Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Savannah
For all my bravado, my yes gets caught in my throat. What I told Brayden all those months ago: Yes, I’ll marry you, then felt like I stepped off a cliff.
I’m standing at the edge of another cliff now. Say yes and there’s no going back. Outside, the city sparkles, full of people who’d judge me for the choices I’ve made. Yet, here I am, making another.
Brayden comes to my rescue. “You want us both?” he asks as if he needs to hear it.
I smile, not that sweet plastered-on smile I use with his family, but something imperious. In charge. “If you think you’re up to it.”
One of my dress straps drifts down my arm. That seems to be all the opening Brayden needs. He gets up, goes to where I’m standing by the window, presses himself against my back the way he did when he first dropped that locket around my neck.
Slowly, he lifts my hair, kisses the back of my neck, mouth around the links of my necklace chain. A kiss like a claim. I roll myself back against him, relishing his answering hardness. “You like this dress?” I ask.
“What dress?” he says teasingly, then sends both straps down my arms. He kisses me again, a bit of teeth against my neck. A mark like he wants the world to know I’m his. Then he stops. Seems to realize Asher is standing there looking at us, eyes like twin flames in the dark.
“You just gonna watch us?” Brayden asks him.
“No”—Asher peels himself away from the wall—“I’m not just gonna watch.” He stalks over, reaching for the fabric of my dress, hitching up the hem. He runs his palm up my thigh, high, but not high enough.
“Don’t touch her.” Brayden, behind me, the words coming out in a growl. He seizes Asher’s hand, and for a moment I think they’re going to go back to antagonizing one another, until Brayden shoves Asher’s fingers up to the sheer fabric of my panties. “Don’t touch her unless you do it right.”
They both touch me—fingers against my clit, Brayden’s hand working over Asher’s. Close, but not quite enough.
I squirm, not giving them the satisfaction of begging. Yet.
Asher slows his movement until he’s barely touching me. Until it feels like he has my entire body balanced on his fingertip. “You gonna do what we say, princess?” he asks.
I laugh. “No.”
Asher smiles at that. “Good.” He pushes my panties to the side, plunges two fingers inside me, deep, the sound of it unmistakable. Then he withdraws his fingers. Extends his hand to Brayden, whose eyes widen in shock.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those,” Asher sneers.
Brayden’s shoulders go stiff. “One of what, exactly?”
“I had you clocked from day one,” Asher continues as if he didn’t hear him. “Selfish. Entitled. Afraid to get his hands dirty.” He smirks. “Or anything else.”
Brayden grunts. “As opposed to you? Arrogant. Smug. Convinced he knows what’s best for everyone.”
“I do know what’s best for you. Now suck your wife’s taste off my fingers, or I’m gonna fuck her better than you clearly have and make you watch.”
For a moment, I worry that Brayden’s going to straighten his clothes, possibly punch Asher, and leave. Then slowly, he leans down, eyes still defiant, and lets Asher push his index and middle fingers into his mouth.
“Fuck.” Brayden whispers it around Asher’s fingers, barely a word.
“She tastes good, doesn’t she?” Asher says. “Just imagine”—Asher pulls his fingers from Brayden’s mouth, wiping them across his jaw—“if you’d been at home eating her sweet pussy and not out at some bar wasting her time. But that’s okay. She found someone else to do the job.”
Brayden rears back as if Asher slapped him. “I’m here now.”
Asher laughs. “Yeah, you are.” He looks to where I’m still caught between them. “What do you think, Sav? Does he owe you an apology?”
My dress is hanging off me. I push down the straps, shimmy out of it, stand in my heels and matching lace bra and panties set. “I think he owes me several apologies. Maybe one right after the other.”
Brayden cocks an eyebrow at me. “Back at that café in San Diego, I made a mistake.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“When I got down on one knee. I should have gotten down on both.” He seizes me, walks me backwards and tumbles me back on the couch, widening my thighs and sitting between my knees.
“This morning, it seemed like you were feeling…” Brayden trails off like he’s searching for the correct word as he strokes my pussy a few times, thumb at my clit.
“Unsure.” He leans forward, kisses my thigh, bites down gently, but hard enough to still leave a mark.
“Just so there’s no mistake, I went to sleep last night thinking about this.
Woke up thinking about this. As soon as I get done with you, I’ll want to do it again. ”
“And yet,” I tease, “you’re talking instead of doing something productive with your mouth.”
For that, I get another soft bite, this one right where my thigh meets my hip. He leans forward, kisses my pussy long and slow, laughs at my answering groan. “Play with her tits,” he says to Asher.
For a second, Asher looks like he might argue—not at being told to do that, exactly, but being told by Brayden to do anything. “You sure?”
“You don’t think my wife has gorgeous tits?” Brayden says challengingly.
“Your wife has tits that men should write songs to.” Asher sits next to me on the couch, slides an arm around my shoulders, then into one of the lace cups of my bra, toying with my nipple. “The question is if you’re gonna have a problem with me touching them.”
“We’re gonna have a problem if you don’t.” Brayden sits back on his heels and glares up at him. “In fact, we’ll have a problem if you don’t give Savannah exactly what she wants.”
Asher strokes a piece of hair back from my forehead, continues to play with my nipple with his other hand. “Well,” he says to Brayden, “she’s waiting.”
Brayden huffs, rolls his eyes, but he presses his mouth back to my pussy, tongue against my clit, fingers pressing my thighs to the couch cushions so I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. It’s hot and wet and almost too much, pleasure rising inside me like an ocean swell. How did I ever fake this?
I’m not faking it now as Brayden licks me and Asher pinches my nipples, one then the other, then both, the good kind of hard like there’s a direct line from each one down to my clit.
Brayden pushes one of my thighs over his shoulder, tilts me back against the cushions, spits on two of his fingers and begins to fuck me with them the way Asher was before.
“Fuck, Sav.” The words get buried in the skin of my thigh, a groan like he’s into this just as much as I am. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good.”
If anyone had asked me a month ago how I thought Brayden would be in bed—if he’d be selfish or mean or simply unimaginative—all of that’s been swept away in the past twenty-four hours. He licks me like he wants nothing more than to stay there, drinking me in.
Next to me, Asher makes a noise. A half-buried huh as if he’s surprised by Brayden’s enthusiasm and my response. “That’s it, princess,” he says to me. “You take exactly what you need.”
My orgasm builds, crests, breaks when Brayden fucks his fingers into me and curls them inside me just so. Waves wash over me as I gasp, as I collapse against Asher, unable to move.
When I come back to myself, Brayden is still on the floor, mouth soaked, expression smug.
“How’d that rate?” Like he’s being competitive about this, which of course he is.
He crawls up on the couch, sitting on my other side so that I’m bracketed between them.
Reaches and strokes my face gently with the pads of his fingers. “Can I kiss you?”
If Asher thinks anything of it—that Brayden and I are new to one another, this morning excepted—he doesn’t say. Just trains his eyes on me as I nod.
Brayden tips forward, presses his lips to mine. Kisses me once, soft and sweet, then again. Pulls off, tips his forehead against mine, then cuts his gaze to Asher as if just now realizing we’re being watched. “You want something, Adler?”
“For you not to call me that, Forsyth.” Asher says it mildly. He brushes Brayden’s jaw with his fingers, lightly, but enough to make Brayden’s eyes go wide.
“Is that all?” Brayden swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing like he’s nervous.
“No,” Asher says. “No, that’s not all.” And then he tilts Brayden’s face toward his.