Chapter Twenty-Two
Jamie
I can do this. I can do this.
Except Em pulls the zip on my trousers down, and if he goes any slower, I might just die.
I might die anyway. I’m not joking when I say it—they look incredible together. Patch is beautifully responsive to Em. To both of us, maybe. And he kisses like…
Well. In a strange way, I’m even more fucked off that he said no a few weeks ago because it would have been a spectacular night.
Not quite like this, though. Em slides his hand down with the zip and then cups me through my trousers, squeezing just a little, but it’s enough to have me grabbing at the duvet as my hips cant up into his hand. “F-fuck.”
“I like that,” Em says, breathless.
Some of my resolve—the resolve I have to remain in charge, to protect myself, to avoid falling too deep—melts away. We all know it, even if Patch can’t quite fit the pieces together yet. Em’s in charge. Not just because we both like him, both want to care for him.
We both want to submit to him, too. My tongue swipes over my lower lip and Patch tracks the movement as his hands move over Em’s hips. Em squeezes again, a bit more firmly this time.
“Take your shirt off,” Em says, and my fingers are working at the buttons long before my mind catches up.
Em spins in Patch’s arms to kiss him again, one hand coming up to cup the back of Patch’s neck.
When he squeezes, Patch lets out a whimper that makes my cock throb.
Oh, fuck. He’s so needy. My heart races.
I’m going to want this again. That much is obvious. It’s obvious, too, that they’re meant to be together. Already, they move in sync; when Em ends the kiss, Patch works at his trousers and helps him out of them before they both turn their faces to me.
“Fuck,” I mutter. My shirt is only half unfastened.
Em chuckles. “Help him,” he says to Patch, then busies himself getting supplies out of the bedside table. I shuffle further back onto the bed so Patch can climb over me, and he does, planting a knee between my legs before he unfastens a button.
He doesn’t look at my face, but I don’t mind that. Not when silver swirls in his eyes again, like earlier, at each piece of skin he reveals. I grab his hand. His eyes meet mine. The silver fades away and I mask my ridiculous disappointment.
“Kiss me.” I need some balance back, somehow. And the doubts all vanish when his mouth lands on mine, are barely imaginable when he stops kissing me and Em takes his place, tongue leisurely exploring.
Patch gets my shirt off while I’m distracted, and I tear my mouth from Em’s when he starts working on my trousers. His hands go still, fingers just brushing the skin on my lower stomach.
“Can I…?” He looks away again, not quite able to finish the question. A muscle in his jaw ticks. Em frowns and pushes up onto his knees.
“Hey,” he says, then when Patch still won’t look at either of us, adds, “Hey. Look at me, please?”
He does as he’s told. I think he can’t help it any more than I can.
“What’s going on?” Em asks. “It’s okay if it’s too much. If you want to slow down or stop. I just need you to tell us.”
Us. My heart skips a beat. I don’t dare move because Patch’s hands are still on me, even if his entire body is taut like he wants to run.
“I don’t—This isn’t—” Patch blows out a breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I push up onto my elbows. Em sighs, sitting back. “We’re not here for fine,” he says. “Tell me. Please.”
“It’s not—” Colour claws its way up his throat, into his cheeks, and I sit up properly, grabbing Patch’s hands before he can withdraw them.
“You thought you’d be the dominant one, huh?” I ask.
Em makes a quietly pained sound when Patch nods. This has happened to him before.
It’s happened to me, too. Plenty of times. I’m even shorter than Em, slighter, and there are plenty of bigger guys who don’t want to submit even as every sense is telling them to. I raise one of Patch’s hands to my face and kiss the back of it.
“Whatever we do in here is just for us,” I say against his skin. “Just the three of us. It’s no one’s business but ours.”
No one’s business but theirs, after tonight, but I’m here now and I mean it. Even if Patch wanted something neither of us was into, it wouldn’t leave this room.
“But I’m—” Patch snaps his mouth shut. I know what he wants to say. But I’m a wolf.
Em makes that pained sound again. What does he think Patch means? But I’m bigger. Stronger. More of a man.
Ugh. Perhaps we should have had that conversation before this, but then I guess none of us came into this evening thinking anything like this would happen.
“I know,” I reply and let go of one of Patch’s hands to reach for Em’s, gripping it tight.
I need him to know that Patch is with us.
He’ll understand. He’ll understand soon, if I have anything to say about it.
Not that I should. “And Em’s right. We’re not going to push you—each other—any further than we want to go.
This is supposed to be fun, yeah? Let’s have some fun. ”
Patch looks between us, and his gaze feels warm when it lands on me, potentially grateful, because this is one gap his mate can’t quite bridge yet. Em leans over and nuzzles the side of my throat, lips teasing.
“Yeah, let’s have fun,” Patch says. He moves all at once, dragging my trousers and underwear down to my ankles, and Em laughs when I land on my back again.
I turn my head to watch them kiss, heart squeezing at the way Patch lingers, after, pressing their foreheads together. Em’s eyes soften—he knows there’s more to it, of course, he has to have worked that out—and then they both look at me, both predatory in their own delightful ways.
I shiver as they look me over, then again when Em moves to lie next to me, running his fingers down the centre of my chest.
“What about you?” he asks. He’s hard. We all are. His cock is bigger than I thought it would be, and it’s almost a shame he doesn’t seem interested in letting me take a ride.
“What about me?”
His fingers dance up my chest and he tilts my chin up. Patch watches, still standing next to the bed. “Will you let us have some fun?”
“You can do whatever you want to me.”
Em’s eyes flare wide. He kisses me hard, and when his hand wraps around my cock, I cry out into his mouth.
Fuck. It’s been a long time since I’ve been touched by anyone who isn’t me and I arch up into his grip, which tightens when I move.
Patch steps closer at the next sound I make, one almost pained.
“Too much?” Em asks.
“No, fuck—Don’t stop.”
He grins and strokes me a couple more times, then pauses, fingers tight around the base of my cock. He glances at Patch. “Get him wet for me?”
Oh, fuck. My thighs tremble when Patch runs his hands over them, head tilted inquisitively to one side. He leans down and I expect him to lick or maybe suck me off, but instead, he spits on the head of my cock and it visibly twitches at the contact.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Em grins wickedly and strokes me again, this time spreading Patch’s saliva down my shaft.
“There’s—” He cuts himself off, though his hand never falters.
Patch clears his throat. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “Say it.”
“You—”
“Say it.”
Em’s grin returns. “There’s a good boy.”