Page 65 of Perfect Convergence

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you in on this too, now? Seeing how many times I can come in one night?”

I smirk. “Why not?”

When I press a kiss to her inner thigh, she bites her lip against a moan, and her legs spread.

“I need you to use your words, love.”

“I want more,” she whispers.

“Good. Because tasting you is all I could think about while I was watching you dance with Oliver.”

“You were watching?”

“You think Oliver would’ve left you alone if I hadn’t been?”

Realization settles on her features—that we fucking mean it when we say we won’t let a single thing happen to her. I stand, pushing her back onto the bed. She wiggles, her hands still tied behind her back, trying to get comfortable.

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“No. I—I like how it feels.”

Figured you would.

Back on my knees, I give her clit a single lick. “Tell me if it starts to hurt too much.”

Her answer is a moan, because I’m slipping two fingers into her, curling them against her g-spot. I have every intention of taking my time enjoying her, but I have no problem making her come a couple times while I do.

When my tongue circles her clit, she jumps, groaning. Fuck. Half of me wants to gag her, just because I know she’d like it—and so would I—but the noises she makes are so goddamned perfect. I love her screams too much to muffle them.

With my free hand, I reach up to brush the pad of my thumb over one of her pebbled nipples. I can barely reach, but her breath hitching makes it worth it. Then I suck on her clit, and she cries out, her back arching for a second before she collapses onto the mattress.

She’s so sensitive and worked up, she comes so fast I think it surprises even her. I slow my fingers and lick her clit gently, but she still squirms against me.

“Elliot, I need you to stop. Please stop, please.”

I do, pulling my fingers from her.

She relaxes, panting. “Just for a second. Let me recover.”

“Of course, love.” I kiss her thigh. “That was six, right?”

She moans. “I’ve lost count.”

“It’s six,” Rhett says.

“Jesus fuck,” Wren whispers. After a minute, she says, “I’m ready.”

With a hum of appreciation, I dive back in. She yelps, so I lighten the touch of my tongue. My hand snakes back up her side to tweak her nipple, and I splay the other across her lower stomach, pressing down.

“Oh my god. Fuck, Elliot, ohhhh.”

I alternate between massaging her clit with my tongue and sucking it into my mouth. She tastes sweet, mixed with something salty, that—if I had to guess—I’d say is probably Oliver’s cum leaking out of her.

“Elliot, it feels so good. You feel so... fuck.”

I groan into her, lapping her up. Ever since we revealed our plan to her and she just accepted it, accepted us, I’ve needed to bury myself in her. Lose myself in her.

It all feels too fast, I suppose. There are only a couple people we’ve ever trusted with our true feelings toward Ludo. And letting Wren in so quickly was a huge leap of faith to take.

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