30. Scarlet Sage #2
Wes’s curse comes low and filthy and entirely involuntary.
He kisses Roman again, deep and quick, before he shoves out of his jeans.
He slicks himself through me once, then drives home in a single deep stroke that steals my voice completely.
His forehead drops to mine, his breath unsteady. “You take me so good.”
Roman’s hand slides down to where Wes is buried inside me. “I want to feel exactly how deep he is,” he says and traces the stretch of me with two fingers. He presses in alongside him until I shatter again, helpless, just from being that full and that wanted by both of them at once.
Wes fucks me through it, slow and devastating, the swell of his knot catching at my entrance with every stroke until I’m begging without any pride left to protect. He retreats and surges back in, and my begging becomes frantic.
“Please. I need it.”
“You have it.” His eyes track down to where he’s buried inside me, and he drives deep. The knot flared at the base of his cock grows bigger and bigger. It locks us together, the stretch and fullness pulling one more orgasm out of me before he’s even finished coming himself.
I softly rock on his knot, and it presses into that needy place inside, filling more than my body. He shudders through it with his face buried against my neck, his teeth scraping skin he still refuses to break.
“Mine,” he says against my throat, his voice low and rough, more confession than claim. He rocks his knot so it teases my edges, rippling fullness through me. “Even if you’re not wearing the mark yet. Mine.”
“Yours,” I say back and feel him shudder again.
Roman remains behind me, hard and patient through his jeans. When Wes finally goes loose over me and his knot begins to soften, Roman’s hand slides down between us, checking the space where our bodies are still joined.
Roman moves from behind once Wes carefully pulls free, the last pulse of his knot finally releasing. Roman strips out of his jeans without ceremony, and the want on his face when he looks down at me is anything but careful. “Tell me you still want more.”
“I want you.”
“Where?”
“Inside me. Now.”
He doesn’t make me wait the way Wes did. He pushes in with one slow, deliberate slide, and the fullness after Wes’s knot is a different kind of good entirely. He’s lighter, faster, and unbearable in a new way.
“Fuck, I can feel Wes’s cum making you extra slick.” He groans, forehead dropping to mine. “You feel so good. Every time I think I’ve memorized you, you prove me wrong.”
Wes settles beside us, one hand sliding to where Roman moves inside me, fingers finding my clit with unhurried precision. “Let him hear what he does to you,” Wes says against my ear.
I don’t have the composure left to hide it. Every sound that leaves me is unguarded, raw, and exactly what I’ve been chasing all night.
“Tell him how it feels,” Wes says, his fingers never stopping. “Tell him what he’s doing to you.”
“Roman… So full. Deep. I can feel him everywhere.”
Roman groans against my throat. “Say my name like that again.”
“Roman.”
“Again.”
“Roman, please, don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning to,” he says, his voice strained and hips rolling deeper with every word, like the sound of his own name from my lips undoes him as much as anything else does.
Wes’s fingers find a rhythm against my clit that matches Roman’s pace exactly, the two of them moving like they’ve spent years learning how to take me apart together.
“You’re going to come again,” Wes says. It isn’t a question. “I want to watch this one too.”
Roman’s hips pick up speed, his control fraying at the edges. “Look at me.”
It almost hurts to see the wonder and openness in his expression.
“That’s it,” he says, voice cracking. “Stay right there with me.”
My next orgasm builds slower than the others, drawn out between Wes’s fingers and Roman’s deepening rhythm, until I’m pleading without caring who hears it.
“Please. Roman, please.”
“I’ve got you.” His thrusts turn sharp and deliberate. He’s chasing his own release now as much as mine. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”
“Roman. I’m so close—”
“I know. I can feel it.” His voice drops, rough at the edges. “Squeezing me like you don’t want to let go.”
“I don’t.”
His hips snap harder and deeper, and Wes’s fingers tighten their circle against my clit in perfect time with him. “Let go anyway. I’ll still be right here.”
I come, shaking, clenching around him hard enough that his rhythm finally breaks. He drives in once more and groans my name against my collarbone as he comes, his body shuddering through it before he stills. He breathes hard against my skin.
For a moment none of us move. Wes’s hand rests low on my stomach, Roman’s mouth is still pressed against my shoulder, and the quiet between the three of us feels as charged as anything that came before it. It’s slower now, softer, the kind of silence that asks nothing and still says everything.
“I have never been this thoroughly undone,” I murmur.
Wes presses his lips to my hair. “Good.”
“That wasn’t a complaint.”
“I know.”
Roman’s hand finds mine where it rests against his chest, and he laces our fingers together without a word, like he needs the contact as much as I do.
Wes shifts closer until there is no gap left, three bodies arranged around the same heartbeat.
By the time the tremors finally stop moving through all three of us, I’m limp between them.
The stars remain visible above the roofline.
For several minutes, none of us attempt language. Then my stomach growls.
Roman looks down at me, amused.
“I have been through an ordeal.”
Wes’s thumb circles my ankle. “You created the ordeal.”
“I regret nothing.”
A phone buzzes somewhere near the worktable.
Wes checks the screen. “Pizza.”
I lift my head. “You ordered pizza?”
“Before you came upstairs.”
Roman looks impressed. “Confidence.”
“Planning.”
Wes goes downstairs and returns carrying a pizza box, bottled water, and napkins. He sets everything on an empty section of quilt, safely away from the archive materials.
We eat cross-legged beneath the stars. My dress is crooked, Roman’s hair is a disaster, and Wes has the expression of a man who believes he has completed a difficult assignment to an exceptional standard.
I steal the last piece of pepperoni from his slice.
His eyes narrow.
“You were too slow.”
“You can barely sit upright.”
“That doesn’t affect hand speed.”
Roman lifts his water in a toast. “To Scarlet’s remarkable survival instincts.”
Wes takes the pepperoni back from my fingers and feeds it to me.
I glare while chewing.
He looks pleased again.
Roman folds the empty pizza box. I brace one hand on the floor and begin to stand.
Wes catches me around the waist before my knees finish objecting. “What are you doing?”
“There are four unopened boxes.”
“They will remain unopened.”
“I have momentum.”
“You have jelly where your legs used to be.”
Roman lies back on one elbow, watching us. “Technically, she has enthusiasm. Momentum requires movement.”
I try to step around Wes, but my thighs tremble.
He lifts me. The room shifts as he gathers me against his chest.
“I can walk.”
“No.”
“We have discussed your relationship with authority.”
“We have.” He starts toward the attic stairs. “You continue to misunderstand it.”
I look over his shoulder at Roman. “Are you allowing this?”
Roman collects my grandmother’s letter, the map photographs, and his sketch. “I support carrying you to bed on the grounds that I would like to join you there.”
“Corruption throughout the agency.”
Wes carries me down the stairs to the second floor. Halfway to the bedroom, another wave of heat moves through me.
It is deeper than arousal. It spreads beneath my skin and settles low in my body with a heavy, rhythmic pull. The ache isn’t easing with my exhaustion. My body feels full and restless, as though the orgasms fed the need instead of satisfying it. My scent thickens around us.
Both men go alert.
Roman touches my wrist, counting my pulse. Wes’s arms tighten without hurting me.
I think of Dr. Cole’s questions about my cycle, temperature, and scent changes. The possibility I’ve been refusing to name settles between us.
My heat is coming.