Page 90

"Patience, Darling." But he's already leaning down, mouth replacing his hand. His tongue flicks across my nipple, and I cry out, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucks gently, then harder, and I feel it between my legs like a pulse. My hips buck, searching for friction. He chuckles against my skin.

"Needy already?"

"Yes," I whimper. "Please."

He pulls back, eyes dark. "What do you need?"

"I don't… I don't know…"

"You need my mouth," he says, and it's not a question. "You need my tongue on your skin. You need me to taste that sweet little cunt you're hiding."

I blush so hard my cheeks burn. His words make my slick gush, and I know he can smell it.

"Clint—"

He shushes me, pressing a kiss to my sternum. Then he works his way down, lips trailing over my ribs, my stomach. His hands slide my bottoms down my hips, and I lift up to help him. When I'm left in nothing but my soaked underwear, he stops.

"Look at you," he breathes. "Soaked through already."

I squeeze my thighs shut.

"Don't hide from me." His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. "I want to see every inch of you."

He pulls them down slowly. The fabric drags over my slick folds, and I shudder. Then I'm bare, open, and Clint makes a low sound in his throat.

"Gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous."

He spreads my thighs and I let him, too far gone to feel shy. His gaze is fixed on where I'm wet and glistening, and I can see the hunger in his caramel eyes.

Before I can brace myself, he lowers his head, and licks. A long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit.

I scream.

It's not loud, more of a choked cry, but it's enough to make Tripp and Briggs sit up. I barely notice them because Clint's mouth is on me, working me with a gentleness that contradicts the filthy sounds he's making.

He laps at my slick like he's starving, groaning against my flesh. "Tastes like cherries," he mutters against my thigh. "Sweet and fucking addictive."

His fingers find my entrance, circling. "Ready for a finger, Darling?"

"Please," I sob.

He eases one finger inside me, and I feel the stretch, the fullness. It's not enough, but it's everything. He pumps slowly, curling the tip, and when I gasp, he crooks it again.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Feel that? That's your body opening for me, soaking my hand."

I'm trembling, my hips rocking against his palm. He adds a second finger, and I cry out.

"That's my good girl," he praises, thrusting deeper. "Taking me so well."

I'm close already, the heat building in my belly, but before I can tip over, he pulls back. I whimper in protest and he smirks, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"Not yet. I promised you all three of us."

I look up, and my breath catches. Briggs and Tripp are both naked, standing at the edge of the nest. Moonlight carves out their forms; Briggs with his light brown hair and whiskey eyes, his body lean and muscular. Tripp, broader, darker, his green eyes fixed on me like I'm prey.

And then I see their cocks.

Both hard, both thick, and at the base, each has a knot; swollen and ready. I've seen pictures in biology books, but nothing prepares me for the real thing.