Chapter 27 Nina
Nina
I’d meant to steer us toward the bedroom.
Say something measured. Something rational.
But Chris’s thumbs brush against my nipples and all thought flees my mind in favor of their touch.
Wyatt doesn’t disappoint, teasing his lips along the juncture of my throat, pushing the thin strap of my camisole off one shoulder.
He leaves a trail of kisses along the skin as he slides his hands down my sides, hooking fingertips in the elastic of my pajama pants.
It doesn’t feel like the first time. A new gravity pulls at all of us now.
Chris traces his thumbs around both hard buds like he already knows the rhythm of my body’s response.
Wyatt presses his palm to my low back, fingers slipping lower into my panties, grazing the sensitive area just above my ass.
I tilt toward his touch, aching for more.
The desperation from before has shifted into something steadier, surer.
No aftershocks of guilt or the unspoken dare of who will be the first to walk away.
Just heat. Familiarity. The ache of everything we didn’t let ourselves want until now.
That’s when I notice the dried grass stuck to Chris’s shoulder. I reach up and pluck it free, then spot a smudge of dirt across his jaw.
“Wait,” I laugh, breathless. “You two are filthy.” I hold up the blade of grass as evidence. “Rolling around in my yard like teenagers.”
Wyatt’s hand stills on my hip. “Worth it,” he says simply, voice rough.
“I’m all for getting dirty,” I say, brushing at the smudge on Chris’s face, my gaze registering caked dirt on the side of his neck, “but maybe we could start clean? You know, set a baseline before we wreck it completely.”
Chris catches my wrist, his blue eyes darkening with intent. “I have a better idea.”
Before I can ask what he means, he bends his knees and slides one arm under my legs, the other bracing behind my back.
I loop my arms around his neck on instinct, a quiet inhale the only thing betraying my surprise.
He doesn’t pause. Just turns and carries me out of the kitchen as if this was always the plan.
As if he already knows Chris’s intention, Wyatt leads the way down the hall, glancing through doorways.
The master bedroom’s already open, soft light spilling from the bedside lamp.
My book is right where I left it—face-down across the comforter.
Wyatt nods toward the doorway just beyond the bed. “Here.” Then disappears inside.
Chris crosses the threshold and doesn’t stop. He walks straight through to the bathroom, steam already beginning to gather as Wyatt twists the hot water on.
Chris lowers me gently onto the tile, then reaches for the hem of my camisole. I lift my arms without speaking, and he draws it over my head. His touch never falters, but it’s not rushed either. Just patient. Steady. Focused.
Wyatt steps behind me, warm and close, and presses a kiss just behind my ear. He slides his hand between my shoulder blades and lets it trail lower, palms broad and confident as he pushes my pajama pants down over my hips.
“You still good?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say. Then, dryly, “But if your pants stay on, I’m calling bullshit.”
Chris lets out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Was waiting for the order.”
Wyatt glances over, his mouth twitching. “She didn’t say we couldn’t fuck each other.”
That earns a startled snort from me. The tightness in my chest cracks open a little, and the heat rushes in behind it. They shed their own clothes without fanfare. There’s no pretense here. No edge to balance on. Just the three of us, stripped down past shame.
The heat of the shower hits like a wave when I step in.
I suck in a breath but don’t pull back, letting it pour over me.
Chris steps in at my side and begins to lather the soap, his hands methodical as he quickly soaps his shoulders, arms, and torso, and rinses.
He wasn’t that dirty, and probably could’ve gotten by with just washing his hands and face.
But I’m not upset about it when he lathers up again, then reaches for me.
He slides soapy hands down my arms, along my back.
He’s thorough, but doesn’t linger. Just covers every inch of me like he’s icing a cake he fully intends to devour when he’s done.
Wyatt pulls the glass door shut behind him, sealing the three of us inside the oversized walk-in, and takes the tube of body wash Chris holds out.
Once he’s done ridding himself of any trace of dirt, he curls an arm around my waist and presses his mouth to the side of my throat.
His breath comes shallow as he traces the edge of my jaw.
His other hand finds my hip, steadying me when I start to sway.
His cock is hard and hot and wet against my back, nestled just above the crease of my ass.
Despite our height difference we’ve always felt like we fit just right together and now is no different.
But now Chris is filling the space in front of me, even taller and broader than Wyatt, and I have a hard time imagining a life without either of them in it.
Chris closes the distance, soapy hands cupping my face as he bends and kisses me beneath the shower’s steady spray. I swallow every wet kiss, hungry for the next, nerves sparking with every point of contact between us.
Being sandwiched between them both like this, their hard lengths pressed tight to my body, incites an even deeper ache than the cramps I dealt with last week. So when Chris slides his hand between my thighs I almost moan in gratitude.
The stroke of his thumb over my clit is immediate and unflinching, his fingers parting me just enough to find the small bundle. His hand is free from soap but I’m slick enough from need. He doesn’t venture deeper, but I don’t need penetration to lose myself right now.
My head tips back against Wyatt’s shoulder. He coasts lathered hands over my breasts, hefting them gently while teasing my nipples. The sensation fractures something loose inside me. I groan—half involuntary, half relief at finally finding release from the pent-up need for simple touch.
Chris keeps teasing, his fingers slick from my arousal, his pressure precise, unrelenting, and knee-weakening. Wyatt begins lightly pinching my nipples, his solid form my only means of support. He dips his mouth to my ear.
“Is this good? Do you need more?”
I can’t find the words to reply. I’m close already. There’s nothing left but sensation—heat and steam and the overwhelming sense of being completely held, completely undone.
“Don’t stop,” I finally manage. “Please—just—don’t stop.”
They don’t.
The orgasm hits like a snap. My thighs go rigid, my hand flying out to catch the wall.
I don’t find purchase, but I don’t need to.
They both have me bracketed tight between them.
Wyatt’s arms are curled around my torso beneath my breasts, while Chris cups my cheek with his free hand, the fingers of his other hand shattering me completely.
Wyatt murmurs something against my skin I can’t make out.
Through the haze of pleasure and steam billowing around us I stare up into Chris’s haunted blue eyes.
Just as my orgasm reaches its pinnacle, Chris captures my mouth with his, and I can taste more than hear the words he murmurs into the kiss.
“I fucking love you.”
They hold me through the waves, Chris drawing my climax out of me with deft strokes that make it last. And by the end of it the only shame I feel anymore is that I haven’t made them come too.
Once clarity returns, I come back to myself with Chris’s forehead pressed to mine, his eyes shut tight and his breathing ragged. Wyatt has me in a vice grip, and seems equally breathless, a detail I’d been oblivious to for the last few moments. I extract myself carefully and reach for the soap.
They both looked dazed, and if not for their equally enormous erections, I might assume they’d both already enjoyed orgasms as delicious as the one they just gave me.
“You should see yourselves right now,” I joke, lathering a healthy amount of soap between my hands. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you wound so tight.”
Wyatt tosses me an uncharacteristically heated look.
He’s usually so buttoned down, never one to reveal that he has needs of his own.
It’s refreshing to see his careful restraint slip, and especially to know that I’ve done this to him.
I reach for him first, one soapy hand coasting lightly down the underside of his cock.
He shudders and his mouth drops open. I wrap my fingers around the base of his shaft and stroke upward, watching him unravel by increments.
Then I reach for Chris and he eagerly tilts into my grasp, stepping close enough that his hip presses to my side. He just stares down at my hands, pumping both of them slowly, his breathing in ragged harmony with Wyatt’s rapid breaths.
Wyatt steps closer too, until their cocks are both aligned right in front of me and I don’t need to reach to pleasure them.
I squeeze them both tighter, my back blocking the spray that would carry away the soapy suds that lubricate my grip.
They each hook an arm around my waist, steadying themselves on me this time.
The power I feel dashes away every last shred of uncertainty and doubt about whether my need, my love, for these two men had any foundation in reality.
I want them to shatter for me every bit as much as I came apart for them.
And I want us all to fall into bed together and wake up together.
I want us to have a life together, no matter what that looks like. No matter what anyone else thinks.
I’m grateful for the wetness on my face that hopefully disguises the tears that have started to fall.
Even in the midst of passion I’m overwhelmed by the closeness I feel with them, and it’s only magnified when Wyatt reaches for Chris, hooking a hand at the back of his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss.
I stroke faster, biting my lip against a fresh surge of arousal at watching them together, at how their kiss is rough and needy and almost violent, at how their hips both begin to buck into my grip, surging to meet each stroke.
Chris is first to let out a grunt and a groan that reverberates inside the shower.
He breaks the kiss and clutches a hand at the back of Wyatt’s neck.
Their foreheads are pressed together and they both stare feverishly at my hands moving up and down their shafts.
Chris’s cock jerks in my grip and he gasps and his head flies back as his climax hits, hot semen shooting up and over my grip to splash against Wyatt’s wet belly.
Wyatt lets out an incoherent curse as he flies over next, the first couple spurts of his cum landing on my breasts and the rest flooding over my fist.
They remain hard and panting for a few more moments, and I keep a loose grip on them both, waiting.
“Jesus,” Chris finally breathes. “I fucking needed that.” He gives me an elated smile, then bends and kisses me.
“I fucking needed you, Nina,” he says when he pulls back.
They slip out of my grasp when he turns and hauls me into his arms, lifting me up heedless of the mess, the water splashing down around us.
He holds me tight, still panting, then kisses me hard.
They wash each other and me more efficiently after that, the mood lighter than it’s been all night.
When they step out I stay back. I tell them I need more time to finish washing and conditioning my hair, which isn’t a lie.
But I also just want a moment alone to process everything that’s happened tonight.
They’re relaxed and quiet when I step into the bedroom again. Both still with towels wrapped around their waists. Chris is seated on the armchair by the patio doors, Wyatt is reclining against the pillows on my bed. Both men are looking at their phones, which figures.
It isn’t until I climb onto the bed that I notice Wyatt’s not actually looking at his phone, but has picked up my book and started reading the back cover.
“Circe?” he asks, glancing up with raised eyebrows. “Mythology?”
“Madeline Miller,” I say, settling beside him. He tucks one arm around my back. “It’s about a woman who refuses to be what everyone expects her to be. Who chooses transformation on her own terms.”
Chris looks up from his phone. “Sounds familiar.”
He sets his phone aside and joins us on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
The three of us settle into a comfortable quiet, Wyatt still holding the book, Chris’s hand finding mine. The moment settles into peace. No urgency, no desperate need to fill the silence.
But the contentment only highlights what’s been nagging at me since we left the shower.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “About the limitations tonight. I know it’s not... complete.”
Both men go still. Chris’s thumb stops its gentle circles on my palm. Wyatt sets the book aside.
“What do you mean?” Chris asks, his voice careful.
Heat creeps up my neck. “I mean not being able to have actual intercourse. I know that’s probably what you both wanted, and the restriction is only temporary anyway. I’m having surgery in two days to remove my fallopian tubes, so after I recover we won’t need to worry about protection or… s”
I trail off, suddenly aware that both men are staring at me with expressions I can’t quite read.
Did I just make this about logistics when it should be about connection? Did I reduce what we just shared to a checklist of sexual acts?
The silence stretches, and my stomach clenches with the familiar weight of having said too much, too fast, in the wrong way.