Page 67 of Wild Flower

“Give her what she needs,” Archer demands, taking my hands and sliding them under Becca’s skirt. Becca’s ass is perfect—taught and round and twerking to the music. I clutch her hungrily, kneading my fingers into her backside. Whoever invented thongs is a genius, because her ass is sin incarnate. Archer pulls Becca’s hair off her neck, kissing her flowers and maneuvering himself so he’s also straddling my leg.

“Archer,” Becca coos at his new position, “you’re so hard.”

It’s true. There are clothes in the way, but my hands are sandwiched between Becca’s ass and Archer’s pelvis, his prominent ridge straining against his pants. Her ass bobs with the pulse of music, nuzzling him between her globes, the sounds of the club drowning us. Becca looks at me with a throng of lust, her expression betraying how badly she wants us.

“Patience, Wild Flower,” I breathe against her mouth. “We’ve got you.” I slide my hands off her bare ass and around her hips. “This can go as fast, or as slow, or as wild as you want it.”

I slide my hand to the front, between her legs, only to find—

“Becca,” I growl, leaning in to kiss her hotly. I thought she was wearing a thong when I clutched her ass, but the truth is more scandalous. I’m currently palming her wet pussy, my hand sandwiched between her bare heat and my thigh.

My tongue claims her as she drags her arousal across my fingers, kissing me back. Needy, she finds the heel of my palm and grinds her enflamed clit against it.

“Oh yes!” Her thighs shake, trembles rippling against my hand between her legs.

“Pace yourself,” Archer growls, feeling it too. But she continues her assault, pleasuring herself on my palm. My fingers graze the back edge of her pussy, tickling the sensitive skin, and it turns her wild and unabashed.

She moans against my neck, racing closer and closer to release.

“Are you about to come, Becca?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she admits.

“Did Archer make you come earlier without me?” I tsk-tsk, but she shakes her head to confirm he hasn’t stolen any of my candy. “Both of you were very good, weren’t you?”

“I don’t want to be good,” she moans, so strung up she’s ready to claim her first orgasm on my hand.

“Well, here’s the deal,” I say, stroking her enflamed heat, before pulling my palm out from where she’s aching. “This time Archer gets to watch.”

I step back and turn her around. She’s caught off guard and Archer has to catch her to keep her from toppling over. I maneuver the two of them so it’s Archer’s thigh she’s straddling, and I’m the one behind her. Only, I slip my open palm under her ass, so once again my hand is pressed against her bareness, between her and his leg.

“Fuck yourself against my palm, Wild Flower,” I say hotly, trilling my fingers so she can see that from this position it’s easier for me to tease her clit. Her pussy clenches against my palm, slick with her wickedness. “Dance,” I whisper in her ear. “Beg me to put my fingers inside you.” She whimpers. “But you have to look at Archer while you do it. Archer’s the one who gets to watch you orgasm. You understand?”

She nods—to him—her pussy already sliding over the ridges of my fingers. Oh yes, she understands, and she’s even more hot because of it.

“Show me how you like it,” I growl in her ear. “Teach me what you want.”

37

BECCA

Archer’s ice blue eyes are a torrent demanding I submit. His dark hair curtains us on both sides of my face—blocking out everyone else in the club and making this intimate. Tonight, I’m wilder and needier than I’ve been before. Every dirty desire pouring out of me, demanding more.

At first, I thought this brutal unleashing was the result of being with two of them. The cognitive dissonance of looking at Archer while Finn’s fingers threaten to dip inside me makes me lose track of who is where. Whose mouth am I kissing? Whose fingers are plowing through my pussy? Who’s asking if I want his hand or his cock? Who’s this demon made of four arms and four legs who encompasses me on all sides and makes me want to beg?

But it’s the second realization—that this is public—that has me asking one of them—or both of them—to unzip their pants. Like at Flambé that first night, we’re surrounded by strangers cloaked in darkness, strangers on all sides, but not paying attention to us. And yet, their presence is what makes me reckless.

I gasp against Archer’s mouth, the bristle of his beard rough and hot, holding me steady as Finn tucks the tip of his cock against my entrance.

It’s dark.

The sea of bodies and music around us undulate.

My skirt hides where we connect, as do their hands, and the fact that every couple around us is also grinding in a sea of ecstasy.

Archer cups my face. Finn cups my hips. They both ask,Do you want to do this?

They ask again, and a third time as the music intensifies, and I promise them I’ve never been more sure of anything.

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