26. Leah #3
Emmett’s hand comes back to my hair. He turns my head, and I open, and he slides back in, and now I’m full.
Completely. There’s no part of me that isn’t holding one of them, and when Declan draws his hips back for the first time and pushes in again, slow, deliberate, I feel the friction of it everywhere, in my throat and my pussy and the base of my spine.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” Declan grits out.
Rowan moves. Just a small roll of his hips beneath me, up into me as Declan pulls back, and it’s like being pulled apart and put back together in the same instant.
They find their rhythm fast, the two of them, where one fills me as the other withdraws, so that I’m never empty, never once empty, and Emmett fucks my mouth in time with them.
“That’s it,” Emmett breathes. “That’s it, Little Mouse. That’s our girl. You love this, don’t you?”
I do. I love it. I’m crying, I think. My eyes are streaming, and I can’t tell if it’s from Emmett hitting the back of my throat or from the sheer size of what’s happening to me. And I don’t care.
I don’t care, and I never want it to stop.
Declan’s hand cracks against my ass. Not hard. Just enough that I clench around him, around Rowan, and both of them curse.
“Do that again,” he says. “Squeeze. Good girl. Fuck. Again.”
He does it again, harder this time, and I feel him lean over me, his chest hot against my back, his breath at my ear.
“Ours,” he says. Just that. Then he straightens and picks up the pace.
And with that word, I come apart. There’s no build this time, or the build is everything, every stroke of the three of them, and I’ve been at the edge for so long that I don’t recognize the edge when I go over. It just hits.
There’s nowhere for my orgasm to go.
Every other time, I’ve had a way to let it out, a scream, my hips, my hands in someone’s hair.
Now my mouth is full, and my arms are pinned under my own weight, and I’m held so tightly between the two of them that I can’t move an inch, and so the whole thing turns inward.
It starts low, behind Declan, a pressure so heavy it’s almost pain, and then it breaks and spreads, and I lose track of them. I can’t tell which one is moving. I can’t tell whose hand is on my hip or whose thigh is under my knee.
I don’t even breathe. Somewhere far off, Rowan groans, and Declan says my name in a voice I’ve never heard from him, and Emmett’s hand cups the back of my head and holds on, and none of them stop.
It keeps rolling.
It’s still going when Emmett’s grip tightens in my hair. His whole body goes rigid, and he pulls out just far enough that he’s spilling across my tongue instead of down my throat, and I swallow, loving the taste of him.
“Fuck. Fuck. Leah.” He drags himself out of my mouth and bends and kisses me, messy, tasting himself, tasting me, everything.
He falls back against the headboard and watches, one hand loose on his spent cock, his chest heaving.
And now that my mouth is free, I can talk, and the only thing I can say is Rowan’s name, over and over, because he’s driving up into me now with nothing careful left in him.
Declan has both hands on my hips and is slamming into me from behind, and I can feel them both starting to lose it.
Rowan comes with a sound that starts in his chest and comes out like a growl, his hips jerking up hard under me. He pulses inside of me, hot and deep.
Declan’s rhythm goes ragged behind me, and then he drives in one last time and holds there, his forehead dropping against my back and his teeth against my shoulder as he comes. He fills me in a place I’ve never felt anything before, a heat that spreads all through me and doesn’t stop.
For a long time, nobody moves.
Then Declan eases out of me, slow, careful, one hand steadying my hip, and I feel the sudden emptiness of it and whimper.
Rowan slides out after him, and I feel both of them leaving me, warm and slick down the insides of my thighs and onto Rowan’s stomach, and I’m too far gone to be embarrassed by it.
I collapse fully onto his chest, and his arms come up around me and hold on.
The mattress shifts. Declan is gone and then back, and a warm cloth is pressed between my legs, moving gently, cleaning me where he was and where Rowan was, taking his time with it.
He wipes down Rowan’s stomach without a word, and Rowan lets him.
Then the cloth is gone, and the covers are coming up.
Emmett crawls back over and wedges himself in along my back, his hand splayed over my stomach.
Three men. One bed. I’m lying on top of one of them and between the other two, and there is not a single inch of me that isn’t touching someone.
I think about the string of foster homes, the sofa beds and the bunk beds and the mattress on the floor of a converted garage.
I think about all the nights I lay in the dark planning which window I’d climb out of if I had to.
I don’t know where the escape is in this room. I haven’t looked. It’s the first place I’ve ever slept where I didn’t check. And this is where I want to stay.
I close my eyes against Rowan’s chest, and I don’t run.