Ten
For a second, no one moves.
The air still feels charged—thick with everything that just happened, everything that hasn’t settled yet.
Brielle can feel both of them without looking.
And the silence isn’t awkward.
It’s waiting.
She doesn’t remember standing, or the walk from the living room rug to the Monroe couch proper, but here she is: sprawled between them, hair wild, shirt askew, and neither man in any rush to restore her composure.
Leo kneels on the carpet at her feet, hands gripping her calves, thumbs working slow circles into her skin. His head bows briefly, lips brushing her shin, and the way he looks up at her—like she’s something sacred—is almost enough to undo her all over again.
Jason sits to her right, one arm stretched along the back of the couch behind her, the other hand resting at her hip. He doesn’t touch her anywhere explicit, but every time Leo’s hands move, Jason’s grip tightens slightly, reminding her exactly where she lands.
Her breath stutters.
She expects shame.
Expects the old reflex—the guilt, the self-loathing, the ancient rules she’s spent her whole life obeying.
Instead, Jason watches her with an expression so open, so devastatingly proud, that all she feels is heat.
Leo’s hands slide slowly up her thighs, bunching the fabric of her leggings as he goes. He glances up once, waiting.
When she doesn’t stop him, he peels them down carefully, first one side, then the other, until her bare legs tremble beneath his hands.
Jason’s lips brush the shell of her ear.
“Tell him what you want.”
The words settle low in her stomach.
Leo waits patiently, eyes fixed on her face like he has all the time in the world.
“Touch me,” she says.
Too quiet.
She swallows and tries again.
“Please, Leo. I want your mouth on me.”
Something shifts in his expression.
Not surprise.
Relief.
He lowers himself slowly, pressing reverent kisses to her knee, then higher, and higher still, until his mouth hovers at the inside of her thigh.
Her legs fall open instinctively.
Invitation.
Need.
He pauses at the edge of her underwear.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”
Jason’s hand slides to her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip, keeping her anchored.
“Watch him,” he murmurs. “See what he does to you.”
His hand never leaves her.
If anything, it steadies.
Leo drags her underwear down slowly, exposing her inch by inch, and for one suspended second he just looks at her, crooked smile tugging at his mouth like he still can’t believe she’s real.
Then his mouth finds her.
Gentle first.
Slow.
Intentional.
The first stroke of his tongue pulls a broken sound straight from her chest.
She moans openly, louder than she means to, and Jason’s hand tightens at her jaw.
“Don’t hold back,” he says quietly. “Not tonight.”
The words detonate inside her.
She grinds her hips upward, chasing Leo’s mouth, and he groans against her in response, hands bracing her thighs wider.
His tongue circles, presses, flicks harder when she reacts, adjusting every motion to the smallest shift in her body.
When he sucks at her clit, she cries out.
“More,” she begs immediately. “Harder.”
Leo obeys.
The reverence frays into hunger.
His fingers slide inside her, curling with devastating precision while his mouth never stops. The wet sound of it echoes softly through the quiet house, obscene only because she’s never let herself be this witnessed before.
Jason’s lips brush her temple.
“Good girl,” he says low and certain.
The praise lights her up instantly.
Leo’s pace quickens.
His fingers move deeper, mouth relentless now, and when she looks down and catches the hunger in his expression she nearly comes right there.
Jason’s hand leaves her jaw and moves to her breast, palming her through her shirt, thumb dragging over her nipple until her body shakes.
Pleasure climbs too fast.
Too hot.
She doesn’t know where to put it.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Please don’t stop—I’m so close.”
Leo doesn’t slow.
If anything, he focuses harder, like nothing exists outside the sound she’s making.
Jason’s mouth brushes her ear again.
“Let him wreck you, Bri.”
And she does.
The orgasm hits hard and sudden, snapping through her body so violently her back arches off the couch. Every muscle locks before she shatters apart in waves.
Leo holds her steady through it, mouth and fingers working her relentlessly as she trembles.
Jason’s hand slides to her throat—not squeezing, just holding her there, reminding her she’s safe while she comes apart.
By the time she collapses back against the cushions, she’s shaking.
Leo finally slows, lifting his mouth from her with a wrecked, almost reverent expression.
Jason brushes a strand of hair from her damp face and kisses her cheek.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
She laughs then—a broken, breathless sound.
Leo’s hands remain spread across her thighs, his own chest heaving as he looks up at her.
And for the first time in her life, Brielle doesn’t feel ashamed of wanting.
She feels powerful.
Wanted.
Chosen.
She reaches for Leo first, dragging him back up toward her until she can kiss him again, tasting herself on his mouth.
Then she reaches blindly for Jason, needing him close too, needing both of them so badly it almost terrifies her.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers raggedly. “Not yet.”
Jason smiles slowly.
“We’re not going anywhere, Bri.”
Leo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes bright as he looks at her.
“Tell us what you want.”
This time, she does.
And there’s no hesitation left in her at all.
?
Brielle is hungry in a way she’s never allowed herself to be—starved for sensation, for connection, for the kind of ruin only two men who love her could deliver.
Jason must see it in her face, because he stands from the couch only to sit again closer than before, knees bracketing her hips so she’s boxed in by warmth and solid muscle on every side.
His hands move from her waist to her shoulders to her hair, like he can’t decide where she needs grounding most.
“Sit up,” he says softly.
Not a demand.
Not quite a question either.
“Show us how you want to be touched.”
A shiver moves through her as she obeys, bare thighs meeting the cool air of the room. Leo stays kneeling between her legs, mouth already trailing up her inner thigh with slow, devastating focus, every kiss lingering just long enough to make her ache for the next one.
Jason’s hand slides behind her neck and pulls her into a kiss that feels entirely different from before—deeper, rougher, less careful. Teeth catching her lip. Tongue stealing the breath from her lungs.
The sensation nearly overwhelms her.
Leo’s mouth between her thighs.
Jason’s mouth on hers.
Hands everywhere.
She’s held tightly, completely surrounded, but it doesn’t feel like a trap.
It feels like surrender.
Leo’s grip tightens against her thighs, fingers digging in hard enough that she knows she’ll find marks tomorrow. His tongue moves over her with relentless precision, every reaction pulling more confidence out of him.
Jason breaks the kiss just enough to watch her.
One hand curls around her jaw, keeping her eyes on him while Leo works her lower and lower toward the edge.
“She’s close,” Leo says, voice rough with it.
“Deeper,” Jason replies quietly, gaze never leaving Brielle’s face. “She needs more.”
Leo obeys immediately.
The added pressure pulls a sharp cry from her throat, her entire body going taut all at once.
Jason shifts behind her, one arm banding around her waist while the other slides higher, spanning the line of her throat—not squeezing, just holding her there.
“Let go, Bri,” he murmurs against her ear. “We’ve got you.”
And that—more than the touch, more than the heat—undoes her.
She lets the wave take her.
Pleasure crashes through her hard enough to steal the air from her lungs, her body arching violently before she breaks apart completely.
Leo doesn’t stop until she’s shaking.
Jason keeps her upright through every aftershock, arms tight around her while she trembles against him.
“You’re perfect,” he says softly.
The words land deeper than the orgasm ever could.
For a long moment, all she can do is breathe.
Then Leo rises slowly to his feet.
She sees the outline of his arousal through his jeans and the sight of it sends another pulse of heat straight through her body.
She wants him.
Wants Jason.
Wants more.
“Tell us what you need,” Jason says.
His voice stays low and impossibly calm, like he has all night to wait for her answer.
She swallows hard.
Jason doesn’t rush her.
He never does.
Instead, he pulls her back fully against his chest, one arm firm around her waist while the other drifts slowly up her throat again, all presence and reassurance.
Leo stays exactly where he is, hands still resting against her thighs, waiting for direction instead of taking it.
And suddenly Brielle understands something with startling clarity:
She doesn’t have to choose.
Emotion rushes through her so hard it almost hurts.
She reaches for Leo again, slower this time, fingers catching in the front of his shirt before pulling him back down toward her.
The kiss changes immediately.
No hesitation.
No testing.
This one feels claimed.
Jason’s hand tightens once at her waist.
Not stopping her.
Not guiding.
Just there.
She breaks the kiss slowly, breathing uneven, eyes flicking between both men.
“This isn’t a one-time thing,” she says.
The words come out quieter than she expected.
But they land.
Jason doesn’t hesitate.
“No,” he says immediately.
Leo’s gaze never leaves her face.
“No,” he agrees.
Something inside her settles into place then.
Not safety.
Not calm.
Certainty.
She leans back against Jason, reaches for Leo again, and this time there’s no question left in her at all.
Only want.
Only yes.
Not a mistake.
Not a moment.
A door she has no intention of closing.