31. Maya #2
I pull him in and kiss him. It is different from Dante, warmer, slower, the kiss that tastes like Cole, like laughter and garlic, warm enough that my fingers tighten in his shirt before I can think better of it.
His hand slides into my hair and holds. The kiss deepens, and his body presses between my knees, the counter suddenly the exact right height for his hips against the edge, for my legs wrapping around him, for the hard line of him fitting into the space between my thighs.
“Dinner’s ready,” Dante says behind Cole, his voice low. “If anyone’s interested.”
“Depends,” I say. “What else is on the menu?”
The kitchen goes quiet around the question. The smoke has cleared. The sauce is done. Dante leans against the stove with his arms crossed and his eyes dark, and the look on his face is the opening move. He does not move, and somehow both of us wait.
“Eat first,” he says. “Then I’ll show you.”
We eat at the counter instead of the table, because moving to the table would require separating, and none of us wants to separate tonight.
I stay on my spot. Cole stands beside me, eating standing up, his hip against my thigh.
Dante sits on the stool across from us. The pasta is good.
The sauce is better than mine would have been, a fact I concede without grace.
The wine is warm, the kitchen is warm, and the three of us are eating dinner in a position that makes no practical sense and feels exactly right.
I set my plate down and look at them. Both of them. Cole with his easy stance and his hip pressed against my thigh. Dante across from us, dark eyes steady on me, the gaze that used to make me check exits and now makes me lean closer.
“Take me to bed,” I say. “Both of you. Now.”
? ? ?
In the bedroom, the gray sheets are already turned back, and the lamp on the nightstand throws low gold over the bed.
Dante leads me through the doorway with his hand on the back of my neck. Cole follows behind us with his hand on my waist. Their hands keep contact. Dante is in front, Cole is behind, and I am between them, Dante’s fingers at my neck and Cole’s palm spread over my waist.
“How do you want this?” Dante asks.
He stands in front of me with his hands on my jaw, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. The question lands low in my stomach. I have to say the want out loud before he takes the lead.
“I want everything tonight.” I look at him, then over my shoulder at Cole, then back. “Both of you. At the same time. I want both of you inside me.”
Dante’s thumbs go still against my cheekbones. His hands stay on my face. Behind me, Cole’s breath catches, a sharp inhale against the back of my neck that goes straight between my legs.
“Are you sure?” Dante says, low.
“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.” My pulse beats hard enough that I feel it in my throat. “I want this, both of you. I want to feel what it’s like to be that full.”
Dante looks past me at Cole. The communication between them is silent. Dante’s hand flexes once against my jaw, and Cole’s fingers tighten at my waist.
“We go slow,” Dante says. “The whole time. If anything—”
“I’ll tell you. I’ll always tell you.”
He kisses me slowly, and my fingers curl into his shirt as my ribs go tight around the air I almost lose.
Undressing happens slowly. Dante pulls the jersey over my head, his number lifting off my body, and his hands pause with the fabric bunched in his fists, the eighty-eight facing him for one suspended beat before he drops it on the chair.
Cole unclasps my bra from behind with practiced fingers, and Dante hooks his fingers in my panties and drags them down.
His mouth finds my collarbone while Cole’s mouth finds the back of my neck, and the dual sensation, two mouths on my skin front and back, makes my knees buckle.
“Bed,” Dante says.
They strip each other as we cross the room.
Cole’s shirt disappears over his head under Dante’s hands.
Dante’s jeans open under Cole’s fingers.
The practiced efficiency of two men whose bodies have been undressing each other for years moves through every touch.
By the time they reach the mattress, all three of us are bare.
I lie back, and the sheets are cool beneath my overheated skin. Cole settles beside me with his mouth on my throat and his hand sliding down my stomach. Dante moves between my thighs, his shoulders pushing my legs wider before his mouth descends.
His tongue lays flat against my clit, and the sound he pulls out of me fills the room.
Cole’s hand closes over my breast. He rolls my nipple between his fingers, then pinches, giving me the edge of pain that tips straight into pleasure. My back arches. Dante’s tongue circles my clit in tight, deliberate patterns while two fingers slide inside me and curl against the front wall.
“Don’t make me come yet,” I gasp. “I want to come with both of you inside me.”
Dante lifts his head. His mouth is wet, his eyes dark, and the way he nods makes my body clench around his fingers.
Dante shifts beside me and reaches for the nightstand. Lube. Two condoms. His movements stay methodical and unhurried, and the steadiness of him does something filthy to my pulse. He waits me out.
“I need to get you ready,” Dante says. His voice is low and controlled, and my thighs tremble anyway. “This is going to take a while. Tell me if anything hurts.”
“Okay.”
He positions me on my hands and knees, my hands braced near Cole’s hips. His slick finger starts slowly, gentle, easing into the unfamiliar stretch. My breath catches. Cole moves in front of me and lies back against the pillows, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.
“Eyes on me,” Cole says softly. “Stay with me.”
I look at him. His blue eyes hold steady in the lamplight while Dante works behind me, patient and careful.
He adds a second finger, reading my body through the sounds I make and the way my hips shift.
The stretch is strange. Different. Full in a place I have never been full, and my body cannot decide whether to tense against it or chase it.
Cole’s other hand slides between my legs.
His fingers find my clit in light circles, keeping the pleasure present, giving my body something to follow besides the stretch.
I sink into the dual rhythm. The tension in my muscles eases, and pleasure takes over the preparation, slow and consuming, until my hips start following his hand.
Dante adds a third finger. I breathe through it, four counts in, four counts held, and his free hand presses flat against my lower back, grounding me.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he says.
The word beautifully from Dante goes through me like a current. I press back into the sensation.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Not yet.” Dante’s voice stays firm. Patient. “A little more.”
He works me longer. Cole murmurs to me, low words, the sound more than the meaning, his voice a constant my nervous system has learned to associate with safety.
“Now,” Dante says. “Cole, lie back. Maya, you’re on top of him.”
Cole rolls on a condom and lies back. I straddle him, knees on either side of his hips, hands planted on his chest. We have been here before, this position, his body beneath mine. My palms know the shape of his chest. My knees know where to settle beside his hips.
I reach between us and guide him in. The first press of Cole inside me makes me inhale sharply, already anticipating the rest, and then I sink down.
Slow. The familiar stretch. The fullness I know.
I take him completely, and his hands grip my hips while his head tips back, the sound he makes barely there, a held breath finally breaking free.
“Okay,” I breathe. “I’m okay.”
I lean forward until my chest presses against his and my face tucks into his neck, the angle changing to give Dante access. Cole’s arms come around me, keeping me steady. His heartbeat pounds against mine.
Dante settles behind me. I feel his hand on my lower back, a sure, steady press. Then the head of his cock, slick and warm, the condom and lube easing the way, presses against the place his fingers took their time preparing.
“Look at me,” Cole says. His hand comes to my jaw and turns my face to his. “I’ve got you.”
I look at him. Blue eyes. Steady. Sure.
“Dante,” I say. “Now.”
He pushes in.
The first inch changes everything.
The stretch is enormous. Overwhelming. Before I can stop it, my body locks, every muscle clamping down, and both of them stop. Instantly. Completely. Three bodies suspended, waiting for me to decide.
“Breathe,” Cole says, his hand warm on my face and his eyes holding mine. “Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”
I breathe. Four counts in. The stretch is intense, the fullness of two men inside me at once, Cole beneath me and Dante pressing in from behind, pressure against every wall.
Four counts held. My muscles ease by degrees.
The stretch shifts from too much to full, so full I can barely think through it.
Full of Cole beneath me, steady and warm.
Full of Dante behind me, focused and precise, the first ridges of his piercings pressing in with him, making the fullness sharper, stranger, impossible to ignore.
Full enough that my nails press into Cole’s shoulder and Dante’s hand stays flat against my back.
“More,” I whisper. “Keep going.”
Dante pushes deeper. Another inch. Another.
Each barbell drags in measured, torturous increments, a line of pressure my body feels one ridge at a time.
The pressure builds, and Cole is inside me too, both of them separated by the thinnest part of me.
The awareness that they can feel each other through me, that Dante’s piercings are pressing between all three of us, drags a sound out of my mouth that starts as a moan and breaks into something too close to a sob.
“Maya—” Dante’s voice is strained. Shaking. His control fracturing against my back. “Are you—”
“Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. I need this. I need both of you.”