Page 72 of Savage Surrender

“You invited me to supervise, and supervisors give instructions. Open them.”

The stretch pulls a slow breath from me, and Tristan watches with rapt attention, his fist picking up pace when I spread them as much as I can and whimper.

“Like this?”

His fist tightens. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It would feel better if they were your fingers.”

“Such a slutty little omega for us. They’re going to be upset they missed you stretching your cunt open for all the cock you’re taking tonight.”

Fuck.

I pump them deeper and spread them farther apart. My thighs tense around my hand, the pressure filling me until my eyes close.

“Look at me.”

I do. His mouth curves, but his grip has gone brutal around his cock.

“I would tell you you’re a good girl, but we both know you’re not.”

Owen appears in the doorway wearing a white towel around his hips. Tristan shifts against the wall to let him through, still stroking himself, and Owen comes to a dead stop when his eyes lock between my legs.

He has dark circles beneath his eyes.

His hands close at his sides before he walks to the nearest chair. He catches his weight with his left hand when he sits, then spreads his legs, the towel tented obscenely between them. He says nothing, but the chair arms creak under his grip.

My fingers slip on the next circle as I pinch my nipple. Their scents crowd the ocean air, desire pulling at the bond like a chain around my neck.

“Careful. You’ll make him come on himself again,” Tristan drawls.

Owen’s stare never leaves my hand. “Shut the fuck up.”

Freddie arrives before Tristan can stir the pot further. He’s changed into another pair of colorful shorts from the beach shop, and damp curls cling around his face as he steps through the door.

Too fucking cute.

His attention moves from my face to my breasts, down my stomach, and catches on my hand. His lips part. The honey in his scent thickens until the room tastes warm with it.

“Hi, Freddie.”

He comes closer instead of answering, one slow step and then another. Tristan watches him and Owen shifts in the chair, but Freddie seems to have forgotten either of them exists.

There’s still water gathered in the hollow beneath his throat. One drop slips between his pecs as he reaches the mattress, close enough now that I can see his pulse beating at the base of his neck.

He sinks to his knees, and his hand lifts, hovers beside my knee, then falls back to his thigh.

“Can I kiss you?”

I nod.

Freddie climbs onto the mattress and fits himself beside me, careful of the blankets, careful of my open legs, careful right up until his mouth touches mine.

One hand slides into my wet hair and cups the back of my head. His mouth opens, tongue sweeping across mine, and the sound he makes when my fingers speed up vibrates through both of us. I catch his lower lip between my teeth. He follows when I pull, leaning over me until his bare chest brushes my breast and the hard line of his cock presses against my hip through his shorts.

Against the wall, Tristan’s fist loses its lazy rhythm. Owen hasn’t said a word.

Freddie kisses down my jaw and finds the place beneath my ear that makes my thighs draw tighter around my hand. “Fuck, Bianca.”