Page 74 of Beautiful Sinners

Constantine appears at our side, and I blindly grab hold of his hand. My balance gets thrown off center, but Hendrix holds me up just as Tristan hooks one arm under my shoulder to steady me. I’m teetering on that precipice of heart-stopping expectation when I feel the head of his shaft nudge my entrance. I’ve been up close and personal with his impressive cock, gagged on his immense girth when I went down on him in the shower. I know how big Tristan is, and how small I am. He’s going to render me in two when he fucks me, and I’m going to love every second of it.

“I need you.”

My plea is the thing that cracks his control. He stretches me to the breaking point when he enters me, inch by excruciating inch that feels like an eternity. I’m anchored in place, intimately connected to him while also physically holding onto Constantine and Hendrix. There’s a symbolic meaning to it that I don’t analyze because it just is. The four us, bound together. The way it should be.

“So fucking tight. So perfect. You were made for me,” Tristan grits out.

His muscles strain against my back as he pushes past my resistance. Once fully seated, he doesn’t move, allowing me time to adjust to the pressure.So much pressure.

“You good?”

I nod.

Hendrix tweaks a nipple, and Tristan grunts when I bear down around him.

“He needs your words, love.”

My throaty hum is the best I can do.

Tristan gathers my long, tangled mass of hair and twists it around his free hand. The bite of pain is exactly what I need when he uses the leverage to angle my head to the side. Our kiss is sloppy and messy and wonderful because it’s us. And then he moves. Slowly at first. A slight jerk of the hips that sets off a deluge of explosions.

My world tilts on its axis when he lets go of my hair and pulls me upright, my back to his front. He cups a breast in one hand and goes straight for my clit with the other.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Hendrix says and takes his cock, jerking roughly.

I’m transported back to his bathroom where I not so secretly watched him masturbate. How he groaned my name as he came.

I turn my head, and he eagerly seeks my mouth, kissing me as sensuously as the way he’s making love to me.

“I can’t hold back. You feel too good.”

“Don’t hold back,” I pant, joining my hand with his between my legs.

Rapture sings through me as Tristan pumps into me fast and hard, taking me higher and higher until I can barely breathe. When my orgasm hits, it comes in a blinding rush of sweet oblivion. White static obscures my vision, and I think I pass out for a split second.

“Aoife,” Tristan rasps against my neck as he comes inside me, filling me with pulses of warmth that set me off for a third time.

Wetness trickles down my legs and my stomach, which confuses me, until Hendrix starts rubbing it into my skin. He’s painting me with his cum again. It’s debased and territorial, but I love it.

All too soon, Tristan pulls out, and I collapse forward on top of Hendrix. He holds me until my body stops convulsing, and I go lax in his arms.

His chest rumbles with a light chuckle. “I think we broke her.”

I stir up enough energy to bite his nipple. He smacks my ass.

Not wanting to move, I nuzzle my face to his neck and lick at the salt of his sweat. God, he smells good. Like sex and musk and sandalwood.

“Syn,” he growls in my ear. “You need aftercare.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Tristan kisses my shoulder and rubs up and down my back until I liquefy into a starfish-shaped puddle. “It means we take care of you.”

I think they took care of me very nicely.

“Noooo,” I mumble a bratty whine when Tristan slides me off Hendrix, then trip over into happiness when Constantine cradles me in his arms. I’m a mess, sticky, sweaty, sore in so many places, and need a shower. Oh, shower sex with Constantine would be really good.

“Give me five minutes,” I sigh into his chest and wrap every part of myself around him—then promptly pass the hell out.

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