Chapter 3
Wilson
The apartment above Vice glitter creeping down his cheekbones to his throat and across his collarbones, each fleck catching the lamp’s glow.
He’s lean, every line of his body so beautiful I ache to trace it with my fingertips.
An earring swings from his left ear when he tosses his hair back, the grin he gives me equal parts challenge and invitation.
I reach to adjust my collar, but Lorenzo catches my wrist. “Leave it,” he murmurs. “Show me what you’re hiding when you’re ready. Not before.”
Something in my chest cracks just enough for the breath I’ve been holding to spill out. I nod, unable to form words, suddenly wondering if this was a bad idea. Lorenzo releases my wrist and drags his thumb slowly across my pulse point, making my cock pulse against my zipper.
“What do you like?” he asks, his voice steady. He moves to stand completely in front of me, waiting for my response.
“I told you I don’t want to lead.”
“That’s what you don’t want. I’m asking what you do.”
What do I like? I once kept a catalog so long it would make most people blush, years of eager exploration with an Alpha who encouraged every filthy curiosity until he weaponized them.
I loved being held down. Being told what to do in a voice that left no room for argument.
The deep knot in my ass, the stretch and fullness, the way the world shrank to nothing but the body inside mine and the hands keeping me still.
Sebastian twisted my desires into a leash, yanking it tight whenever I tried to pull away. He gave me exactly what I craved and then punished me for craving it until I couldn’t tell pleasure from compliance.
“I like being told what to do,” I rasp, my voice rough. “I like giving up control to someone who’ll be careful with it.” I have no idea why I’m telling them but maybe I’m so desperate to feel something that giving this part of me doesn’t bother me anymore.
Lorenzo’s face stays calm as he processes my words without revealing a flicker of reaction. Then he steps forward, cups the back of my skull, and tilts my chin up so I’m looking straight into his eyes.
“I will be careful with you,” he promises. “And you’ll tell me if I’m not.”
Oliver makes a sound from the bed, a mixture of a half whine, half moan. I glance over to see him propped against the headboard, pants undone, palming himself through his briefs, lower lip caught between his teeth. His scent thickens through the air, sweet enough to make my mouth water.
“Fuck, you two are hot together,” Oliver breathes. “Lorenzo, if you don’t put him on this bed in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to lose my mind.”
I watch Lorenzo’s mouth twitch. “Patience.”
“I don’t have any. You know this about me.”
He looks back at me, his thumb tracing the base of my skull in a slow, soothing stroke. “Get on the bed, uh….”
“Wilson,” I offer.
Hearing my name like that does something to me I’m not prepared for.
My feet carry me forward before I can think, the mattress dipping as I climb onto it.
Oliver’s hands land on me immediately, pulling at my shirt, running up my arms, his fingers skimming across my chest with a greed that should feel invasive but instead feels like discovery.
When he tugs my shirt hem up, I seize his wrists.
“No.”
His eyes flick over my face for a beat. “Okay. Shirt stays. I can work around that.” His grin returns, his hands shifting south, hooking into my waistband. “Everything else is coming off, though.”
He strips me with an efficiency that borders on violence. My pants and briefs thud to the floor in a tangled heap that he kicks off the edge of the bed without looking. My cock springs free, already hard and leaking, the sound the Omega makes when he sees it shooting a jolt through me.
“Lorenzo. Lorenzo, look at him.”
“I’m looking.” He stands at the foot of the bed, his gaze sliding down from my face to the hand Oliver is wrapping around my length, stroking a few times as his thumb drags through the recumat the tip. “Oliver, slow down.”
“Make me.”
In two steps Lorenzo’s at the bedside and his hand clamps around the back of Oliver’s neck with such force that Oliver’s eyes flutter shut while his other hand stays wrapped around me.
The Omega’s scent floods the room so hard my vision blurs, sweetness radiating off him in waves that make every muscle in my body clench.
“When I tell you to slow down,” Lorenzo growls, his voice dropping lower and vibrating against the base of my spine, “you slow down. Understood?”
Oliver whimpers. His grip loosens but doesn’t let go, his fingers trembling around me. “Yes, Zo.”
“Good.” Lorenzo releases Oliver’s neck and turns his attention back to me. “Lie back.”
I comply, my attention focusing on the ceiling as my body settles into the sudden vulnerability of being on my back, exposed, hard, and with two men I met less than an hour ago hovering over me. My hands ball into fists in the sheets beside my hips.
Lorenzo’s fingers circle around my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head.
Cold metal and smoke hit me suddenly, and I’m somewhere else. Sebastian’s bedroom—the sheets that smelled like ash, his hand gripping both my wrists as he forced my legs apart with his knee, telling me I was going to take what he gave me whether I wanted it or not—
“Wilson.”
The voice isn’t Sebastian’s. This one is lower, wrapped in a warmth Sebastian never carried.
I refocus on Lorenzo’s face hovering above me.
His brow is creased, his hands still on my wrists but softened, ready to let go.
His thumbs rub tiny circles against the insides of my wrists in a soothing rhythm I only just realize.
“Stay with me,” he says, voice low. “Where did you go?”
“I’m here,” I rasp.
“Do you want me to let go?”
Every instinct I built over three years with Sebastian screams yes. Vulnerability is a trap; submission is a one-way door, and on the other side waits a man who will make you regret ever offering your throat.
I feel Lorenzo’s thumbs shifting against my wrists as Oliver’s hand rests on my thigh. “No,” I whisper. “Don’t let go.”
Lorenzo holds my gaze for a long beat. Whatever he sees there satisfies him, his grip tightening slightly, fingers pressing my wrists into the mattress with a controlled pressure nothing like Sebastian’s. Sebastian held me down because he could. Lorenzo holds me down because I asked him to.
That difference cracks something open in my chest, and I arch up off the bed before I can stop myself, a groan tearing past my teeth.
“There he is,” Oliver murmurs and then his mouth slides down on my cock.
I nearly come off the mattress. Oliver takes me deep in one smooth motion, his throat working me over, hands braced on my hips to hold me down while Lorenzo keeps my wrists pinned above my head.
It’s too much and not enough as Oliver’s moan of pure greedy satisfaction vibrates through my cock, telling me he isn’t doing this just for me.
He’s taking what he wants. His head bobs up and down, tongue tracing patterns that make my vision white out at the edges.
“Don’t come yet,” Lorenzo orders, the command sinking into my bones like a key turning in a lock. My body obeys before my brain catches up, the orgasm building at the base of my spine receding like a tide.
Oliver pulls off with a wet pop and grins up at me, lips swollen, chin slick with a mixture of spit and precum. “I want him inside me.”
“Then get yourself ready, baby.”
Oliver scrambles for the bedside table. Lorenzo leans down, mouth hovering over mine.
“You’re doing so well,” he breathes, praise landing behind my sternum somewhere I thought Sebastian had cauterized.
Lorenzo presses his lips to mine, tasting like honey and control.
He doesn’t release my wrists, and I don’t want him to.
I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring the parts of me that can’t speak into the press of my mouth against his.
When he pulls back, Oliver is already kneeling beside us, slick on his fingers, cock hard against his belly. He throws a leg over my hips and drops onto me in one devastating motion that punches the air from my lungs.
“Oh fuck,” I choke out as Oliver cackles, his hands planting themselves on my chest as he rolls his hips.
Nothing about Oliver is passive. He rides me like he’s pulling me apart from the inside, thighs flexing, head thrown back, every sound loud enough to reach the club below.
He takes everything I give and demands more, clenching around me until I’m seeing stars, nails leaving crescents in my chest through my shirt.
Lorenzo’s hand moves from my wrists to the back of Oliver’s neck, squeezing once, and Oliver comes so hard his whole body locks up, his cock pulsing untouched between us, ropes of it landing across my shirt and my chin.
The clench of him around me drags my orgasm out of me like it was pulled by force, my hips stuttering up into him as I come with a groan that scrapes my throat raw.
Oliver collapses forward onto my chest, panting, his forehead pressed against my collarbone. Lorenzo’s hand moves from Oliver’s neck to my hair, his fingers sliding through the curls, and I realize with a distant kind of horror that my eyes are stinging with unshed tears.
Fuck.
Lorenzo takes care of the cleanup, a warm cloth appearing from somewhere, Oliver rolling off me with a satisfied groan while Lorenzo wipes us down.
Nobody asks me how I’m feeling. Nobody tries to talk about what just happened.
Lorenzo doesn’t even ask as he produces a clean shirt, both him and Oliver twisting around as I change into it, the new collar coming up just high enough to cover my scars.
Oliver just tucks himself against my left side with his face pressed into my neck and Lorenzo settles on my right, one arm draped across my waist.
My hand drifts up to the scar on my neck.
The cotton of my collar is damp with sweat, the raised skin underneath a permanent record of a bond that nearly killed me.
I trace the edge of it with my fingertip while Oliver’s breathing evens out against my throat, Lorenzo’s thumb making slow passes across my hip bone.
Something is missing from this. The thought surfaces before I can stop it and I resent it immediately because nothing should be missing. Two beautiful people just took me apart and put me back together with more care than I’ve been shown in years.
“Rest, sweetheart. You don’t need to figure out anything tonight.”
I open my mouth to protest, Oliver scooting closer on my side. “If we’re going to be talking, we’re fucking again. Maybe Lorenzo can fuck you? I want to watch that.” His words trail off into a snore and I’m instantly jealous of his ability to pass out like that.
Lorenzo purrs against my cheek. “We’ve got you, Wilson. Promise.”
Something about those words feels like they encompass more than just tonight but I refuse to read into it.