Page 233 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I wrap my hand around his length, feeling the pulse at the tip. His breath hitches.

“Fuck, June,” he groans, “just like that.”

I press my lips to the head, taste him, the tang of arousal mingling with the salty edge of sweat. Wayne’s hips jerk forward; Fletcher’s hand cups my cheek, guiding me. Rex’s fingers toy with my camisole strap, tugging it off one shoulder so he can trace lazy circles on my exposed collarbone.

I take him deeper, hollow my cheeks, sucking until Wayne’s restraint snaps with a guttural groan. He comes fast, coming deep, and I swallow every drop, tasting his need.

Wayne pulls back, kissing my forehead. “Good girl.”

Before I can catch my breath, Fletcher and Rex move in from either side. Fletcher’s cock rests at my lips; I take him in with gentle kisses, sliding onto him as he hums low. Rex presses against my lower back, pushing me forward until his tip nudges my entrance.

Their movements come together: Rex slides a finger inside me, spreading me wide, while Fletcher’s hips meet mine in slow, rolling strokes. The sensation sets my head spinning, pleasure so full and rich I can barely stand. Wayne kneels between my legs, his tongue flicking across my clit, adding friction to every pulse.

My breaths come in shuddering gasps as they move their hands and mouths over every inch of me. I grip the rug’s fibers, anchoring myself against the sensory onslaught.

“Let go, darlin’,” Rex growls softly in my ear. “We’ve got you.”

My body caves, trembling as wave after wave of release washes through me, deeper and more intense than before. I scream their names, every nerve alight.

Fletcher pulls out sharply with a muffled moan, the warmth of his seed splattering my tongue and chin, sticky and wild and so fucking alive.

For a beat, the world blurs; my vision pixelates at the edges, the three of them crushing me sweetly between their bodies, their approval humming like a major chord.

Rex keeps pushing deeper, drawing out every last twitch and whimper from me as Fletcher collapses to his elbows, smushing me lightly with his weight. They laugh, soft and breathless, and the sound vibrates under my skin.

Wayne presses a damp palm to my jaw, tilting my chin up so our eyes meet. His pupils are blown; his voice is a ragged hush.

“Gorgeous.” Rex drags his cock upward, nudging at my swollen entrance. He slides in slow, the stretch burning in the best way, hot and invasive.

I brace myself on all fours as his hips slap against me, bouncing my bare ass against his pelvis with every thrust. I feel bruised and raw and blissed out, and I want more, more, more.

It’s not gentle. Rex braces both hands on my hips, dragging me backward onto him. Deliberate, hungry, grinding every inch in until I see white. The shockwave of him inside me, deep and relentless, blows away everything else.

My face is sticky with sweat, come, spit and desire as Rex plows into me, using my body, and I am so damn proud to be used up by them.

Every hard thrust makes my elbows buckle a little against the floor. Wayne strokes my cheek with his thumb, murmuring nonsense, everything spun silk and honey and praise. I’m swaying in the storm of their attention, breath hitching, nails digging into the rug. I belong here, under the hands and hips and mouths of my devourers.

Rex’s rhythm falters.

He’s close now.

He bears down, driving my knees apart with the force of his thrusts, and I anchor myself to the moment by the grip of his hands on my hips and the scrape of the rug biting my palms.

My core spasms around him, and when he comes, he snarls wordless and shaky, clutching my hips so hard I swear I’ll wear his fingerprints for days. The hot flood of him fills me, and I tip my head back, guttural and grateful, out of words, out of breath.

No one moves. We just are.

My breath comes slow and uneven as I stay where I am, forehead dipping forward, eyes closed, body still humming in that lingering, heavy way that comes after everything has been given and taken and shared.

I love these men, I really do.

And now I know we’re in it for the long haul.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Wayne

I don’t rush things.