26. Leah
LEAH
The driver has never taken so long to get anywhere in his life. I’m sure of it.
Nobody talks for the last ten minutes of the drive.
Declan keeps the window cracked and his eyes on the road.
Emmett’s thigh is pressed against mine, and he keeps flexing it, just slightly, just enough that I feel it every time.
Rowan has my hand in his lap and is running his thumb over my knuckles, over and over, and every pass of it goes straight down my spine and settles in my pussy.
When the car finally pulls up to Koi Tower, Declan is out before it stops. He holds the door for me. His hand at the small of my back on the way into the lobby isn’t a suggestion.
The elevator is worse than the car. It’s smaller. There’s no driver to behave for, and there’s a mirror, and I make the mistake of looking up into it and seeing the three of them arranged around me like a wall. All three of them are looking at me. Not at each other. Me.
“Twelve more floors,” Emmett murmurs near my ear. “Think you can survive twelve floors, Little Mouse?”
“Unlikely,” I joke.
Rowan says nothing at all. He just watches the numbers climb, and his hand tightens on mine with each one.
Finally, we reach the top floor. Declan leads us to his apartment, and we all follow.
Declan’s door closes behind us, and for a second, nobody moves.
It’s the strangest thing. We’ve had our hands all over each other for the past half hour without ever quite touching, and now that there’s nothing to stop us, we’re all standing in his entryway like we’re waiting for a host to take our coats.
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“What?” Declan asks.
“Nothing.” I toe off one heel, then the other, and the floor is cool under my feet. “It’s just been a lot. A long day, a newborn, a car ride I’ll be thinking about until I die.” I look at him. “I want a shower.”
Emmett opens his mouth, and I hold up a finger.
“A shower,” I repeat. “Declan has that ridiculous one. It’s the size of my first apartment.”
“It’s not that big,” Declan says.
“It has a bench,” Emmett says. “Sounds good to me.”
Declan’s shower really is absurd. Slate floor, a wall of glass, three rainfall heads set into the ceiling and a handheld on the wall, and yes, a bench along the back long enough to lie down on.
I’ve been in it once before, alone, and I remember thinking it was built for something other than getting clean.
I know it’s built for this.
The water is running before I finish unzipping my dress. Declan does the last of it for me, his knuckles trailing the length of my spine as the zipper comes down. The dress pools at my feet, and then his hands are on my hips, turning me around, and he looks me over like he’s checking I’m all there.
“Mine,” he says quietly.
I lean up and kiss the underside of his jaw, and I feel him breathe in.
“Yours,” I say. Then I step past him into the steam, and I know without looking that he watches me the whole way.
They follow. Three men shedding clothes in a hurry are not graceful, and I stand under the water and watch them through the glass, all elbows and belts and a shirt that gets stuck on Emmett’s head for a second, and I love them so much it aches.
Then the glass door opens and the whole space changes.
Rowan reaches me first. He tips my head back into the spray with one hand at the base of my skull, and water runs down over my hair and my closed eyes, and my open mouth, and his other hand smooths it back from my face.
He doesn’t kiss me. He just holds me there under the water, letting it soak me, and I feel him looking.
Someone squeezes shampoo into a palm. I can smell it, cedar and something citrusy. Then there are fingers in my hair, working it in, and I know from the strength of them that it’s Declan, standing behind me, his chest against my shoulders and his cock heavy against the small of my back.
“Head back,” he says.
“It is back.”
“Further.” He tips it for me. His fingers press hard into my scalp, dragging slow circles from my temples to the nape of my neck, and it feels so good that my knees actually go weak.
Emmett has soap. Of course Emmett has soap. He’s crouched at my feet, lathering up my calves like a man with all the time in the world, and when I look down, he grins up at me through the water dripping off his lashes.
“Don’t mind me. Very thorough down here.”
“You’re washing my shins.”
“I’m working my way up.” His hands move behind my knees, then along the backs of my thighs, then around to the front. “Trust me, I know exactly where I’m going.”
He stops just short of where I want him. Both palms flat on the tops of my thighs, thumbs tucked into the crease of my hips, an inch from where I’m already aching for him, and he holds there. He looks up at me and doesn’t move.
Behind me, Declan’s fingers keep working my scalp. In front of me, Rowan has picked up the soap Emmett abandoned and is running his slick hands over my shoulders, down my arms, across my collarbones. Slow. Careful. Everywhere except where I want it.
I’m being handled like something expensive, and I’m loving every second of it.
“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. This is a conspiracy.”
“It’s a shower.” Rowan’s hands slide down over my breasts. His thumbs drag across my nipples, and I gasp. “You wanted a shower.”
“I wanted—” I lose the sentence when Emmett’s mouth lands on the inside of my thigh, high, right where his thumb was. He doesn’t lick. He just presses his lips there, warm in the warm water, and breathes.
Declan tilts my head under the spray to rinse, and while my eyes are closed and water is running over my face, Rowan’s hand goes between my legs.
Two fingers. Not inside. Just the flat of them, pressing up along the length of me, and I moan so loudly it echoes off the slate.
Rowan doesn’t say anything. He never does. He just parts me with his fingers, finds me slick underneath the water in a way that has nothing to do with the shower, and begins to circle my clit with the pad of his middle finger.
I reach for him, for anything, and Declan catches my wrists from behind and folds my arms back against my sides.
“No hands,” he says in my ear. “Let him, Leah.”
So I do. I stand there with Declan’s chest at my back and his hands on my arms and his cock hard against me, and Emmett’s mouth on my thigh and his hands roaming up over my hips and stomach with the soap, and I let Rowan touch me.
He learned me weeks ago. I’d forgotten how completely.
He knows I like it light at first, and he keeps it light, barely a touch, until my hips start pushing against his hand looking for more.
Then he gives me a little more. One finger slides inside me, curls, finds the spot that makes my thighs jerk, and stays there while his thumb takes over on my clit.
His eyes never leave my face. Water is running off his jaw and the end of his nose, and he is watching me like I’m the only thing in the room.
“She’s close,” Emmett says. He’s standing now, one hand flat on my stomach, and he can feel it there, the way the muscles keep clenching. “You can feel it, Rowan. She’s right there.”
The climb is slow, and then it isn’t. It rolls up through me from where he’s touching, through my stomach and my chest and up into my throat, and I try to say his name, and it comes out as nothing but breath.
My arms strain against Declan’s grip, and he doesn’t let go. Emmett’s hand slides up to cup my breast, and he pinches, hard, at exactly the wrong moment, or exactly the right one, because that’s what does it.
Everything inside me pulls tight around Rowan’s finger and holds, and holds, and then lets go all at once.
My knees buckle. Declan holds me up, and Rowan keeps stroking me through it, slower now, drawing the waves out one after another while I shake between the three of them and the water pours down over all of us.
It goes on longer than I think it can. When the orgasm subsides, Rowan pulls his fingers out of me slowly, and then he does kiss me. Finally. His mouth is warm and wet, and I taste the shower on him, and I hang there in Declan’s arms and kiss him back with everything I have left.
Emmett shuts the water off.
They dry me. Declan wraps me in a towel the size of a bedsheet. Emmett rubs my hair with another one until it stands up in every direction. Rowan finds my hand and doesn’t let go of it on the walk to the bedroom.
Declan’s room is dark except for the city coming in through the windows.
Nobody turns on a light. He pulls back the covers, and I climb in, still damp, and lie there on my back and look up at the three of them standing at the edge of his enormous bed.
Three men, naked and hard and looking down at me, and I have never once in my life felt this wanted.
“So,” Emmett says, and rubs the back of his neck. “How do we want to do this? Take turns? Draw straws? I feel like Declan’s going to want to go first, and I feel like that’s bullshit.”
“I’m not drawing straws for her,” Declan says.
“Rock, paper, scissors, then?”
“I don’t want turns.”
They all look at me. I push up onto my elbows.
“I don’t want turns,” I say again. “I’ve had turns. I’ve had all of you separately, and I’ve had two of you at once, and I want—” I have to swallow. “I want all three of you. At the same time. Everywhere. I want to not be able to tell where one of you ends.”
Emmett’s hand drops from his neck. Rowan’s chest rises and falls. Declan doesn’t move at all, and when he speaks, it’s very low and very controlled. “Say it plainly, Leah.”
“I want one of you in my mouth, and one of you in my pussy, and one of you—” I don’t look away from him. “I want you in my ass, Declan. I’ve thought about it. I want it to be you.”
He climbs onto the bed.
He doesn’t rush. He puts one knee on the mattress and then the other, and he crawls up over me until his face is above mine, and he takes my chin in his hand.
“You’ve never done that.”
I shake my head. “No.”
His thumb drags across my lower lip. “It’s going to hurt at first.”
“I know.”