Chapter 37 Sloane #2
Behind me, Creed’s breath warms the back of my neck. His hand slides down my spine, fingertips pressing into the small of my back as though he’s mapping every inch of my body. Ezra circles closer as he peels his own clothing off, getting caught up in the intense electricity.
“You trying to kill him?” Creed growls.
“Maybe,” I murmur, skimming my lips over Roman’s head as I speak. “He said we had all night.”
Roman groans, a raw sound that vibrates against my tongue. I reward him with a lick, then pause to blow a soft breath across the damp trail I’ve left. His hips jerk, and his hand tightens, gripping my hair like a lifeline.
He starts cursing under his breath, guttural threats and pleas, but he doesn’t stop me. He lets me set the tempo, lets me drive him to the edge.
I flatten my tongue and slide down inch by inch, tasting him fully, feeling every subtle pulse and twitch under my wet heat. Roman’s fingers knot tighter at the nape of my neck, his knuckles whitening.
When I pull back, there’s a sheen of saliva glinting on my bottom lip. Roman’s head falls back against the cushion, sweat dampening his temples. His chest rises and falls in rapid waves.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “What are you trying to do to me?”
Words? I don’t need them. Instead, I engulf him again. Slow, deep, letting the head slip past my lips until I hollow my cheeks around him, humming softly in time with each suck. His thighs tremble under my hands; his hips rock instinctively, trying to find a rhythm, but I hold firm.
This is my stage.
“Please, Sloane…” He sounds unmoored, as if I’ve torn him out of himself.
I tease the tip with the flat of my tongue, tracing that ribbon of nerve endings, then suck him into my mouth in one decisive pull. Creed’s hand drifts from my back to my shoulder, fingers sinking into my skin, urging me deeper. Ezra’s chuckle vibrates through the hush of the room.
Roman’s hips jerk once, then again, each sharp thrust sending a tremor down my spine. Nostrils flaring, chest heaving like a wild animal. The fingers knotted in my hair clamp tight, tugging a strand so fiercely it anchors me in place.
His low groan vibrates through my skull, raw and guttural, until he rasps, “Sloane, fuck…fuck, I’m gonna…”
I tilt my head back just enough.
Warm gushes of him slick down my throat and spill over my collarbone, some strands of my hair catching drops that glint in the dim light.
His palm squeezes harder, knuckles whitening, as he rides out the last tremors of release. His eyes, dark, hollow from the aftermath, are fixed on mine, unable to look away. He’s spent, panting, utterly wrecked. And I, blood thrumming, taste my own power.
Before I can gather myself, Ezra’s hands clamp onto my hips. His grip is firm, pulling me upright from my knees with a guttural growl. His chest brushes my back until my palms land on the curve of Creed’s thighs. He sits there, rigid as stone, muscles taut under denim.
Ezra whispers gravelly. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He emits a low, hunger-thick sound, half-growl, half-curse, then slides inside me in one smooth, devastating thrust. I cry out, every nerve aflame, as his cock buries to the hilt.
My hand clamps around the coarse weave of Creed’s jeans, gripping as Ezra anchors us both with splayed fingers digging into my hips.
“Fuck, Sloane…” Ezra rasps, fighting not to shatter himself on the brink.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. Pressed between the hard cradle of his pelvis and the burning intensity of Creed’s gaze. Creed’s fingers ghost up my arm, brushing gooseflesh, before slipping beneath the narrow strap of my bra and peeling it aside.
I arch into his touch as Ezra begins again in slow, piston-like strokes that steal the air from my lungs. Creed’s hands cup my breasts from the front, thumbs rolling my nipples with gentle insistence, drawing soft moans from deep in my throat with every push of Ezra’s hips.
“Touch me,” Creed breathes.
I obey, sliding my hand down his thigh, finding the cool metal of his zipper, and tugging it open with trembling fingers. When I free him, his breath hitches, muscles quivering under my palm.
Ezra thrusts again. Harder now, each pump driving me closer to collapse. My forehead drops against Creed’s thigh as I move my hand in time with Ezra’s rhythm, tracing the length of Creed’s shaft.
Creed arches back, a soft hiss spilling from his lips. “Fuck, Sloane…”
I’m sandwiched between them: Creed’s warmth in front, Ezra’s pounding from behind, the air heavy with heat, skin slick friction, and the electric scent of want.
Roman kneels at my side once more, fingers threading into my hair. He tilts my chin up, pressing a bruising kiss to my lips even as Ezra’s thrusts grow savage and Creed groans beneath my hand.
I’ve never felt so wanted, so untouchable, every nerve ending lit with fire.
“You’re everything,” Roman whispers against my mouth. “You have no idea what you do to us.”
Ezra’s growl vibrates along my spine. “I’m close…”
Creed curses, palm tightening around mine to guide the pace.
Then the world explodes. My orgasm rips through me like lightning. White hot, all-consuming. I cry out into Roman’s mouth as every muscle clenches, Ezra’s deeper, harder strokes chasing their own release.
Creed follows seconds later, body convulsing under my hand, breath ragged, a final curse torn from his throat as he spills into my palm.
And there I stay, pressed between three beating hearts, shaking, gasping, undone, the scintillating aftermath humming through my veins.
I don’t know where we go from here, only that I never want this moment to end.