Page 57 of Perfect Convergence

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Did you two plan this?”

“Maybe,” Wren says with a giggle. Then she’s spreading my legs and somehow squeezing onto the floor in front of me. There’s not a lot of room, but she makes it work.

“Devious,” I mutter. I’m not able to say much more, because Oliver’s mouth is already on mine again.

This man knows how to plan a good distraction.

Wren fumbles with the button and zipper of my pants for a minute before she reaches in, pulling my boxers away, and unleashes my cock. She actually moans at the sight of it, and then her tongue darts out, circling the tip.

My mind goes blank for a second, and Oliver takes the opportunity to pull my shirt up. His hand splays across my hot skin, and he gains control of the kiss, his other hand gripping my hair so he can maneuver my head however he wants.

He’s trying to keep my mind off Holloway, so I let him stay in control for a few seconds. Then I squeeze his throat and nip lightly at his bottom lip, and just like that he’s melting, his hand in my hair loosening.

Wren’s lips close around my cock. One of her hands encircles it, moving up and down in time with her mouth, while the other rests on my thigh. I have to fight to stay present, to not lose myself in the feeling.

Shit, she feels good.

Gripping Oliver’s jaw, I pull away from him. He opens his mouth without me even having to tell him.

“You want my spit, do you?”

He nods, closing his eyes in lustful, needy anticipation. When I spit into his mouth, he swallows with a satisfied smile.

Then I realize that Wren’s mouth isn’t on my dick anymore. We both look down, and we’re met with that captivated, curious expression yet again.

“You want some too, little slut?”

She nods.

“Then be a good girl and take it.”

She doesn’t even hesitate. Her mouth opens, and she sits up, stretching toward me. I lean down, taking hold of her jaw, before I spit into her mouth.

“Now use it on my cock.”

She obeys immediately, licking the underside of my dick before resuming her previous pace.

“Fuck all of you,” Elliot groans.

“Oh you will, pretty boy,” I say smoothly.

He lets out a frustrated noise, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. We’re used to the long drive in and out of the city, but this must be fucking torture for him.

We’ll make it worth his wait.

I go back to making out with Oliver, holding him in place while I shove my tongue down his throat. He eats it up like I knew he would.

“When we get home, you’re fucking mine, O,” I say.

“On one condition.” He leans in, murmuring in my ear, “You stop fucking avoiding me.”

I freeze. When he pulls away, I search his face. Mostly, his stare is challenging. But there, hiding behind the bit of anger, is the hurt.

“I—”

I don’t want to make things worse.

I don’t want to remind you of how scared you were.

---