Chapter Twenty #2
Max snorts softly, reaching for my glass without asking. She takes a sip and shakes her head as she puts the glass down, sticking her tongue out. “Tastes like a campfire.”
She tucks one leg under her and pulls the hem of the shirt down and I can’t stop obsessively staring at her thighs. I wonder if she has any underwear on.
“Did you go for a walk?” she asks Wyatt.
“Yeah.” He pats his ribs—lightly. “Getting better I think. Moving is more comfortable.”
She narrows her eyes skeptically. “You lyin’ to me?”
He laughs. “No, ma’am.”
I get up and go to the kitchen and open a bottle of wine, a 2019 Pinot Noir, something Max will like, and bring it into the living room with three glasses.
“Might as well,” I say as I pour out the wine. “We’ve got nothing to do but wait.”
“What were you two talking about?” Max asks, taking the proffered glass from my hand.
“Us,” Wyatt answers.
She makes a face. “Helpful.”
Wyatt chuckles under his breath, then sobers. His eyes slide to mine, a quick check-in, before he looks back at her. “We were talking about Hellbent Night.”
“Oh,” she says softly. Her tongue presses lightly to her bottom lip, thoughtful. “So what were you saying about it?”
A pause. I can feel Wyatt waiting for me to take the lead. I can also feel the part of me that wants to grab her by the back of the shirt and haul her into my lap. I don’t say anything.
“We were talking about how it felt,” Wyatt says finally. “And what it means.”
“Okay,” she says. “And…what did you decide?”
I set my glass down on the table. “We didn’t decide anything,” I say. “We were checking in to make sure we were both okay with everything, but when it comes to moving forward, what any of that means, that’s up to you. We’ll just follow your lead.”
Max’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh.”
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and the hem of that shirt rides up a fraction. I see skin. Thigh. My brain goes blank.
“So,” says Wyatt, “I guess the question now is…how do you feel about it?”
Max’s eyes flick between us. Her mouth twists thoughtfully.
“That night,” she says carefully, “felt like…really being seen. Being accepted. Being loved…It was…beautiful.”
I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It was beautiful. And it’s a relief to hear her say so.
“I keep thinking,” she continues, lips quirking, “that I’m asking for too much.”
“No, honey.” Wyatt shakes his head. “You absolutely are not.”
We’re silent for a beat, everyone thinking, and then Max breaks the silence.
“So, then, do we…” She looks at me. “Do it again? Or…?”
Whew. Heat licks up my spine at that one. I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to Wyatt. Luckily he answers her, because I don’t think I can.
“That’s sort of what we were talking about,” he says. He looks at me. “I was suggesting that, if it’s something we all feel comfortable with, we just let it happen kind of organically, you know? Not overthink it if it feels right.”
Max’s eyes flick my way. I’m aware of the subtext here, that both of them keep checking in with me.
“I was also telling Wyatt that I didn’t have a problem with it—surprisingly. Watching you with them…” I take a deep breath. “It turns me on.”
Her eyebrows lift. “It does?”
“Yes. It’s…basically all I can think about.”
She just looks stunned.
“It doesn’t mean I…I don’t feel some kind of way about you belonging to us. With them, with my brothers…it felt like I could watch you in a safe way. You don’t know how fucking hot it gets me to see you turned on, Max. Jesus.”
She blinks at me. I can seeing heat rising on her cheeks. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I huff, almost in disbelief at how strongly I feel it. “Fucking yes.”
“Huh.” She picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, eyes on the ceiling like she’s thinking it through. “So…if I were to get up right now and go kiss Wyatt, you…wouldn’t be upset?”
Fuck. The idea of her walking over there to kiss him, bending over in only a t-shirt, makes molten lava course through my veins.
“No,” I answer, with feigned coolness. “It would not.”
Max’s eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, then her mouth curves slowly. “Okay.”
She puts her wine glass down and stands up. Wyatt’s gaze lifts, shoulders subtly squaring, attention sharpening. He leans forward to put his glass down on the coffee table. Big, rough-looking hands. I have the weirdest, most unwelcome thought that I want to see him handle her.
Bare legs. Soft muscle. She takes her time, stands in front of him, and then bends forward slowly, the back of the t-shirt hiking up her ass as she does.
She is not wearing any panties. And the hint of shadow between her legs is enough to make blood rush painfully to my cock.
She settles her hands on his shoulders, his eyes half-close before her mouth touches his, and she kisses him.
From behind, I watch her fingers curl into his shirt as Wyatt’s hands slide up her thighs. His mouth parts under hers and she takes control, tilting her head and pressing in harder. The kiss is sensual and slow and raw. Her hips roll subtly as she melts into him, teasing me.
One of his hands rises over the curve of her ass, dragging the t-shirt higher until it’s bunched at her waist and she’s bare for me, the soft pink slit of her sex revealed.
The wanting in me is almost painful. I want to get up, unzip myself, grab her by the hips and fuck her deep. But I don’t move. I let myself watch. I let myself burn.
“Touch her,” I tell Wyatt, my voice coming out hoarse.
He obeys. He slides his hand between her thighs from the front, those rough, broad fingers finding her with practiced certainty, and her knees flex.
“Lift your ass,” I tell her. “Let me see.”
She obeys, hips tipping, ass lifting higher, making the heat inside of me surge until it’s almost painful.
Wyatt’s fingers move over her clit, teasing, then firmer, and her breath turns ragged, her kiss going messy as she tries to breathe through his touch.
“Fuck, she’s wet,” Wyatt murmurs. “I think she’s going to come if I keep doing this. Are you going to come, honey?” he asks her.
“Maybe,” she breathes.
All I can do is groan. I stand and walk forward so I can get a closer look. Max’s eyes cut to me over her shoulder, bright, heated, and daring. Her hair falls forward. Her cheeks are flushed.
I reach out and lift the hem of the t-shirt higher, holding it so it can’t drop.
“Pretty,” I say, and she shudders.
Wyatt’s hand slides higher, one finger pushing inside of her, and her head drops, forehead almost touching Wyatt’s, breath coming out in a gasp.
“Stop,” I tell him. “Don’t let her come yet.” She whimpers and looks back at me as Wyatt drops his hand, brow worried and furrowed. “She wants you to fuck her, don’t you, baby?”
I stroke a hand over her cheek and push my thumb between her lips. Soft, wet, full lips…Fuck.
“Uh-huh,” Max agrees. “Please,” she whispers.
Wyatt shifts carefully, mindful of his ribs, and rises from the chair, his hand working at his belt. Max stays bent, one hand still on the arm of the chair, ass still lifted, t-shirt still trapped at her waist by my grip.
I watch Wyatt free himself, and then he sits back down on the chair.
I release her t-shirt and Max straddles him, carefully, lining herself up over the frankly impressive column of his erection.
Wyatt’s palms slide up her sides, lifting the t-shirt up and off.
He hands it to me and I throw it on the couch.
He presses the head of his cock against her, and Max’s mouth parts on a silent gasp. A low moan escapes me as Wyatt pushes in.
Max’s sound is sharp and helpless, a yip of surprise and pleasure. Her hands reach over Wyatt’s shoulders for the chair cushion, balancing herself, her fingers clawing into the padding. He fills her slow, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep.
“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head roll back, eyes closed, like he can’t even take how good it feels, and Max starts moving, lifting and lowering her ass as she rides him, her breath coming in broken pulls.
She’s so. fucking. hot. like this I honestly don’t think I can take it. The smooth softness of her naked body, full, firm breasts bouncing as she chases her pleasure. The way her mouth parts, eyes heavy-lidded. The obscenity of Wyatt’s cock pounding into her, and the way it makes her unravel.
“That’s good, baby.” I can’t hold back any longer. I unzip my pants, fumbling for my cock and start stroking.
Touching myself is relief and torture at the same time.
My cock is so hard it aches, pulsing against my grip.
I drag my fist down slowly, then faster, the first slick of precum making it easier.
Watching her—them—is better than anything I could conjure on my own.
Max’s body moving, Wyatt’s hands guiding her hips, the soft, greedy sounds she makes.
It’s like every nerve in my skin is attuned to her.
I watch her face as she rides Wyatt. That soft parted mouth. The way her lashes drop.
She grinds down on Wyatt’s cock, angle shifting so he’s hitting her just right, and her hands slip from the back of the chair to his shoulders, nails digging in. Wyatt meets her thrust for thrust, hips lifting upward, sweat beading on his brow.
She grinds on the downstroke, and Wyatt’s breath catches, his hands clamping harder at her waist, thumbs digging into her flesh.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice breaking. He loses the careful pace for a second, and Max feels it, sinking down harder.
“Don’t move too fast,” I warn her. “Take it slow. Don’t make him come yet.”
She stills slightly with a tiny, guilty shift, restraining herself by force.
Wyatt’s mouth ghosts her shoulder, then her neck. Then he leans his head back against the chair again, his breath coming hard. I watch every detail ravenously.
Her thighs flexing. The flush rising up her neck, the hard points of her nipples. She starts moving faster again, her breathing getting labored, like she really can’t help it. She makes a sound that’s almost a whine.
Wyatt’s voice drops. “Oh God—”