Page 73 of Savage Surrender

When his mouth returns to mine, his thumb drags across my lower lip, and then my eyes snap to his when he pushes two fingers into my mouth.

Freddie watches my lips close around him. The soft green of his eyes has almost disappeared, his attention narrowed to my mouth as he presses down against my tongue.

A whimper slips around his fingers.

“Suck.”

I should make him ask nicely.

But I don’t. I suck.

His shoulders lock above me, the hand in my hair closing hard enough to hold me still while his fingers slide deeper over my tongue. My hips lift as if the command reached every part of me.

Freddie’s mouth parts. He draws his fingers almost free, and I follow before he can tell me to.

He looks up, startled enough to show the green again.

He pushes them back into my mouth, slower this time, watching my mouth take them.

“Well, well, Frederick,” Tristan says from the wall.

Freddie doesn’t look away from me.

Footsteps cross the hall, and Weller stops just inside the doorway.

He takes in Freddie’s fingers in my mouth, my hand between my legs, then Owen and Tristan.

Did he do laundry? His black pants are clean, his white shirt buttoned, and he’s fastening one cuff as he walks inside. His hair is still damp at the temples.

It’s unnerving, him fully dressed while I’m... like this.

I look him over slowly and joke softly, “Only Weller would show up to a gang bang in his business best.”

His fingers pause at his cuff and Tristan’s mouth curves.

Weller finishes the button. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it slowly. Nobody crowds her. Nobody’s impatient. Nobody treats this like a competition.” He looks pointedly at Freddie, Tristan, and Owen.

Freddie clears his throat. His lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed, and he still has one hand tangled in my hair.

“So...” He glances around the room. “How are we doing this?”

I slide my fingers free, and Owen leans forward.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe...” I point to Tristan first, then Freddie, Weller, and finally Owen. His whole body goes still when my finger stops on him. “Owen, come fuck me.”

The chair rocks backward, knocking into the wall, and his towel hits the floor before he reaches the mattress.

The bed gives beneath his knee, and then Owen is over me, so much larger up close that the rest of the room disappears behind the breadth of his shoulders. His tan skin is flushed from the shower and my attention is drawn to the thick weight of his cock as it rests against me.

Behind him, Weller crosses to the chair Owen abandoned and sits.

“Pace yourself, Owen,” he says.

I reach for him where he’s hanging between us, but he catches my wrist before I can wrap my hand around him. He sucks my fingers clean without taking his eyes off me, his cheeks hollowing once before he lets them slide from his lips.

“She tastes like that and you expect me to put guardrails on?”

“Yes.” Weller would probably lead a business meeting in the same tone.