Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sloane
I can’t stop laughing.
Nor can the guys, which is a surprise considering the storm Roman came in here with. But now, he’s not red with rage. He’s standing next to me with an actual spatula in hand, looking like he’s about to set something on fire.
“Hey, Sloane, think this is enough garlic?” he asks, holding up an entire bulb of garlic like it’s a grenade. “I don’t know what a ‘clove’ counts as.”
“I think that’s maybe enough to ward off a vampire apocalypse,” I deadpan. “But sure, go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Roman winks, totally unbothered. “Vampires are so last season.”
Creed is over in the corner, still stirring something with the intensity of a man fighting an invisible dragon. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t smiled in the last hour, but he isn’t complaining about the food.
And he hasn’t mentioned macros once.
“Ezra, you’re not just standing there judging us, are you?” I chuckle.
Ezra raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not judging. I’m just marveling at the culinary disaster that’s about to unfold in real time.”
“Hey!” Roman protests. “This isn’t a disaster. It’s… art.”
I look over at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re calling this art?”
“Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat, holding up his pan. “Look at these crispy, golden edges. You could frame this and put it in a museum.”
I laugh because, okay, he’s right. The pan-fried chicken does look good. Maybe even Instagram worthy.
Not that I’ll be posting a thing. Tonight isn’t for the rest of the world, it’s for us.
Just the way I like it.
After dinner, we find ourselves curled up on the couch, drinks in hand, with the TV flickering in front of us.
The movie’s some romcom that I actually think the guys are enjoying most, even though they ‘put it on for me’.
But I don’t need to watch it much to be having fun when I’m halfway snuggled into the couch, my feet tucked underneath me, with Roman on one side, Creed on the other, and Ezra on the floor beside us.
Heaven.
It gets even better when Roman slings an arm over my shoulder, Creed rests his head on my chest, and Ezra brushes himself against my thighs.
Yeah, I definitely don’t know what’s going on onscreen anymore.
“Hey, Sloane.” I turn to look at Roman, and his lips brush ever so lightly against mine. “You good?”
“Mmm,” I murmur. “So good.”
The kiss grows hungrier, all warmth and heat and the taste of whiskey on his tongue. The kind of kiss that blurs thought and reason until there’s nothing left but want.
When he finally pulls back, my pulse is still racing, my breath tangled somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to need.
Ezra’s hand tightens around my ankle, and when I glance down, he’s watching me with that same quiet intensity that always makes my chest ache.
“Can I?”
It’s barely a sound, but it feels like thunder.
And when I nod, he rises to his knees and presses his lips to mine. It’s different from Roman’s kiss, more sensual. It still leaves me undone.
Creed’s hand slides up my thigh, stopping just above my knee. His touch is firm, grounding me, reminding me I’m still here, still breathing. When I look down, he’s smirking at me with that quiet, dangerous calm of his.
“I don’t know what’s going on with this movie anymore, do you?”
My mind’s blank, caught between three men, all with different wants, different needs, and yet, in this moment, all of them feel like mine.
And I want every fucking part of it.
“I have no idea,” I admit as I lean closer to him.
Creed’s mouth crashes onto mine like wildfire. His lips press hard, tongue demanding, devouring. My heart stutters, then rockets, fluttering butterflies erupting into wild falcons as his kiss shreds the ground beneath my feet.
Before I can steady myself, Roman is at my back. His teeth snag the slippery silk strap of my top and tug. That single, sharp scrape has my knees trembling.
Creed steadies my face with a heavy hand, thumb brushing over my cheekbone, fingers curled beneath my jaw. He tips my head back, claims my lips again in a slower, sensual kiss that both binds and soothes as Roman and Ezra close in.
Warmth pools in my belly. My body arcs against Creed, my mind blank. I’m pinned between three men who want me, and achingly, I want all of them.
Roman’s hands grip me tighter, his thumbs pressing hard against my chest, the fabric of my bra digging into my skin beneath his touch. He’s fire incarnate. Raw, impatient, like he needs something from me, more than just this.
The heat in his touch burns through me, leaving no room for anything but him, no time for hesitation. If he doesn’t have me soon, I’m not sure either of us will be able to keep control.
Ezra pulls back enough to watch, his stormy eyes gleaming, calculating, as if he’s waiting for my resistance to snap so he can savor the moment. My skin tingles at his gaze alone.
Creed dips his head and kisses along my collarbone, each brush of his lips impossibly tender, even as his free hand slides down, palm flattening against the curve of my hip. It’s worship and possession braided together.
“Too many clothes,” Roman rasps near my ear, his breath hot, teeth grazing the hollow at my shoulder. “We need to make that right.”
They pull me to the floor as Ezra eagerly slides my leggings and panties down, inch by slow inch. His fingertips barely graze my bare legs, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.
“I have hardly been able to keep my hands off you this evening,” Ezra murmurs. “You really are beautiful.”
I can’t respond. My breath tumbles out ragged.
Creed’s lips graze my temple. “Breathe, Sloane.”
Roman’s laugh rumbles through me, wild and dangerous, as he drags his teeth down my neck, fuzzing fire in his wake. “I don’t think she wants to breathe, Creed. I think she wants to be ruined.”
Just as I’m about to be utterly consumed by dizziness, Ezra pinches my chin between thumb and forefinger, tilts my mouth to his, then crashes into me with a kiss that starts teasing, lips brushing, tongue flicking, but suddenly hardens.
His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging until I gasp and melt into him.
He pulls back. “Hmm, yeah, I think you’re right, Roman. I think it’s time to up the ante.”
I have no idea what that means, but as Creed’s mouth runs over my stomach and Roman’s hands roam, I know I can’t wait to find out.
Ezra’s fist tightens in my hair, yanking my head back so my throat tilts. His grin is pure wicked desire. “Would you like to try something? With your hands behind your back?”
My breath hitches, ice crystallizing in my veins as Roman produces a silk tie from I don’t even know where, and I nod eagerly. He winds it around my wrists before I can even formulate my next thought.
The smooth fabric tightens, fibers shifting against each other with a soft hiss, and my pulse quickens as the binding constricts. It’s a reminder, a whispered warning from the silk against my skin: I’m ensnared. Powerless.
And I love it.
Holy hell, does it feel good.
Roman’s breath is hot on my neck, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh as he growls, “No escape, Sloane. Not tonight.”
My wrists twist, testing the tie, the restraint sending a spark through me, a dangerous cocktail of fear, fire, and desire. My heart thunders in my chest, a wild beast throwing itself against the bars of its cage.
Creed’s hand cradles my jaw with a tenderness that’s at odds with the tempest swirling around us. His eyes search mine.
“You trust us, don’t you?”
The silk tie creaks, digging into my wrists as I tremble. “Yes,” I whisper.
A soft smile touches Creed’s lips. “Good girl.”
“I thought you would,” Roman rasps, his hands skimming my thighs. “Already soaked. Knew you’d be like this… starving for it, pretending you’re not.”
A gasp tears from my throat as his fingers slip inside of me. The sound only fuels him, his eyes darkening with hunger.
Creed kisses me, hard now, punishing, his hand on my throat to keep me in place. He tastes of beer and sin, his tongue ruthless, his teeth biting until I moan into his mouth.
I’m a live wire, sparking with heat, my body restrained, pinned beneath their touch, a brand of ownership searing into my flesh.
Roman’s fingers, calloused and demanding, invade me deep. I arch off the carpet, a cry tearing from my lips, but Ezra swallows it whole, his mouth clashing with mine, bruising and insistent.
Creed’s mouth finally presses against my inner thigh, his tongue a teasing, torturous trail of wet heat, inching higher until my hips jerk, helpless and needy.
I’m a mess of sensation, too much and yet not enough. Roman’s breath is ragged against my ear, a primal snarl.
“You’re so fucking tight, Sloane. Clenching around my fingers, begging for me to fuck you.”
“Yes,” I just about manage to blurt out, my body straining against the cool silk binding my wrists. “Please. I want it.”
That single word snaps their control. Roman works his belt loose, his eyes wild and hungry. Ezra chuckles, a low, throaty sound, as he unbuttons his shirt.
Creed’s mouth trails kisses up my stomach, over my ribs, to my mouth, before he settles beside me, his body a warm, solid press against mine.
And then Roman is inside me, a brutal, claiming thrust that drives the air from my lungs. I scream, my body arching and convulsing, but Ezra’s hand is there, clamping over my mouth, muffling the sound.
His smirk is pure sin as he strokes himself with his free hand, his eyes locked on Roman’s relentless rhythm.
Creed’s hand slips between my thighs, his fingers circling my desperate clit. His words are a soothing murmur against my temple. “Sloane, you feel so good.”
Roman groans, his body pounding into mine, each thrust a declaration. “She was made for this. For us.”
I’m shattering, my body bound, filled, overwhelmed. Every nerve is alight, electric, until I can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
“You’re going to come so hard you’ll forget your own name, Sloane.” His fingers dig into my jaw, demanding, insistent. “Do it. Now.”
And with Creed’s hand working me, Roman driving into me, Ezra’s command ringing in my head, I break.
The orgasm rips through me, violent and consuming, my body spasming against the restraints as I scream into Ezra’s palm. It doesn’t stop.
Roman keeps going, chasing his own release, Creed whispering praise against my skin, Roman watching like a devil who owns me completely.
I don’t come back down gently. I crash, my body wrecked and shaking, the silk biting into my wrists, their hands everywhere, holding me, using me, worshipping me.
And it’s only the beginning.