Chapter 4 #2
Cheese squelches creamy on my tongue next, olive pops briny slick, mango dribbles sweet chin-trail.
Each time, they gasp unison, lips licked ravenous, cocks straining knots heavy—their raw hunger mirrors my every bite on their fat lengths, but I focus steady: food first, fueling my curves while they simmer desperate.
"This is the best thing that's happened to me all week," I whisper, finding it really hard to breathe, speak and do anything else around them. If I was slightly tipsy, this has sobered me up, that’s what I know for sure.
"Just wait," Santos says.
I point at him with a strawberry. "Let me finish the honeycomb first."
Matteo makes that almost-smile. Tomas watches me eat with the gray-eyed patience of a man who has nowhere else to be and no complaints about it.
The plate empties eventually. I set down the last strawberry stem.
I dust a crumb from my dress.
"So," I say.
"So," Santos says, and stands up.
"Do I get a safe word? Like 'taco' or something?" I wink, popping a grape, sweet juice bursting on my tongue.
I read Fifty Shades of Grey. I know how this works.
I was always curious about it, but it wasn't something I could ever ask Ricardo to do.
He was a vanilla guy, the type that only wanted it when he did, and it was over when he was finished.
I did everything to please him, and he's the last person I should be thinking about right now.
My omega sighs. I get an opportunity like this and I'm thinking about that douchebag.
Santos laughs, low and rich, settling beside me close enough his thigh presses mine, heat seeping through fabric.
"Taco it is. But you'll beg us not to stop, dolcezza (my sweetness).” His hand rests on my knee, sliding up inner thigh slow, fingers tracing seams, scent of saffron deepening, making my mouth water.
Matteo perches on the sofa arm, feeding me a strawberry from the bowl.
Ripe flesh bursts sweet-tart on my tongue, juice dribbling warm down my chin.
He wipes it slow with his thumb, pushes the pad past my lips gentle.
"Suck it soft, omega," he murmurs velvet, cock hardening visibly as my tongue swirls his rough skin, tasting faint salt. "Good girl. Feel that on your clit."
Tomas rises fluid from the armchair, silver musk sharp, kneeling between my thighs. His hands part my knees wider gentle, dress hiking to bare lace thong soaked dark. "No more jokes," he says gravel-reverent, gray eyes soft on mine, nose brushing my mound light. "You smell perfect."
Santos kneads my tits tender from behind, fingers rolling nipples. Matteo kisses me deep, whiskey-salt sweet. Their touches melt doubt; I feel princess-worshipped already.
Santos stands, pulling me up light. "Anything you're not comfortable with, we stop. Say the word." They nod solemn.
They lead me hand-in-hand to the bedroom, king bed draped silk, city lights glowing. "Our princess deserves royal treatment," Santos purrs. Matteo unzips my dress slow, silk pooling. Tomas unhooks bra, tits bouncing free heavy. Santos peels thong down, kissing thighs.
They strip one by one: Santos sheds shirt, chest hair dark, pants dropping curved cock thick. Tomas next, broad muscle, veined length heavy. Matteo last, lean power, long shaft straight.
Naked, vulnerable, I confess breathy, "I'm not a virgin, but I've never been with more than one alpha at a time.”
Santos smiles warm. "We can tell. By how wet you are for us, cuore mio (my heart).”
I smile shy-bold. "Where do we begin?"
Matteo's grin turns wicked, his pale blue eyes dropping to my mouth before traveling lower.
"I can't wait to taste you," he says.
"You say that like it's a threat," I manage.
"It's a promise," he says. "Dolcezza."
He eases me back onto the silk sheets, slow and deliberate, his hands smoothing down my sides like he's memorizing the shape of me. He spreads my legs wide, and I feel the cool air before I feel his breath, warm and close, hovering.
“You’re so beautiful. Every inch of you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
My face goes the color of my dress again.
Tomas settles beside me, his hand curving around my breast, his beard rasping my shoulder as he dips his head. His mouth seals over my nipple, sucking deep and rhythmic, and I stop having opinions about anything for a moment.
Santos cups my face, turning me toward him. "Still with us, cuore mio?" His thumb strokes my cheekbone.
"Barely," I say honestly.
He kisses me slow, his tongue stroking easy, saffron warm on his breath, and I stop worrying about being barely anything because Matteo's mouth finally finds me and every coherent thought I have left exits the building entirely.
His tongue laps my folds thorough and unhurried, circling my clit in languid strokes like he has all night and intends to use it. I moan into Santos's mouth, my back arching off the sheets, my hands fisting the silk.
"Good?" Santos murmurs against my lips.
"If you stop I'll never forgive you," I say.
His chest moves against mine. "We're not stopping."
Matteo hums against me and the vibration alone nearly finishes it. Pleasure builds in slow velvet waves, cresting higher, and I'm gripping Santos's shoulder with one hand and Tomas's hair with the other and thinking that Ricardo's name should be illegal in this room.
The orgasm crashes through me sweet and total, slick gushing hot on Matteo's tongue while I shudder apart in their arms, my cry muffled against Santos's mouth.
Matteo lifts his head. Wipes his chin. Looks extremely pleased with himself.
"Told you," he says.