Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Callaway
Honestly, I should’ve walked away the moment she started undressing. Should’ve offered to fetch the swimsuit she swears is buried in a pile of laundry or one of those unopened boxes in her office. Should’ve done the decent thing.
But I didn’t.
I fucking watched.
Watched her pull her sweater over her head like she hadn’t just set the room on fire. The fabric dragged over her bra—plain black, soft cotton, and sinful—before she let it fall to the side like it meant nothing. Like she hadn’t just bared herself in front of two men already too close to breaking.
Then she went for her leggings.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and shimmied out of them slow—fucking slow—like she’d been sent here to ruin us.
The cotton hugged her thighs, clung to the curve of her ass as she bent to tug them down.
And Jesus, when she turned just enough to give us the full view, I nearly lost it.
She stepped out of them, graceful and cruel, like peeling off a performance costume before taking the stage.
Panties and a bra. That’s all she wore now. Black lace, thin and soaked from the heat in the room—not water. The bra clung to her tits like sin, the fabric sheer enough to tease the curve of her nipples, already hard and begging for attention.
And those panties? Fuck. Cut high, riding her hips like a promise, barely covering her pussy, clinging to the line of her ass like they were painted on.
Every inch of her looked touchable. Biteable.
Fuckable. She didn’t just undress—she performed, and she knew it.
She stripped like she wanted us hard. Like she wanted us ruined.
I should have left, but I didn’t and now . . . she’s in the pool. After a long speech where she held her ground and told us we’re equals.
Honestly, I don’t just want to applaud the speech, I think I fell in love with her a little more and worse . . . I’ve never wanted to worship anything more.
And fuck, I’m so hard right now.
My sweats are unforgiving. They press against me with no mercy, dick throbbing, already leaking at the tip. And Monty—God help me—he stands there watching her like he’s cataloging her for when he’d be alone later. Watching like he’s starving.
I get it.
I am too.
But you know what . . . there’s nothing like the present, right?
I peel off my shirt first. Slow. Let it slide over my abs. I see her watching me from the water. Her lips part slightly—just enough. A quick breath. A little twitch in her fingers like she wants to reach for me.
Good.
She doesn’t get to come just because she’s pretty.
She gets to beg first.
My hands go to the waistband of my sweats. I glance at Monty—pretending not to watch, but his eyes are on my fingers. On the trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. On the shape of what’s waiting.
I push the sweats down.
Let him look.
Let her watch.
I step out of them, leaving only my black boxer briefs, cock straining hard and wet against the front. I won’t pretend I’m unaffected.
Monty moves, unbuttoning his jeans with the same precision he does everything. But I see it—the slight tremble in his hands. He’s barely hanging on. The ridge of his cock already outlined in his briefs as he kicks his clothes aside and steps into the pool like he’s walking into battle.
She’s floating in the middle, arms stretched against the tiled ledge, hair slicked back, water gliding over her skin like a fucking invitation.
Her panties cling to her hips, sheer and teasing.
Her bra’s almost see-through now, and her nipples are hard under the lace.
She doesn’t hide it. She wants us to look.
And I do.
I stalk into the pool, water licking up my legs, over my thighs, steam rising like it knows what’s about to happen.
I get close first.
Monty holds back like he always fucking does—controlled, calculating, hiding behind that cool detachment he wears like armor.
But me?
I don’t wait.
Not when she looks like that. Not when she’s already wet and trembling and holding her breath like she wants to be caught.
My hands slide through the water and find her hips—warm, soft, perfect—and she gasps, biting it back, but I feel it anyway. The tremor. The way her muscles flutter beneath my palms. She’s not scared. She’s aching.
I lean in.
Chest brushing her back.
My mouth finds her ear, and I nip the lobe, just enough pressure to make her gasp again. I don’t stop there. I drag my lips down the curve of her neck, breathing her in, letting her feel the full press of my cock—hard and pulsing.
“You’ve been teasing me all fucking night,” I murmur, voice low and hot against her skin. “Stripping in front of us like that. All lace and bare skin, like you wanted us hard. Wanted us desperate.”
She swallows.
I smile against her neck.
“You think I didn’t see the way you bent over?
” I go on, letting my teeth graze her shoulder now.
“How slow you pulled those leggings down? How your ass looked in those panties?” I press my cock up against her, hard enough that she feels every fucking inch.
“I’ve been aching to bend you over the edge of this pool and make you scream ever since. ”
Then she moves, grinds back against me.
That little fucking wiggle—innocent, my ass. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Her ass drags over the length of my cock, slow and devastating. The friction’s muted by the water, but fuck, it still hits. Still ruins me.
My jaw locks. My grip on her hips tightens.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Her panties are barely anything underwater—just a strip of lace clinging to heat and temptation. And despite the water, I can still feel her warmth. The soft pressure of her pressing back against me. The way she moves like she wants to be touched. Like she needs it.
She tilts her head, just a little, glancing back at me with wide, sinful eyes—sweet, dangerous, and so goddamn smug.
I could come just from this. From her grinding on me like that—wet, willing, waiting.
Fuck, she feels so good.
I suck in a breath. Don’t let it out.
Don’t lose it yet.
She moves again. Barely. But it’s enough.
My cock pulses against her, twitching like it’s begging for permission.
“Baby,” I groan, voice cracking on the word. “You keep doing that and I’m going to take you right here. Against the wall. Against him. Wherever the fuck you want.”
“Oh, I think she does,” Monty mutters behind me, his voice a low growl that vibrates across her spine. “Pretty sure she wants us to fill her. I mean, we promised that a few weeks ago, didn’t we, baby?”
Vesper gasps.
Her thighs shift in the water like she’s trying to close them—too late. My hand slides along her stomach, slow and possessive. I don’t go for her panties yet. I touch just above them, fingers trailing across soft skin, teasing the edge of the place she wants me most.
She arches slightly, and I press my mouth to her jaw.
“You stripped in front of us like it was nothing,” I murmur, dragging my lips down to her throat. “Like you didn’t know we were watching every goddamn move. You wanted this. Wanted us thinking about how good you’d feel wrapped around our cocks, didn’t you?”
She shudders so hard it rocks the water.
Monty’s voice is closer now. “I bet she’s wet and needy.”
I turn my head slightly, speaking over her shoulder, eyes still on her face.
“Get in front of her.”
Monty’s quiet for half a second. Then he moves, water rippling as he steps between her legs.
Vesper’s back arches slightly, her body caught between ours.
Her eyes flick up to his, then over her shoulder to mine—wide, dazed, pupils blown.
Her breath is coming faster now, lips parted like she’s already begging even if no words have come.
Perfect.
She doesn’t have to speak. Her body is screaming for it.
I press closer, my chest flush to her back, caging her between us. My hands skim up her waist, over the curve of her ribs. I find the clasp of her bra at the center of her spine.
I unhook it slowly. Let her feel it.
“Hold her still,” I tell Monty, voice low.
He anchors her hips, steadying her. She shivers against him—electric.
I peel the straps off her shoulders one at a time, dragging my thumbs along the trail they leave—slow, reverent, filthy.
The lace slips away, weightless, floating off into the water, forgotten.
She gasps.
Not from cold. From exposure.
From the feeling of both of us right there, watching her come undone.
Her bare skin presses back into me—soft and warm, wet from the pool but radiant with heat that has nothing to do with water. Her nipples are tight, peaked, brushing against Monty’s chest as she breathes between us.
She doesn’t hide.
She offers—just willing. Ready to surrender. Willing to be ours.
Monty looks down, and a low, guttural groan escapes his throat.
“You want me to taste those tits, baby?” he murmurs, his voice pure fucking sin, thick with restraint he’s about to lose. “Maybe we should get you out of here. Take you to the big bed. Make you comfortable. Let you lie back while we take turns eating your pussy.”
Vesper gasps.
Her knees buckle just slightly.
The movement grinds her ass into my cock.
Fuck.
I cradle her chin, coaxing her to look at me. Her breath stutters. Lips parted. Her cheeks flushed like she’s caught somewhere between surrender and need.
“Answer us,” I say, voice low, right at the base of her throat. “If you want something, you have to ask for it, baby.”
“I . . .” Her voice breaks. Her lashes flutter. “Yes.”
“That’s not asking,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her lower lip. “That’s just admitting you’re desperate.”
She whimpers, hips shifting, seeking friction. But I don’t give her any.
Not yet.
“You want us to eat your pussy, baby?” I ask, voice low and filthy. “Lie back and let us lick you open until you’re crying from how good it feels.”
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice almost breaking. Her eyes glassy. Her mouth trembling.
But I need more.
I slide one hand down the front of her body—slow, possessive. My fingers drift lower, just grazing the lace of her panties, then hovering close to the swollen heat beneath. I don’t touch her clit.
I just let her feel how close I am.
“How bad do you want it?” I murmur against her temple. “Tell me. Spell it out.”
“I want you to eat my pussy,” she says again, louder now. A little shake in her voice. A whole lot of need. “I want you both. I want your mouths. Your fingers. I want you to fill me. I want to feel you inside me until this ache”—her breath hitches—“until it’s gone.”
My cock twitches.
Monty lets out a low growl, like he’s barely keeping it together.
Vesper shifts between us, thighs loosening, her body going pliant and unsteady—like she’s about to melt right into the water if we don’t hold her up.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, kissing the curve of her jaw. “Brave. So fucking greedy.”
My lips skim down her throat, slow and reverent, letting her feel each syllable, every word I’ve soaked in want. I press a kiss just above her collarbone. Her breath catches like it’s tethered to mine.
“That’s what we needed to hear,” I murmur, voice thick with praise and promise.
Then I slip one arm around her waist, guiding her—just a slight shift in the water, enough to turn her toward me. Monty keeps his hold, keeps her grounded between us, even as I angle her hips just enough.
And I kiss her.
Deep. Slow. Possessive. Her mouth parts for me instantly, soft and gasping, like she’s been waiting for this since the moment she stepped into the water.
When I finally pull back from her mouth, she’s panting—wet lips, dazed eyes, like we’ve already started to fuck her without touching anything that matters.
Monty’s already moving.
He shifts a little closer, lowering his head without a word. His mouth finds her nipple—flush and aching from the cool air—and he wraps his lips around it like he’s starving. Like this is the only thing he’s allowed to taste.
She gasps.
The sound rips out of her, sharp and breathless, her hand flying to his shoulder for balance.
And I smile.
Because this?
This is just the beginning.
I move closer, my hand rising to cup one of her bare breasts, fingers spreading, reverent.
Her skin is slick from the water, soft and warm beneath my palm.
I circle my thumb over her nipple—slow, possessive—watching it pebble harder under my touch, watching her breath catch like I’ve stolen it from her lungs.
“Baby,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear, “you’re the bravest little tease I’ve ever met.”
She shivers.
“And now,” I continue softly, dragging my thumb again, slower this time, “we’re going to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”
“I wasn’t trying—” she starts, breathless.
“Don’t lie to me,” I cut in gently, but there’s no mistaking the command. “You undressed like you wanted us to lose it. Like you wanted to be seen. Wanted to be wanted.”
Her head tips back against my shoulder.
She doesn’t deny it.
Monty lets out a short breath, restrained. “Stop torturing her, Winthrop.”
I grin against her skin.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re right.”
I lift my gaze to him. “Let’s take her to the room.”
Monty steps back first, water parting around him as he climbs out of the pool. He reaches down, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and strips them off in one smooth motion.
Fuck.
His cock is thick and veined, already hard, flushed dark with need. I actually lick my lips before I can stop myself.
I lean close to her ear.
“Look at him, Ves,” I whisper. “You see his cock? That’s what he’s been holding back for you—for us.”
She trembles.
I feel it ripple through her.
“Wouldn’t you like to suck him?” I murmur. “Take him into that pretty mouth. Feel him fill it.”
“Yes,” she breathes.
Monty’s jaw tightens as he dries himself with a towel.
“Good,” I say softly. “Because you’ll have your mouth on him . . . while I’m eating you.”
She makes a sound—half gasp, half whimper—that goes straight to my spine.
I slide my hands to her waist and guide her toward the edge of the pool. Monty’s already there, towel in hand, waiting. Always fucking ready.
I help her up, water streaming down her body as she climbs out. Monty wraps the towel around her shoulders, drying her gently, reverently, like she’s something precious and breakable.
Then, without a word, he scoops her up.
Just lifts her into his arms like she weighs nothing.
She wraps her arms around his neck instinctively, clinging.
I follow close behind, my hand resting on her thigh as Monty carries her toward the bedroom.
We might claim him tonight—if she allows it.