Ryker’s kisses overpower me with their intensity while Chase’s fingers fly, and pleasure coils low in my belly, then pulses.
A warning of bliss.
“Yes, I can feel how much you want it,” Chase rasps out, pushing me on.
One more stroke, one more caress on my neck, one more kiss of my lips, and I let go of Ryker’s mouth, gasping, “I’m coming.”
My knees buckle and Chase catches me, then hauls me up as I shake from the aftereffects. While I’m still moaning, he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them, one by one. “Mmm. Need more of your sweetness really fucking soon,” he says, like he’s high on the taste of me. When he’s done, he tenderly strokes my hair away from my face. “You did so well,sweetness,” he says, and I like that nickname too.
“That’s better than Miss Inquisitive,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s perfect for you,sweetness,” Ryker adds, petting my hair too.
“I bet someday you could take both of us,” Chase says, and Ryker growls hisyes.
“Think you’d like that too?” Ryker rasps out, asking me.
This is only one night. That’s not on the menu this evening. Still, I say, “I want that. Someday.”
“I know you do.” Chase presses a gentle kiss to my bruised lips, then lets go and lifts me up.
Oh! He tosses me on his shoulder. Well, that’s fun, being handled like I weigh nothing.
“Wait. My glasses,” I say, mildly worried.
“Got ’em,” Ryker barks out, and cuts across the living room while Chase stalks down the hall, fireman carrying me. I’m shivering the whole way, barely aware of my surroundings—just Chase’s soothing voice. “How did that feel? You deserved to come so badly,” he says and his tone is soft, an aftercare type of voice I’ve heard about. Maybe dreamed about.
“Better than Maverick,” I say, still woozy.
“Who’s Maverick?” he asks as he turns into his bedroom, flicks on a light, and then gently lays me on a huge bed with a dark blue cover.
“My favorite vibrator,” I say.
“You named your vibrator.” He sounds delighted.
“Well, when you have a half dozen you need to tell them apart…” I say, trailing off seductively, because I don’t want to talk anymore.
Chase is undoing a button on his shirt as Ryker enters the room. I sit up on my knees, move to the edge of the bed. “Let me,” I say, but it’s plaintive. I’m pleading to undress him.
He comes closer, clasps my hands, and brings them to the front of his shirt. “Take it off,” he instructs as Ryker sets my glasses down on the nightstand.
I get to work on stripping Chase, sliding off his dress shirt, and letting it fall to the floor. I bite the corner of my lips when I set eyes on his chest, carved and muscular everywhere. They aren’t model muscles, shaped by protein shakes and long lifting sessions. They’re cut from the job, and he’s covered in bruises and small cuts. I run a finger over the freshest, bluest bruise, touching it reverently. “Looks new. Does this still hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t hurt when I got it. Feels good right now.”
I spread my hands over his pecs, exploring his hard body as Ryker watches the whole time, stares darkly with the most intense look in those eyes. Maybe Ryker is a voyeur? Would he want to watch Chase fuck me? Would he jerk off while Chase bent me over the bed and pounded into me?
My breath hitches. My heart races. I’m flooded with brand-new ideas.
“What filthy thought just crossed your mind?” Chase asks, but I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at the man whose midnight gaze has me caught in its crosshairs.
Without thinking twice, I answer: “If Ryker would ever want to jack off while you fucked me.”
Who am I? Who is this woman saying these things to these two men?
Chase whistles, clearly loving my dirty mouth, and praising it by running a finger along my lips.
“Maybe,” Ryker says, noncommittal.