Page 60 of Bad Men's Good Girl

The sharp gasp that leaves me isn’t just from his kiss. His palm slides up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher, fingers tracing the seam at my hip. His breath hitches when he finds me wet inside my panties, already aching under his teasing touch. "Fuck," he mutters against my mouth, two fingers gliding through my folds. "This for us?"

I twist my fingers into his shirt, tugging him closer. Amos shifts behind me, his lips brushing my shoulder as his hands roam over my stomach, my waist. "Let him hearyou," he murmurs, his own voice unsteady. "We want to hear everything."

Max drags his teeth down the side of my neck, one hand splayed possessive over my thigh as Atticus finally—finally—presses inside with two fingers. A whimper escapes before I can bite it back, pleasure sparking sharp and bright behind my eyes.

Atticus watches me unravel. "God, Baleigh," he rasps, curling his fingers just right, his thumb circling in maddening strokes. My hips jerk, but Max’s grip holds me still. The room narrows to sensation—Amos’s laugh vibrating against my back, Max’s groan when I arch into his touch, the rough sound Atticus makes when my nails dig into his shoulder.

I’m shaking. Someone’s whisperingbreathe.

And then?—

Atticus leans in, lips brushing my ear. "Tell me whose name you’re going to scream first."

Atticus doesn't break eye contact as his fingers work me open, slow and deliberate, the rough pad of his thumb circling my clit in lazy, devouring strokes. My head falls back against Amos’s chest, but it’s Max’s hands that find my breasts, kneading through the thin lace of my bra until I’m squirming.

"Leigh." Atticus’s voice is gravel, his fingers curling just right?—

I gasp. The muscles in my thighs tighten, sparking heat low in my belly.

Amos chuckles darkly against my ear, his hands sliding down to frame my hips. "You’re already close? That fast?" His tongue traces the shell of my ear. "Christ, she’s soaking his fingers."

Max makes a noise like a punched-out breath. "Let me." He slips a hand between my legs, replacing Atticus’s thumb with his own, rougher, more insistent.

The double sensation—Atticus’s fingers fucking into me, Max’s thumb working tight, frantic circles—sends a full-body shudder through me.

"Who—?" My voice cracks.

Max smirks. "Us." His fingers tighten on my breast, pinching my nipple just shy of pain. "All of us."

Atticus leans in, catching my mouth with his, swallowing the moan as his fingers speed up. "Come like this," he murmurs against my lips, "and then we’ll let you choose who you want to scream for next."

The first wave hits like a lightning strike. My back arches, my nails scraping against whoever’s skin is closest, and I choke out a shattered moan as the pleasure rolls through me, hot and consuming.

They don’t stop—Atticus keeps fucking me through it, Max’s thumb still working my oversensitive clit, and Amos’s teeth graze my shoulder as I clench around Atticus’s fingers.

When the last aftershock fades, I’m boneless, panting, forehead pressed against Atticus’s.

Amos laughs, breathless. "So? Who’s next?"

I drag in a ragged breath. "That wasn’t fair."

Max hums, dragging his thumb lower, dipping into where Atticus had just been. "Does it need to be?" I gasp sharply as I reach for his already stiff cock, palming him through his pants.

Atticus leans back just far enough to meet my gaze, his mouth damp from my kiss. "Still good?"

I lick my lips.

"Then we keep going."

The floor is cool against my knees, the firelight flickering gold across my skin as I settle onto the blankets someone had magically spread out on the hearth. My breath comes too fast, my pulse thrumming under my fingertips as I brace myself on all fours. Amos kneels in front of me, his cock already hard, flusheddark at the tip. He grips himself, stroking lazily, his grin sharp and wicked.

"Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his thumb over the head. "You were born for this, Leigh."

Behind me, Max's hands skim my hips, his touch deliberate, possessive. The first press of his cock into my sopping wet heat steals my breath—slow, inexorable, until I'm full, until my thighs tremble with the stretch. He groans, low and rough, his fingers digging into my skin. "Jesus, Baleigh."

Amos leans in, his free hand tangling in my hair, tilting my face up to his. "Eyes on me," he orders, and then his cock is at my lips, hot and heavy against my tongue.

I moan around Amos, the sound low and throaty, vibrating against his heated skin as I take him deeper. His hips give an involuntary jerk at the sensation, but he holds himself back—ever the patient one—letting me set the pace, letting me savor the weight of him on my tongue, the salt-slick taste of precome beading at the tip. My fingers dig into his thighs for balance as Max's thrusts rock me forward, the dual sensations making my head spin.