Epilogue Part Two #3
“Darling,” Paul says calmly from the driver’s seat. “You spent the last six hours feeding people homemade desserts while wearing that dress.”
“Your point?”
“My point is you’ve been a tease all day.”
Nevan grins. “See? Even the psychologist agrees.”
“Doctor,” Paul corrects automatically.
“Nerd.”
“Brat.”
Pudding lets out a tiny snuffle, and Ridge strokes her back. “Can you two flirt later? I’m trying to appreciate our girl’s crisis.”
“I’m not having a crisis.”
Ridge turns to me again, then raises an eyebrow. “You’ve adjusted that dress six times in the last minute.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“I can have it off you in approximately twenty seconds,” Nevan offers.
“Oh, shut up.” I chuckle, and he grins.
Paul’s hand squeezes my knee. “I’ve been watching you all day in that dress. Feeding people. Laughing. Glowing. It’s been distracting.”
My heart stutters.
“Distracting how, Doc?” Nevan asks, but his grin is still on me.
“Our girl laughs differently when she’s happy.” His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. “And every time you smiled at someone, I had to remind myself we were in public.”
Nevan groans dramatically.
“Jesus, Paul. Could you not be romantic right now? I’m trying to be inappropriate.”
“Fine.” Paul doesn’t even hesitate. “Distracting like I want to bend her over the nearest surface and remind her exactly who she belongs to.”
Nevan whistles.
“Which would be all three of us.” Ridge nods solemnly.
The car suddenly feels too small, and I shift in my seat, Paul’s fingers sliding the tiniest bit higher at the movement. A soft, needy sound slips out before I can catch it.
“Fuck,” Nevan mutters. “Are we home yet?”
Yeah, I’d like to know that too.
Ridge pops a sour lemon lollipop into his mouth, the stick bobbing as he speaks around it. “Greedy girl. One day of being the perfect hostess, and she’s already wet for us in the car.”
“I am not—” I start, but Paul’s fingertips press into my skin, and the denial dies in a shaky exhale.
“Lie to us again,” he says mildly, eyes on the road like he’s discussing the weather. “And I’ll pull over right now.”
“Yeah, rule number one.” Nevan’s hand finds my hair from behind, tugging gently so my head tips back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Us taking care of you on the side of the road. I’d sit you on Ridge’s lap so he can hold you open while Paul and I push up that dress.”
“Nevan,” I warn, but it comes out breathless. My body is already responding to them, and I can feel myself turning wet after all.
Not that it would be an issue if I didn’t. Ridge keeps travel packets of lube in the glovebox, the console, and every fucking drawer in the house.
Just in case he wants to finger me.
Yeah, life’s good.
The rest of the drive dissolves into a haze of teasing touches and low promises. Paul’s fingers keep stroking lazily. Nevan keeps up a running commentary of exactly what he wants to do to me once we’re home. Ridge watches, lollipop clicking against his teeth, eyes dark with intent.
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m trembling.
Home smells like lemon and cedar, with a faint trace of Paul’s espresso from this morning. Pudding jumps down from Ridge’s lap the second the door opens, stretching luxuriously before trotting straight to the couch and flopping onto her favorite yellow blanket with a contented sigh.
I kick off my shoes in the entryway, and the others follow suit. My throat is dry from talking all day, so I head straight for the kitchen, already craving something cold and sweet.
“I need a lemonade. Anyone else want…”
I don’t finish the sentence.
The three of them have followed me in. I glance over my shoulder.
Paul is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that calm, predatory stillness settling over him now that the public facade is gone.
Ridge is already rolling up his sleeves, his movements deliberate, eyes locked on me.
Nevan closes the distance before I even reach the refrigerator, big hands settling on my hips and pulling my back flush against his chest.
“Later,” he murmurs into my hair. “You can have your lemonade later.”
I turn in his arms, heart hammering, and find all three of them looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room. Like I’m theirs.
Yeah. The lemonade can wait.
Nevan licks his bottom lip while Ridge wheels forward, black nails tapping once on the armrest of his chair.
“Kitchen counter, sweetheart,” he commands. “Now.”
Heat floods through me. I don’t argue. I walk to the island, pulse racing, and turn to face them again.
Nevan is right there, his strong hands gentle as he grips my waist and lifts me onto the cool marble as if I weigh nothing.
Paul steps in close, unzipping my dress with those precise fingers, kissing each new inch of exposed skin like it’s something sacred.
Ridge watches from the end of the island, parked perfectly so he has the best view.
They peel me out of my dress, bra, and panties until I’m completely bare on the counter, thighs pressed together against the sudden chill. Nevan’s breath catches as he looks at me, that wet bottom lip shining again.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes out.
Ridge smirks, eyes dragging slowly over every curve. “Spread those pretty thighs, sweetheart. Let us see what’s ours.”
I do, knees automatically falling open. The cool air hits me, and I shiver, already aching for them.
Ridge’s gaze flicks to the side counter, where he reaches over, grabs the honey bear bottle, and tosses it neatly to Paul without a word.
Paul catches it one-handed, uncaps the lid, and then starts drizzling it slowly over me.
First, across the curve of my breasts, then down the soft slope of my stomach, and lower, between my spread thighs.
The sticky trails make me gasp and arch, the contrast of cold against my skin pulling a needy sound from my throat.
Nevan groans softly, grabbing my knees and leaning in first. His tongue traces a broad, hungry stripe up my inner thigh, chasing the honey. When he reaches my center, he moans as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted, the vibration rolling through me.
Paul takes my left breast in his hand, sucking the sticky sweetness off my nipple slowly, before his teeth graze enough to make me jolt.
Ridge leans forward in his chair, eyes not leaving mine when he says, “Such a needy little thing. Letting us lick you clean like our own personal dessert.”
I whimper, fingers threading into Nevan’s hair as Paul switches to my other breast and Ridge keeps watching what they’re doing to me. The kitchen fills with the sounds of their mouths, my shaky breaths, and the filthy praise that never stops.
I moan, hips twitching, and can’t take it any longer when Nevan’s tongue pushes inside me, licking deep. Paul sucks harder on my nipple, and the orgasm finally hits me, my thighs shaking around Nevan’s head as I cry out.
He pulls back from between my thighs, lips shiny with honey and me.
His eyes are blown dark, but there’s that soft look underneath, the one that always makes my chest ache.
He cups my face with both hands and kisses me deeply, letting me taste everything—the honey, myself, and the faint salt of his skin.
The kiss is messy and grateful, like he’s thanking me for letting him devour me.
When he finally pulls away, I’m breathing hard.
“Go kiss Ridge, baby,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Let him taste how good you are.”
He helps me down from the counter with steady hands, and I need him to because my legs feel shaky, but I take the few steps to Ridge without help. He’s watching me with that dark, hungry focus, lollipop long forgotten somewhere.
I climb carefully into his lap, straddling his thighs, and sink down until my bare pussy is pressed against his jeans.
Ridge’s hands settle on my hips immediately, pulling me even closer. The second our mouths meet, he groans, as the taste of honey on my tongue and me undoes him. He kisses me harder, devouring me, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck while the other glides between my thighs.
“Fuck, Lenny,” he breathes between kisses, hand moving to play with the wetness between my legs. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
His fingers circle my clit once, twice, then push inside me, two thick fingers curling just right. He fucks me with them in slow strokes while his mouth stays on mine, swallowing every whimper and moan like he needs them to breathe.
I rock against his hand, chasing the building pleasure. I’m right on the edge, trembling, when Nevan’s hands slide under my arms from behind.
“Not yet.” He laughs, voice rough with affection.
He lifts me off Ridge’s lap as if I were a stuffed toy, and I whine at the loss of Ridge’s fingers inside me, but Nevan softly chuckles and bends me over the kitchen island.
My breasts press against the cool marble, the sudden chill pulling a gasp from me as my ass instinctively lifts.
Nevan’s big hand comes down in a firm, warm smack on my ass. The sting blooms when he lets his hand glide over my back and rounds the island, tall enough that with the lowered counter, I’m perfectly eye-level with his cock.
Apparently, they stripped while Ridge had his fingers buried in me, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Paul’s hands are on my ass now, kneading the flesh with reverent pressure, before he lets go, but only to slide his cock through my slit teasingly, coating himself in the mess Nevan’s mouth and Ridge’s fingers left behind without pushing inside yet.
“Ready, darling?” Paul asks softly, but I can hear the hunger trembling underneath it.
I nod frantically, pushing back against him. “Please.”
He doesn’t make me wait. Paul pushes in and stretches me open in one long glide until he’s buried to the hilt. The fullness punches a broken, keening sound out of me. He stays there for a moment, letting me adjust, one hand stroking soothingly down my back.