22. Jade #2
I kiss him like I’m staking a claim—teeth catching his bottom lip, tongue pushing in deep, tasting coffee and the faint salt of sweat from the morning’s work.
He groans low in his throat, hands coming up to frame my face, but I don’t let him take over. I bite down again, harder, then pull back just enough to murmur against his mouth, “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
Razor doesn’t say a word as he starts to move. I feel the heat of him at my back before I turn—broad shoulders filling the doorway, dark eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the room worth watching.
I break from Shadow, spin, and fist the front of Razor’s shirt, carefully so as not to hurt my shoulder. He’s taller, heavier, but I pull him down anyway, rising on my toes to meet him halfway.
Our mouths collide like a fight.
I taste metal and gun oil on him, feel the rough scrape of stubble against my chin. His hand comes up fast, fingers threading into my hair at the nape, gripping hard enough to sting.
He doesn’t kiss me back so much as he devours—tongue stroking deep, controlling the angle, reminding me he’s not the type to be led. I push against his chest with my good hand. He lets me shove him back one step, then another, toward the hallway, never breaking the kiss.
Shadow is right behind us, heat at my side, hand sliding low on my back as we move. No one speaks. Words would break the momentum, and none of us can afford that right now.
We hit the bedroom door. Razor kicks it open.
The room is dim. Curtains half-drawn, afternoon light slanting in thin stripes across the unmade bed. I don’t stop. I shove Shadow down first. He lands on his back with a controlled exhale, already reaching for his belt.
I climb over him, straddling his hips, grinding down hard against the thick ridge already straining his jeans. He hisses through his teeth, hands clamping my thighs.
I peel my shirt off over my head. The bandage on my shoulder pulls tight, a dull ache I ignore. My bra follows—quick hooks, lace hitting the floor.
Shadow’s eyes darken, raking over me. “Fuck, Jade,” he breathes, voice rough. “Look at you.”
Razor steps in close behind me. His chest presses to my back, a solid wall of heat. One big hand fists my hair again, yanking my head back until my throat is exposed. I feel his teeth graze the side of my neck, then sink in hard enough to leave a mark.
I gasp, arching into it. His other hand slides around to my front, rough palm cupping my breast, thumb scraping over the nipple until it pebbles tight.
“Move,” he says.
I don’t argue. I lift my hips. Shadow strips fast—jeans shoved down, cock springing free, and already leaking at the tip.
Razor’s fingers are between my legs before I can lower again—two plunging inside me without warning, curling, stretching.
I’m soaked, slick enough that the sound is obscene when he pumps them twice.
He pulls them out, spreads the wetness over my clit in rough circles, then lines himself up behind me.
I sink down onto Shadow first. Slow at first, feeling every inch stretch me open, the burn of it mixing with the ache in my shoulder, the throb between my legs.
Shadow groans, hands gripping my hips, guiding me down until I’m seated fully, his cock buried deep.
I rock forward once, grinding my clit against his pelvis, and the friction sends sparks up my spine.
Razor pushes me forward onto my hands, chest to chest with Shadow.
I feel the blunt head of him at my entrance—already slick from me—and he thrusts in alongside Shadow in one brutal stroke.
No easing in. Just complete, stretching fullness, the pressure of both of them inside me at once almost too much.
I cry out, nails digging into Shadow’s shoulders.
The stretch burns, then blooms into something darker, hungrier.
They move together as Razor sets the pace from behind, deep and efficient, hips snapping forward in short, punishing strokes. Shadow thrusts up to meet him, matching the rhythm, hands sliding up to cup my breasts, thumbs rolling my nipples. I’m caught between them.
Razor’s grip tightens in my hair. He pulls my head back again, arching me, exposing my throat to Shadow’s mouth. Shadow bites down on the other side—twin marks now—and murmurs against my skin, “So fucking good, Jade. Taking us both like this. Perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
The praise hits like a spark to dry grass.
I clench around them, hard, and Razor growls low.
His rhythm stutters—once, twice—then he drives in deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt.
I feel his pulse, hot and thick, spilling inside me with a rough grunt.
He stays there a moment, breathing hard against my neck, then pulls out slowly, leaving me empty and dripping.
He steps back, and Shadow flips me onto my back, never breaking contact. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, folds me open, and slides back inside. Slow this time, with his eyes locked on mine the whole way down.
“Good girl,” he says, voice wrecked. “Look at me. Let me see you fall apart.”
He doesn’t rush. Shadow never rushes when it matters. He keeps my legs hooked over his shoulders. He folds me open wider and slides back inside, inch by deliberate inch. The stretch is slower this time, more aware.
Every ridge of him drags against sensitive walls still slick from Razor, still pulsing with the aftershocks of being so full. I feel every bit of it. The wet glide. The heat of him. The way my body clenches instinctively around the invasion like it’s trying to pull him deeper.
His eyes stay locked on mine the whole way down.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. His voice is low and wrecked. “Look at how perfectly you take me. Fuck, Jade. You’re so wet. So hot around my cock. You were made for this. For us.”
The words sink in deep. They cut through the static in my head, the part of me that still flinches at anything that sounds like ownership.
Shadow’s version doesn’t twist. It builds. It makes my throat close, and my hips roll up to meet him before I can stop them.
He starts moving then. Slow, deep rolls of his hips grind the base of his cock against my clit every time he bottoms out. No frantic pace. Just relentless, measured strokes that coil the pressure tighter with every pass.
His hands slide up my sides. Thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, then cup them fully. He pinches my nipples between his fingers. He rolls them until the sharp sting bleeds into heat, and I arch hard, gasping.
“That’s it,” he says against my mouth. He leans down so our foreheads touch. “Let me feel you. Let me hear how much you need this. You’re perfect like this. Open. Dripping. Taking everything we give you. My perfect fucking girl.”
I dig my nails into his back. Hard enough to leave marks through the shirt he never fully took off.
He groans. His pace picks up just enough to make the headboard tap the wall in soft, steady rhythm.
I meet him thrust for thrust. I roll my hips.
I grind down to chase that friction on my clit. The coil in my belly winds tighter.
My thighs start to tremble. My breath comes in short, broken bursts.
Shadow feels it. The way my walls flutter around him.
The way my body starts to tense like a bowstring.
He doesn’t say anything this time. He just slides one hand between us.
His thumb finds my clit. Circles firm and fast while he keeps driving deep.
The combination is merciless. Pleasure spikes so hard my vision blurs at the edges.