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Marek reached down to touch Rose intimately again. Her legs fell apart and her soft intake of breath told him she was close.
“I would very much like to see you come, my lovely Rose.”
“Just me?”
Weston kissed her on the cheek, then his lips drifted lower, to her neck. She craned it, her eyes closing in obvious bliss.
Marek slid two fingers inside her heat. “Just you. This time.”
He moved them slowly at first, but Rose had taken Weston’s invitation to make a few demands to heart.
“Faster,” she said, breathlessly.
He complied. Weston had shifted lower, had taken one of her breasts in his hands. He was sucking on it, teasing the nipple with his teeth. For a second, Marek was concerned Weston was hurting her, but when Rose closed her fist in the other man’s hair and said “harder,” he understood. Rose’s pleasure had always come with pain. It would take far more than one night to change that, to show her there was just as much delight to be found in gentleness.
Her hips rose to meet him as he pressed in, her motions attempting to set the pace. He let her do it, let her take what she wanted, how she wanted it.
Her inner muscles clenched.
“That’s it, Rose. Take what you want. Get what you deserve.”
Weston raised his head as Marek spoke, shifting to a half-seated position. He reached out and, for a moment, Marek thought he intended to take over.
Marek didn’t want to give way. He wanted to feel it when her pleasure crashed down on her.
Instead, Weston gripped his wrist, halting his movement. With his free hand, he tugged Marek’s face to his, giving him another of those hard, powerful kisses.
“Together,” Weston murmured.
Marek removed his hand, both of them grinning at Rose’s loud complaint.
“What the fuck? Don’t stop!”
Marek opened his mouth, but she narrowed her eyes. “And don’t you dare give me shit for my language, Captain America.”
He chuckled briefly at the nickname. He would have to make certain Rose never used it in his grandmother’s presence or she would throw a fit.
When Marek pressed inside her again, it was with just one finger. Weston’s hand rested on top of his as he slid a finger into her as well.
“Holy shit,” she breathed out, her neck arching, her face lifting as he and Weston worked together to push her over that cliff.
When she came—loudly and with no reservations—Weston leaned forward to kiss him. As her orgasm passed, they slowly withdrew their fingers, dropping down to lie next to her in the bed.
Rose tried again to touch them, intent on giving back what she’d just received. Marek lifted her hand before it reached its destination, kissing her knuckles.
Glancing toward the digital clock, Marek shook his head. “We don’t have time for more, Rose. All of us need to get some sleep if we hope to find success tomorrow.”
“Success?” Rose asked.
“Yeah. Our time in England is about to expire. Weston?” Marek asked, acknowledging the other man’s leadership. “How do we bring down these purists?”
Weston sighed. “We have to convince Tristan to take us to Dorset tomorrow. The answers, the proof we need, it’s all there. I can feel it.”
“And once you find it?”
Weston looked at Rose. “We go home.”
