound that makes my pulse crash against my ribs.
And then I see her.
