39. Baleigh #2
The floor is cool against my knees, the firelight flickering gold across my skin as I settle onto the blankets someone had magically spread out on the hearth.
My breath comes too fast, my pulse thrumming under my fingertips as I brace myself on all fours.
Amos kneels in front of me, his cock already hard, flushed dark at the tip.
He grips himself, stroking lazily, his grin sharp and wicked.
"Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his thumb over the head. "You were born for this, Leigh."
Behind me, Max's hands skim my hips, his touch deliberate, possessive. The first press of his cock into my sopping wet heat steals my breath—slow, inexorable, until I'm full, until my thighs tremble with the stretch. He groans, low and rough, his fingers digging into my skin. "Jesus, Baleigh."
Amos leans in, his free hand tangling in my hair, tilting my face up to his. "Eyes on me," he orders, and then his cock is at my lips, hot and heavy against my tongue.
I moan around Amos, the sound low and throaty, vibrating against his heated skin as I take him deeper.
His hips give an involuntary jerk at the sensation, but he holds himself back—ever the patient one—letting me set the pace, letting me savor the weight of him on my tongue, the salt-slick taste of precome beading at the tip.
My fingers dig into his thighs for balance as Max's thrusts rock me forward, the dual sensations making my head spin.
Across the room, barely visible through my blurred, pleasure-drunk vision, Atticus leans lazily against the armchair, his long fingers wrapped around his own cock in slow, deliberate strokes.
his eyes are dark with hunger, tracking every movement—the way Max's powerful thighs flex with each deep thrust, the possessive curl of Amos's fingers in my hair, the helpless arch of my spine when Max hits that perfect, devastating spot inside me.
"Fuck," Atticus exhales, the word rough and breathless, his grip tightening around himself.
His gaze lingers on the flush spreading across my chest, the way my lips stretch around Amos, the way my breasts bounce and my body trembles between them.
"You look perfect like this—completely wrecked, completely ours.
" His voice is thick with want, and the heat in his stare sends another shudder through me.
Max's pace quickens, each snap of his hips driving me forward, forcing Amos deeper into my mouth. Pleasure coils tight in my belly, sparks racing up my spine. I can't think, can't do anything but feel—the stretch, the heat, the way Amos's breath hitches when I hollow my cheeks.
Amos pulls back just enough to let me gasp for air, his thumb swiping over my swollen lower lip. "Good girl," he rasps. "Now take it all."
I do.
Amos’s fingers tighten in my hair, his hips stuttering forward as he groans—a deep, ragged sound that vibrates through my core.
The first hot pulse of his release hits my tongue, salty and thick, and I swallow greedily, my own pleasure cresting again as Max’s thrusts turn erratic behind me.
His grip on my hips is bruising now, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.
"Fuck—Baleigh—" Max’s voice is raw, and then he’s coming too, his cock twitching inside me as he spills deep, his forehead dropping between my shoulder blades.
The aftershocks ripple through me, leaving me trembling, my lips still wrapped around Amos as he softens in my mouth. He pulls back with a shudder, his thumb swiping over my bottom lip, his eyes dark and hazy with satisfaction.
Across the room, Atticus is still stroking himself, his gaze locked on the mess of us—Max panting against my back, Amos’s come glistening on my lips. He licks his own, slow and deliberate, before pushing off the chair.
"Turn her over," he murmurs, and Max eases out of me with a groan, his hands guiding me onto my back before he collapses onto the blankets beside me, spent but still watching. Amos follows, his fingers tracing idle patterns over my stomach as Atticus kneels between my thighs.
"Now you're really gonna get it," he smiles wickedly, his grin disappearing beneath the thick thatch of blonde hair at the apex of my thighs.
His tongue is relentless—broad, wet strokes that have me arching off the rumpled blankets within seconds, my back bowing as pleasure sparks through me like wildfire.
My fingers instinctively tangle in his thick dark hair, gripping tight as if he might vanish if I let go, but he just chuckles against my skin, the vibration sending another shudder through me.
With one strong hand splayed across my hipbone, he pins me firmly in place, his mouth working me with a precision that borders on cruel—each flick of his tongue, each slow, deliberate suck dragging me closer to the edge until my thighs tremble violently around his head, the muscles quivering with the effort to hold still.
Just as I’m about to tip over, my breath hitching in warning, he pulls back with agonizing slowness, leaving me gasping and empty.
His lips are slick and swollen from his efforts, glistening under the dim light, and he grins up at me with wicked satisfaction.
"Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, before pulling me toward him effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs are dragged over his broad shoulders before I can protest, and then—god—his cock replaces his tongue in one smooth, devastating thrust, filling me so completely I cry out, the stretch delicious, the angle deeper than before, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur at the edges.
Max’s mouth finds mine then, his kiss lazy and possessive, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that contrasts sharply with the relentless pace Atticus sets between my thighs.
Amos’s hand skims up my ribs, calloused fingers teasing my nipples into tight, aching peaks, his touch featherlight yet maddening.
And Atticus—god, Atticus—drives into me with a rhythm that steals my breath, his hips rolling in perfect, punishing strokes, his eyes locked on mine like he’s memorizing every twitch of my expression, every bitten-off moan I can’t suppress.
The room is thick with the sounds of skin against skin, of ragged breaths and whispered encouragements, and I’m lost in it, in them, in this moment where nothing exists but pleasure and heat and the three men determined to unravel me completely.
"Come with me this time, Baleigh," he growls against my lips, the rough command and the way his fingers tighten on my hips sending an electric jolt straight through me.
My body arches instinctively, nails biting into the solid muscle of his forearms as the climax tears through me with brutal intensity, leaving me trembling and breathless.
I feel Atticus's groan rumble through his chest as he surrenders to his own release, his forehead coming to rest heavily against mine while his hips jerk erratically, spilling deep inside me with ragged, unsteady thrusts that leave us both shaky and wrecked.
For one endless moment we stay like that—hot flesh pressed together, breathing each other’s air, sweaty and sated and still intertwined.
Then, with a soft curse, Atticus finally pulls away, his absence leaving me strangely hollow before Max’s lips find the sensitive skin just below my ear, his lazy kisses already rekindling a low simmer of want in my belly.
Meanwhile, Amos’s clever fingers trace teasing spirals along my inner thigh, drifting dangerously close to where I’m still slick and sensitive, his chuckle warm against my shoulder when I gasp at the contact.
The way they move together, so in sync—tells me everything I need to know. This isn’t nearly over yet. They’re just getting started. And God help me, so am I.