24. Elle #2
The back of my head drops on Stan’s shoulder.
Sterling’s mouth traces a line down my chest, heat pressed into every slow kiss.
I’m breathless and boneless and wanting.
The desire burns, singeing into the very essence of me.
I can’t think. I don’t want to. Not when the memories keep clawing up.
Not when I’m not ready to face them yet.
Not now. Not when I’m between these two.
Stan holds my hand and gently moves it to his chest, right where the skin is still raised. The tattoo. That E. I trace it. My fingers shake. He groans and presses his mouth to my shoulder.
“That’s where you are, Elle,” he whispers. “Right under my skin.”
My heart stutters, but before I can react, Sterling’s mouth is on my stomach. His hands slide under me, lifting me slightly. Then he lays me down on the rug, cushioned by Stan behind me, both of us facing Sterling.
Sterling’s hands skim my thighs. His lips press a kiss below my navel.
He slowly goes lower and lower, leaving a warm trail of tender kisses down my body.
Stan cradles me from behind, arms wrapped tight around my waist. His hands drift to my breasts, the tips of his fingers teasing. I moan, lost between them.
“I can’t think…” I whisper, overwhelmed by everything. From too much heat, too many hands. Their breath, their voices, everything they’re giving me.
“Don’t think,” Sterling says. His mouth is between my thighs now, breathing warmth against my bare center.
“Just feel,” Stan adds, sliding beside me. The second he does, his lips find mine.
Their hands roam. Touch after touch. Mouths mapping opposite ends of me.
Sterling’s lapping at me, slow and warm, his tongue circling with care that only drives my pleasure. His finger glides in, stretching me. Preparing me for him.
Yes. For him. I want him. I want both of them. Again.
The pressure builds and I arch back with a gasp. Their names tumble out before I can stop them. “Sterling—Stan—”
I can’t say anything else. Everything burns. Yet it’s still not enough. I feel the heat of Sterling’s breath against my folds. More of his fingers seek entrance. I nod and moan, practically begging for more of him.
Stan’s palm coasts up my side. He picks up the flannel on the floor, winding it around my wrists. He’s restraining my arms behind my back. My skin tingles where their hands and lips have been, and ache where they haven’t touched yet.
They move me. In the next moment, I’m on my knees.
Sterling kisses my cheek, slow and sweet, working his way to my mouth.
Stan’s behind me, his chest warm against my back, his breath hot at my ear.
“I could get used to this view,” Stan mutters.
His hand slides along the dip of my spine, going lower.
“Think we broke the couch in last night, but this floor’s got potential. ”
Sterling shoots him a look.
“Touchy,” Stan teases, but that’s all he says. His hands say the rest.
Their fingers trail along my inner thighs. Two different touches. Sterling’s more purposeful and precise. Stan’s more curious and casual. Together, they leave me gasping and trembling.
Sterling slips down until he’s under me. His mouth brushes mine again. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, low and deep.
“Feels like I’m on fire,” I whisper.
“Perfect,” Stan says, voice thick, punctuated by the sharp sound of his palm smacking my bottom. “Means we’re doing this right.”
Sterling rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. My body’s between them, strung tight from their warm kisses and heated touches. Sterling guides me downward, easing me onto him, and I feel how ready he is. His length’s hard and leaking. Or the wetness might be all me.
Stan grabs my hair, gently pulling, exposing my neck for Sterling to kiss. I can’t stop moaning.
“I love watching you like this, Elle,” Stan says, close to my ear.
“Then watch,” Sterling growls.
He slowly leads my hips down. I sink onto him, inch by inch. The stretch steals the air from my lungs. Seconds later, Sterling stays still. He waits for me. My cheeks warm at the thought. It takes a moment, but when I start to rock my hips, needing more, his hands grip my hips.
Against my back, Stan sighs. “I hate you a little right now, Silver.”
Sterling’s smirk is subtle. “Good.”
Stan’s hands are on me again. My breasts. My sides. My hips. I’m surrounded, filled, and consumed. I don’t think I’ll survive this. Not the way I did last night. Not without the blindfold. Because now, I see him. Sterling under me, staring back. And it utterly ruins me.
He’s everything. My entire world. His immaculate body moving with mine. His shaft thick and perfect inside me. His face tilts up, more beautiful when it catches the firelight that it aches to look at him. His heavy-lidded eyes alone make me forget how to breathe.
He thrusts faster. I cry out. Stan captures my chin, turning my head to the side to catch my cries in a kiss.
His mouth is hungry against mine as he rocks his hips forward on my back.
His thick shaft grinds between my cheeks.
Not inside, but almost. His teasing pressure on my other entrance is enough to make my spine seize.
“God, you’re both—” I try. But I can’t say more. I’m too full, too overwhelmed. The pleasure builds and builds, fast and dizzying.
“I know,” Stan murmurs, kissing along my throat. His breath is unsteady. “I know, babe. Just feel it. Let go for us.”
Sterling’s hand finds mine, his fingers lacing gently through.
His touch lights fireworks behind my eyes as they roll back, fluttering closed.
When I reach my peak, their names spill from my lips like prayers too filthy to say out loud.
But they’re out in the open air that thickens between us, tangy with the smell of our sweat.
I collapse on top of Sterling’s chest, boneless and trembling. Stan groans against my back. “Fuck,” he mutters. “That’s not even fair.”
Sterling doesn’t answer. He simply holds me, still inside me, his breath as uneven as mine.
Time slips. I don’t know how long we stay like that, in this quiet, all tangled and dazed. But eventually, my body settles. The tremors ease. I start to feel the room again.
Then Sterling moves, slowly lifting me into his arms. Stan slips the flannel loose from my wrists. Sterling carries me, heading toward the bed.
Stan stands with a lazy grin. “Let me know if you need a warm-up round later, Elle,” he calls out, flopping back onto the couch. “That way, we can all finish like last night. Or I might actually die from blue balls.”
Sterling doesn’t answer. Neither do I. But I smile, amused.
Heart full, even when I’m sore. Sterling lays me down onto the bed, brushing the hair from my face.
Then, quietly, he reaches for the scarf.
The one we left on the bedside table. The one that covered my eyes.
But this time, he doesn’t lift it to blind me. He lifts it to take it away.
The blindfold’s gone. The fire’s dimmed. But the way Sterling looks at me…it lights everything up inside me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, still unable to say the words I truly want to.
Sterling says nothing, drawing the silence between us out. But the way he looks at me, the way his eyes soften…he cools the heat inside me. When I close my eyes, I can’t stop smiling, feeling safe, cared for, and claimed by the man I cherish with all my heart.
***
I blink awake to quiet. The fire has burned low. The cabin doesn’t creak with footsteps or echo with the sound of Stan’s voice filling the silence. Everything is still.
Sterling sits on a chair beside the bed, exactly where I knew he would be. Shoulders tense. Head bowed like he’s listening to my breathing. I can’t tell if he’s asleep or just caught in thought. He doesn’t move, still as a sentinel.
I lift a hand, reaching for him. “Sterling.”
His body tenses. His eyes lift. They meet mine, stormy and stoic, but they always settle something inside me. A sort of calmness only he could ever give me.
“Did you get some rest?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he says.
But I can hear the slight wear in his voice. The exhaustion behind his stillness. The ache hiding in plain sight. “You’re not.” I scoot back to make room. “Come here.”
He stays where he is.
“Sterling,” I say again. “Please.”
For a moment, he only watches me. Then, slowly, he rises to his feet and sits down beside me.
The mattress dips with his weight. I pull him in before he can change his mind.
He’s so warm and solid, but also so tense.
In case he might change his mind, I press closer.
I wind my legs around his and place my palm against his chest, where his heart pounds fast and hard under my touch.
“Elle,” he says, voice catching on my name. It sounds somewhere between a warning and a plea.
I lift my face to his, brushing my lips against his jaw. “Stay with me.”
He dips his head down and his lips find mine, slow and soft.
He kisses me like he’s afraid to want too much.
But I’ve already wanted too much. I keep wanting more and more, as long as it means being right by Sterling’s side.
It’s all I want to do. I can’t imagine being far from him, even if it’s a few feet away. I’ll follow him, wherever he goes.
I deepen the kiss. His hand traces the side of my thigh. My body arches into him. But then his mouth breaks from mine.
“You feel—” he begins, voice low and rough.
But I never hear the rest. The bedroom door swings open. We both freeze.
Sterling lifts his head, glowering at the open door. I turn toward the sound, even though I already know who’s standing there.
Stan. Shirtless. Loose pants. Wild hair. He leans against the doorframe. He smiles, laced with mischief. “Don’t mind me,” he says. “Just passing through.”
Sterling’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak.
Stan raises a brow. “You do realize these walls are paper-thin, right?”