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“You’re still thinking,” Archer growls, and the moment Roman has unsnapped my pants, he yanks them down my hips, freeing my hard dick. He doesn’t touch it, letting me swing in the wind, and I growl back at him.
“Don’t start what you don’t plan on finishing,” I say, and I hear the layers of meaning in my words even as I speak them.
“Oh, I intend to finish everything I start,” he breathes, smirking at me.
“Yeah? What… oh fuck.”
I don’t expect him to drop to his knees for me. He’s my top alpha, my top, period. I don’t expect it to send another jagged crack through my chest. What are they doing to me today? Do they even realize?
And then Roman parts my ass cheeks and presses a finger there, massaging, rimming me lightly, and fuck, I’m going to fall apart so damn fast.
It’s not often that I have both of them working me over. Usually we gravitate around Roman, like planets caught in his gravity. Right now, gravity has fled the room. My cock is pointing to the ceiling, and if they keep going at it, that’s where my cum will end up, and good luck cleaning that.
That—cleaning—reminds me of Sawyer and the smell of bleach in his apartment.
And then I stop caring about cleaning when that knowing finger presses a little into my ass, and Archer hollows his cheeks and really fucking sucks. Sucks my soul right out of me.
I come in a hot rush, a shout leaving my lips. Bowing over, I grab Archer’s shoulder, my knees buckling.
Roman behind me curses.
Someone is knocking on the door. The handle starts to turn.
Fuck, we didn’t lock it. Again.
“Not now!” Archer hollers, rising to his feet, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Boss?” It’s our second bartender. “Looking for Roman and Kyrian. People are waiting at the door and by the bar.”
“Hell.” Roman chuckles softly.
“They’ll be right there in a minute!”
“We should stop fucking in the office,” I mutter.
“You liked it, though.” Roman winks at me. “You really liked my finger in your ass, alpha.”
“Shut up,” I growl, cuffing him lightly on the back of the head. He wiggles the finger he rimmed me with in my face, and I curse, my mouth twitching.
“I’m filing away this info for later,” he threatens.
“You do that.” I turn to Archer who’s still frowning at the door. “So what’s your plan, Arch? What are we going to do?”
“Save Brinlee.”
“And what about Sawyer?”
“Sawyer needs saving?”
I let out a breath. “I’m not sure. I saw him today. He lost track of time, didn’t open his café.”
Archer’s eyes narrow. “You serious? Is he okay?”
“He has some OCD,” I say. “And anxiety.”
“Anxiety? What about? Brinlee?”
“No idea. Probably.”
