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“Now? I swallow hard, trying not to panic.
Sex with Tristan is often pushing the limits of what I can handle. In theory—or the vivid faceless dreams I’ve had since watching that threesome—it seems like it would be amazing. But I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to survive Tristan and another man.
Or if I want to be with someone else.
That feels foreign even as I think it; my whole sexual life before I met Tristan was full of frivolous and fleeting meaningless sex.
Tristan slides me from his lap and helps me to my feet before standing. As though on cue, there’s a knock on the frame of the door. I spin around to find Conor standing on the threshold.
“Did he draw the short straw?” I nervously joke.
“Short straw?” Conor snarks. “We fucking beat the piss out of each other for you.”
“You aren’t serious!”
“Deadly.” Conor closes the distance between us, and suddenly, I find myself sandwiched between two Irish giants.
Fuck, why do they both smell so good?
Staring up at the two of them, my heart pounds against my rib cage as though it’s trying to burst free. Conor looks to Tristan for approval, and the moment it’s granted, his lips are on mine. His tongue swipes through my mouth, and he takes his time familiarizing himself with me as Tristan’s lips find my neck.
They take turns plundering my mouth as their hands roam over my body. Kneading my breasts, trailing along my sides, and grabbing my ass.
Their hands are everywhere.
Tristan and Conor both slip a strap of my dress from my shoulders, and it slides down my body to the floor. Conor palms my breasts and peppers kisses over my cleavage. “My brother is a lucky man. You are fucking gorgeous,” he growls.
My skin is on fire from their touch, every nerve in my body overstimulated as they focus their attention on me. I grind my thighs together, trying to calm the growing need in my pussy.
Conor sucks at my nipple, his tongue swirling around it as Tristan continues to kiss over my shoulders and neck. “On the desk and spread those luscious thighs. Let him get a good look at you,” he demands before he kisses a trail from my neck to my ear.
I push myself on the desk, sliding back far enough to bring my knees to my chest. With their eyes completely fixed on me, I teasingly slide my bare feet along the edge. Slowly granting them the view I know they want.
The view I want them to have.
They stare at me with undeniable feral need, and I’m unable to control how my body reacts to their desire. To my desire. I can feel my arousal trickling from my pussy and down my ass.
“She’s so fucking wet,” Conor declares to Tristan. “She looks so fucking sweet. I just want to lick every drop falling from her.”
Conor moves between my thighs as Tristan rounds the desk and stands behind me. He leans close. “Should I let him taste you so you can feel his tongue licking over your clit?”
“Please, Sir,” I beg, needing someone to finally touch me there. He tips his head, and Conor’s stubbled face slides along my inner thigh as he inches toward my pussy. He groans against me as he licks from my entrance to clit with the flat of his tongue. I can’t hold back the moan that rattles from me when he licks again. His tongue presses to my entrance, and it pushes it inside of me, swirling it as he sucks my arousal into his mouth.
“Does he feel good, mo cuishle? Eating my cunt as he demands you to come for him.”
“So good,” I whimper and lean back into Tristan’s chest as Conor licks and sucks as though he can’t get enough of me.
My hips begin to ride his face, and I’m seconds from coming when he pulls back. “Do you need permission to come all over my face, beautiful?”
“Yes,” I groan.
He grips my thighs and yanks me toward his face. His warm words blow over my swollen clit when he growls, “Then you better hurry up and fucking ask for it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
TRISTAN
Conor buries his face in Layla’s pussy. Her chin quivering, she stares up at me as her eyes struggle not to roll back in her head.
