17. Cruz #3
The image those words elicit has me shifting closer to them so she can bring it to life.
My dick throbs at the sight of her struggling to obey.
The first swipe of her tongue over my abs has her moaning and Dante’s grip tightens on her hips as he slams into her harder and deeper making it almost impossible for her to get a full lick of the cum painting my skin.
“No coming until you clean up every last drop.” His hips drive into her again, and he shifts his hands to band over the front of each of her thighs leaving her limited options to reach her goal.
“Cruz.” Dante almost grunts, “I didn’t say it was only the one ejaculation she would need to clean up. Feel free to add to it. She doesn’t cum until the goal is met.”
Dakota whimpers out a desperate groan, waking my dick right up. I take my growing length in one hand and Eli’s in the other, stroking us furiously to add a second mess to my abs for her to clean up like a good girl.
“Sorry sweetheart, you’re gonna be licking for a little while still. I have to admit I’m loving this game.”
Dante eased up a little, grinding into her deeply as I worked my cock and Eli, his until just before we came again.
This time making a slightly bigger mess than the first time.
Watching her struggle was fucking devine, even more so when I told Eli to up the ante by rubbing her clit without mercy to see just how hard she would fight to obey.
When she finally comes apart it was on a sob with a high, broken sound, her body wracking against Dante’s chest. He grunts, grinding so deep inside her that when his jaw clenches I could swear I hear something pop.
He continues his punishing pace through her orgasm, then empties into her, his grip on her thighs unforgiving through every last pulse.
For a long beat, the four of us just breathe.
Then Dante kisses the side of her neck, carefully easing out of her. She whimpers, whether from loss or relief there is no way to be sure, maybe both. He guides her, soft as anything, down onto her hands and knees beside me and Eli.
“Stay just like that, baby.”
She nods, face turned to the rug, ass in the air, his cum already starting to slip down her inner thigh.
Dante meets Eli’s gaze over the top of her back.
“Daddy.”
Eli lifts his head from my collarbone. His eyes are heavy, fucked-out, but they sharpen at the tone.
“Yeah.”
“Come here.” Dante tips his chin toward Dakota. “Clean her up.”
For a second Eli doesn’t move. Then his eyes go dark and he’s sliding off me, leaving cooling stripes across my stomach, crawling on his hands and knees to where Dakota is bent and waiting.
“Daddy,” she whispers into the rug.
“I got you, princess.”
He bends to her. I prop myself up on my elbows because I’m not missing this, not for anything. His mouth meets her, and his groan when he tastes Dante on her is the filthiest sound I have ever heard a forty-year-old man make.
She moans, broken. Her hands fist in the rug.
Eli eats her like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. Like Dante’s cum on his tongue is something he’s been afraid to want until now. His big hands grip her hips, hold her steady, and his green eyes flick up to find Dante’s while he works.
Dante watches, palm flat on his own chest, breathing hard.
“That’s it, Coach. Good. So fucking good.”
She comes again, smaller this time, a tremor that runs the length of her spine, and Eli works her through it gently, only lifting his face when she’s gone limp.
His mouth is wet. His chin is wet. He looks at me, at Dante, at Dakota’s flushed face turned sideways on the rug, and he looks more himself than I have ever seen him.
I sit up. “Come here. All of you.”
We collapse into a loose tangle in the middle of the rug.
Dakota in the center because she always ends up in the center, Dante curled behind her, me half on top of Eli, Eli’s arm around all of us somehow.
I lean across her and kiss Dante first. Then I turn and kiss Eli, deeper, longer, tasting Dakota on him too. He shudders into it.
Dakota lifts her head and kisses me, then turns and kisses Dante, then Eli.
We end up in a knot of mouths, all four of us, lips and tongues and breath, no one in charge, no one keeping count.
Her hand on my jaw. Eli’s hand on the back of my neck.
Dante’s fingers threading through Dakota’s hair.
A four-mouth kiss, slow and filthy and tender all at once.
When we finally break apart, we’re laughing. Quietly. The way you laugh when you can’t believe what just happened to you.
Dakota lays her head on Eli’s chest. Strokes my arm. Reaches behind her to find Dante’s hand and pull it over her ribs.
“I can’t wait,” she says, into the quiet, “to add Brady to this.”
Eli makes a sound that’s half a groan, half a laugh. Dante’s fingers tighten on her ribs.
I close my eyes and press my forehead to her shoulder.
“Friday,” I murmur.
“Friday,” she echoes.
Four of us on Dante’s rug, tangled and breathing in time, with a fifth-shaped space already waiting in the middle of us.