49. Sage
FORTY-NINE
SAGE
The movie continues playing, but all I can see is Milo’s eyes as he tilts my chin up and kisses me, slow and deep. I sink into it, one hand fisting in his shirt while Holden’s fingers slide higher up the inside of my thigh.
“That’s it,” Milo murmurs against my lips. “Just feel it.”
I do. Milo’s tongue slides against mine, Holden’s hand inches toward the seam of my panties, and heat gathers low in my belly, too much and not enough all at once.
Holden’s mouth moves along my jaw. Hot. Deliberate. He kisses a path to my collarbone, and I gasp into Milo’s mouth, my hips shifting restlessly. “I can already smell how much you want us, wildcat.”
The crudeness of it should make me flinch. Instead my hips lift toward his hand, a small, shameless answer before my mouth can catch up.
Milo laughs softly, the vibration of it buzzing against my lips. He slides his hand into my hair, gripping just enough to make me shiver. “You like when he talks to you like that?” he whispers, glancing past me at Holden.
“Yes. I love it.”
Holden’s fingers find the edge of my panties. He pauses, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “Yes or no, wildcat.”
“Yes.” The word comes out broken. “God, yes.”
“Fuck,” Milo breathes, pulling back to watch. “Look at you two together. So hot.”
Holden doesn’t rush. Just slips the cotton aside and teases his fingers along my seam. I’m already wet—embarrassingly so—and when he feels it, a low sound rumbles in his chest.
“She’s soaked,” he tells Milo, like he’s reporting a finding. Clinical, almost, except for the heat in his voice.
“Of course she is.” Milo grins, kissing my jaw. “Our girl’s always ready for us. You love being fucked. Don’t you, kitten?”
I can’t answer. Holden’s fingers are stroking me now, slow, teasing circles around my clit that make my thighs shake.
“Words,” Holden reminds me, his voice rough.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Both of you. I want both of you touching me. I love it when you fuck me.”
“What do you like about it?” Milo’s hand slides under the oversized shirt I’m wearing—one of Holden’s, stolen after the first night he slept over. “Be specific.” He palms my breast through my bra.
“I like that you can’t help yourself. That you want me so much it makes you lose control.
I like how big your hands are on me, how you hold me down, how you make me feel—” I cut off because Holden’s got two fingers inside me now, and he’s curling them with perfect fucking expertise, rubbing that spot that makes my vision kaleidoscope and my thighs clamp around his wrist.
Milo’s watching, his hand still under my shirt, thumbing over my nipple until it goes tight and aching. His other arm has found my back, holding me up as I arch into the impossible pleasure of both of them at once.
“I love that,” Milo says. “I love making you come undone.” He leans in close, his lips almost brushing my ear. “But you like being used. Don’t you, kitten? Like knowing you’re all ours?”
“Yes. Fuck—yes,” I cry, my body arching helplessly toward the pressure of Holden’s hand.
“That’s what I thought.” Milo captures my mouth again, swallowing the sounds Holden’s pulling out of me. It’s coordinated, almost—not practiced, but instinctive, like their worst impulses understand each other perfectly where I’m concerned.
I’m dimly aware of Holden shifting, sliding off the couch to kneel between my legs. He tugs at my panties, and I lift my hips to help him pull them down. The cool air hits my skin, and then his hands are spreading my thighs.
“Oh God. Yes.”
His mouth is on me. Hot and wet and devastating. He licks into me like he’s starving for it, tongue flat against my clit, and I cry out, my hand flying to his hair.
“There you go,” Milo murmurs, watching with dark eyes. “Let him make you feel good. That’s all you have to do.”
Milo’s lips return to mine, and I lift one hand to his hair and hold him to me while I ride Holden’s tongue, grinding helplessly.
Every time I start to break, Milo is right there to kiss me, swallow my cries, keep me from floating away.
Holden slides another finger inside me and the stretch is perfect, brutal and slow. He fucks me with his fingers, tongue working my clit, and I almost tell him to give me a second. But I don’t because I don’t know how to survive feeling this much at once.
I can’t think. I can barely breathe. Holden’s tongue is relentless, circling and flicking and sucking, and when he curls his fingers just right, I shatter.
The orgasm hits—sudden, overwhelming, pulling me under. I hear myself crying out, feel my body arching off the couch, Holden’s hands pinning my hips down as he works me through it.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m trembling. Holden pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking far too satisfied.
“Good?” he asks.
I laugh, breathless. “What do you think?”
Holden sits back on his heels and looks at Milo over me—that same silent thing from the couch, a question and an answer folded into one glance. “She’s barely warmed up,” he says, like he’s briefing a colleague.
I drag in a breath, still shaking, and reach for Milo before either of them can decide for me. “I am.”
“Then quit hogging her, detective.” Milo’s already dragging his shirt over his head, grinning, and—God, I never get tired of seeing these men shirtless. He’s all lean muscle and sharp lines and a trail of dark hair leading down into his jeans. “If you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it,” I say, and pull Holden in to kiss me.
It turns ferocious—sharper, hungrier than before. He takes my lower lip between his teeth and tugs, just hard enough to make me gasp, and Milo’s fingers tangle in my hair, tugging my head back so my throat’s exposed.
“God, you’re fucking hot like this,” Milo says, his voice somewhere between a growl and a prayer.
Holden’s hands are still firm on my thighs like he could keep me pinned here forever. The thought alone makes my pulse trip. When Milo’s mouth covers mine again, he tastes completely different—less smoke, more sugar, and I crave both flavors at once.
I want all of it.
My hands are greedy—they roam, flattening over Milo’s chest, pulling at Holden’s shirt. Then before I know what’s happening, Holden stands, lifting me without effort, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The hard press of him through his jeans makes me gasp against his mouth.
“Bedroom,” he says.
“Yes,” I breathe, tightening my legs around him.
He stalks down the hall, carrying me with Milo hot on our heels.
At the threshold of my bedroom, Holden pauses just long enough to pull me back and look me in the eye—his irises gone storm-dark and wild.
The way he’s breathing, he looks like he wants to devour me.
The way I’m breathing, I think I want him to.
Milo pushes in around Holden’s shoulder, crowding the doorway, nearly vibrating with need. “You mind if I just get in over here?” he murmurs, and I nod.
“Get in here.”
I want them both. I want all of them.
Holden sets me down, but when my feet hit the floor they barely have time to register because Milo is already wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
He bites down on my shoulder and slides his hand up under my shirt.
The sensation makes me shiver and press backward against him.
My ass rubs into Milo’s groin, and he shudders, his breath stuttering across my neck.
“Fuck, kitten. I want to bend you over and ruin you,” he says, voice low and hoarse.
“Do it,” I whisper, feeling reckless and powerful and so awake I could light up the city with my skin. I reach up and behind, pulling Milo flush against me while Holden kisses down my throat, alternating between rough and gentle, a threat and a promise in every touch.
Milo’s hands are everywhere—on my hips, up my shirt, splaying over my ribs.
While Holden’s mouth is sealed on the hollow of my throat, Milo’s tongue traces the shell of my ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage, making every inch of my body tingle.
I want everything. I want to be ruined between them and remade by wanting it.
“Lift your arms, wildcat.” Holden pushes my shirt up and Milo peels it away, both of them making quick work of my bra. Then I’m naked between them, skin pebbled in the air. Milo’s palms close over my breasts, catching me by surprise, making me gasp and arch into his hands.
“Fucking beautiful.”
Holden slides his mouth lower, teeth scraping gently on my collarbone, then he bites—just hard enough to sting, and I moan, loud, desperate.
“Christ, you’re so sensitive,” Milo says, all mockery gone, his voice just pure need. “Can I fuck you? Please? Please let me.” He sounds almost reverent—a worshipper at the altar.
“He always this polite?” Holden murmurs against my throat, dry as bone, and Milo flips him off without breaking focus.
“Yes,” I say, no hesitation. “And yes, Milo. Fuck me, please.”
It’s surreal, how safe and desired I feel, bracketed between these two men who shouldn’t fit together, shouldn’t fit me, but somehow do.
Holden pushes me until the backs of my thighs hit the mattress and I fold backward.
Above me, the camera’s tiny power light glows red from the ceiling.
For half a second I think about switching it on—the other three on the far side of that lens, watching us the way they were last night—and heat licks down my spine.
But I leave it dark. Last night I gave them all of me through a screen.
Tonight is just the three of us, no camera, no audience. Ours to keep.
Milo bends to lick the underside of my jaw before he shoves his jeans down and off, leaving him naked, hard, so ready I almost come just from wanting him.
Holden shrugs his own shirt off and his chest is as perfect as always.
Every fantasy I’ve ever had about authority, about being pinned down and ruined.
There’s a hunger in his eyes that seems to surprise even him.
He’s used to control, and right now he looks like he might lose it.
I fucking love that.