Chapter 12 #2
Zay's hands finally touch me—sliding up my outer thighs with barely restrained urgency, gripping my hips, pulling me closer. "Like this?" he asks, and his voice is completely destroyed.
"No." I tug his hair again, harder this time, making him groan. "Lie down. On your back."
He blinks up at me, processing. Then understanding floods his face and he actually moans—a low, desperate sound that goes straight through me.
"Fuck yes," he breathes, already moving, already complying. He shifts back slightly, lowers himself to the floor with surprising grace for someone so large. Lies flat on his back on the kitchen floor, looking up at me with absolute worship in his eyes.
The visual is obscene. Zay on his back, fully clothed in jeans and a t-shirt, surrounded by the mundane reality of Xavier's kitchen—the breakfast dishes still in the sink, morning light streaming through the windows, coffee pot still warm on the counter. And me, completely naked, standing over him.
"Val," Xavier's voice cuts through the haze, rough and commanding. "Look at me."
I turn my head to meet his eyes. He's leaning forward in his wheelchair as much as he can, eyes dark with lust and something more possessive.
"You're fucking perfect," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. "Now sit on his face and let us watch you fall apart."
The command sends a shiver through me. I look over at Asher one more time. He's still frozen in his chair, but his chest is heaving with rapid breaths. His eyes are locked on me with such intensity it feels like being burned.
"Watch," I tell him softly. "Touch yourself if you want. I want to see you lose control too."
Zay's hand immediately goes to his cock, stroking himself with rough, desperate movements. His eyes never leave me.
Then I move to straddle Zay's face, lowering myself slowly, giving him time to adjust, to breathe, to prepare. His hands come up to grip my thighs immediately, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
"Please," he begs against me, the word vibrating through my core. "Please, Val."
I sink down fully, and the first touch of his tongue makes my head fall back, a gasp escaping my lips that I don't even try to contain.
"That's it," Xavier's voice comes from somewhere behind me, encouraging and dark. "Show us. Show us how good he makes you feel."
Zay's tongue works with devastating precision—licking, sucking, exploring like he's trying to memorize every sound I make, every way I respond.
His hands grip my thighs harder, holding me in place when I try to move, controlling the rhythm.
Below me, I can hear the wet sound of his hand working his cock, can feel the vibration of his groans against my core.
I'm already close. Too close. The combination of his mouth and being watched and the knowledge that Zay is getting off while tasting me—all of it—is too much.
"Zay," I gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard. "Oh god, Zay—"
"Let go," Xavier commands. "Come for us, baby. Let us see it."
And I do. I shatter completely, crying out as pleasure crashes through me in waves that seem endless.
Zay doesn't stop, doesn't let up, just holds me through it while I shake and gasp above him.
I hear him groan, feel his body go rigid beneath me, and realize he's coming too—my orgasm triggering his, both of us lost in it together.
When I finally come back to myself, breathing hard, hypersensitive, I lift off him carefully. He's grinning up at me, face flushed, lips wet, hand still wrapped around his softening cock, looking absolutely triumphant.
"Good?" he asks, voice wrecked.
"So good," I manage, still trembling. "You too?"
"Fuck yes," he breathes. "Came so hard I saw stars."
I look over at Xavier. He's gripping himself through his jeans, eyes dark with need. "Come here," he demands. "My turn."
Then I glance at Asher. He's still sitting there, but his control has completely cracked. His hands are gripping the armrests of his chair now, knuckles white, and he's staring at me like he wants to devour me whole.
"You know I've got to save you for last, Xav," I purr, dropping down to my knees, looking at Asher through my eyelashes. "The best things are worth waiting for."
Xavier makes a frustrated sound but doesn't argue. He knows I'm right. He'll get his turn.
I crawl across the cool hardwood floor toward Asher, the sensation a delicious contrast to the heat still pulsing between my thighs.
My body feels liquid, used in the best way, but there's a hunger in me that's only been whetted, not satisfied.
The air is thick with the scent of us—sex and arousal and something electric that makes my skin prickle.
Asher is my target now.
He hasn't moved from his chair since this started.
Still sitting there with that rigid control, but I can see how close he is to breaking.
How badly he wants to reach for me. The belt on his jeans is thick black leather, the buckle cold and heavy-looking.
His t-shirt strains across his chest with every controlled breath he takes.
I move slowly, letting him watch every shift of my hips, every sway of my breasts as I close the distance between us. Let him see exactly what he's been denying himself.
I stop at his feet, kneeling between his spread legs. Looking up at him, I see the muscle in his jaw twitch. His control is a thin, fraying wire stretched to its breaking point. I want to snap it completely.
"Ash," I whisper, my voice husky and wrecked from coming so hard.
His gaze is a physical weight pressing down on me. "Look at you."
"I need you," I say, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush that's more honest than anything I've said to him in weeks.
I press my cheek against his jean-clad thigh, feeling the rough denim, the hard muscle beneath.
"I've been keeping things from you. Been lying.
Been bad." I look up at him through my lashes.
"I need you to make me forget. Need you to use me. Please."
A low sound rumbles in his chest—something between a groan and a growl. One of his hands comes down, fingers tangling in my hair. Not gentle. A claiming grip that makes my scalp prickle and my core clench with renewed need.
"Is that right?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft register that always makes my breath catch. "You want me to punish you for lying? For weaponizing that pretty body of yours?"
"Yes," I gasp, nuzzling against him harder. "Please. I need it. Need you."
His other hand goes to his belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops is obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen.
The clink of the buckle coming undone is a promise that makes my mouth water.
He doesn't remove the belt completely—just opens his jeans, popping the button, dragging down the zipper with agonizing slowness.
My breath comes faster.
He fists himself through his boxer briefs, already hard and straining against the fabric. "You want this?" he asks, voice rough.
"Yes. God, yes."
He pulls himself free, and I can't help the small sound that escapes me. He's thick and hard, the head already glistening with arousal. He guides himself to my lips, the velvety head brushing my mouth.
"Open," he commands.
I do, parting my lips and taking him into the wet heat of my mouth. He's big, and I have to relax my jaw, letting him push past my lips. I swirl my tongue around the crown, tasting the salt-bitter pre-come, and a groan tears from his throat—the first real sound of lost control.
"Fuck," he breathes. "That's it. Such a pretty mouth. Made for this."
His grip in my hair tightens, holding me steady as he starts to move. Shallow thrusts that slide him over my tongue. I moan around him, the vibration making his hips jerk involuntarily.
I look up at him through my lashes, letting every bit of worship and desperate need show in my eyes. Letting him see that this isn't manipulation or deflection—this is real. I want him. Need him. Am telling the truth in the only way I know how right now.
"Fuck, Val," he groans, his rhythm becoming less controlled, more urgent. His free hand grips the armrest hard enough I hear the leather creak. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, using my tongue to press along the sensitive underside. His thighs tense beneath my hands. A string of filthy praise falls from his lips, each word a stroke of heat low in my belly.
Behind me, I can hear Xavier's harsh breathing, the creak of his wheelchair as he shifts. Feel Zay's presence somewhere nearby, still watching. The knowledge that they're all seeing this, that I'm on display, sends another wave of arousal through me.
"Look at her," Xavier's voice cuts through the haze. "Taking it so well. Our girl knows what she's doing."
Asher's control is fracturing. I can feel it in the way his thrusts become less measured, deeper, hitting the back of my throat. I relax, letting him use me, my own pleasure coming from his loss of control.
"Gonna come," he snarls, the words guttural and raw. "Fuck, Val—"
I pull back slightly, just enough so only the head is in my mouth, and look up at him. Making it clear I want this. Want him to come undone for me.
With a harsh shout, he does. Hot and thick across my tongue, flooding my mouth.
I swallow reflexively, the taste of him—musky and salt and uniquely Asher—coating my throat.
I keep my eyes locked on his the whole time, watching the way his face contorts with pleasure, the way his control completely shatters.
When the last pulses fade, I pull off slowly, licking him clean, making sure not to waste a drop. His hand in my hair gentles, becomes almost tender as he strokes my head.
"Good girl," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "Such a good fucking girl."
The praise makes my chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with arousal.
But I'm not done yet.
I turn on my knees to face Xavier. He's managed to get his jeans open, is stroking himself with long, slow movements that make my mouth water all over again. His eyes are hungry, possessive, dark with need.
"My turn," he says, and it's not a demand anymore. It's almost vulnerable. "Come here, baby. Please."
I crawl to him. He's wheeled himself closer to the couch, positioned so he can reach me easily. I fit myself between his spread knees, hands running up his thighs.
"I love you," I tell him, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "You know that, right?"
"I know," he breathes, threading his fingers through my hair. "I love you too. Now show me."
I lean in and take him in one smooth, deep glide. He's thick and familiar, and I take him all the way down until my nose is buried against him, swallowing around him.
"Jesus Christ," he chokes out, his hands tightening in my hair. "Val—fuck—"
I pull back, gasping for air, then dive down again. Set a relentless pace because I know what he likes, know what makes him come apart. Use my tongue, my lips, the suction of my cheeks. Pour everything I'm feeling into this—the love, the gratitude, the desperate need to show him this is real.
His hips begin to piston upward, meeting my movements. "So good... perfect... god, your mouth..."
I can taste him changing, feel the way his balls draw up tight against my chin. I redouble my efforts, humming around him, one hand coming up to cradle and gently squeeze him.
"Gonna come," he warns, voice strangled. "Baby, I'm—"
I don't pull away. Take him deeper instead, urging him on with my throat, my tongue, everything. The first hot pulse hits the back of my throat and I swallow, again and again, taking everything he gives me until he's spent and shuddering above me.
I release him slowly, licking him clean as I pull back, making sure not to miss a drop. My jaw aches in the best way, my lips swollen and sensitive.
I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Look around at all three of them—Zay still on the floor where I left him, looking dazed and satisfied. Asher slumped in his chair, chest heaving. Xavier collapsed back in his wheelchair, looking at me like I'm something miraculous.
"Convinced yet?" I ask, voice rough and used.
"Fuck yes," Xavier breathes.
"Absolutely," Zay agrees.
Asher just nods, something that looks like respect in his eyes alongside the lingering heat.
"Good," I say, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me shaky and overwhelmed. "Because I meant what I said. I can take care of all three of you. I want to. But you have to let me. You have to trust that I'm choosing this. Choosing all of you."
"We trust you," Xavier says quietly. Then, with a slight smile: "Though we might need more proof. You know. For science."
I laugh despite everything, the sound shaky but genuine. "Give me like ten minutes to recover first."
"Take your time, baby." He reaches for me, pulls me up into his lap despite the awkwardness of the wheelchair. I settle against him carefully, mindful of his injuries. His arms come around me, solid and sure. "We've got all day."
Zay stands, comes over to press a kiss to my shoulder. "You're incredible. You know that?"
"I'm trying," I admit quietly.
Asher hasn't moved from his chair, but when I look at him, there's something different in his expression. The wall between us isn't gone completely—but it's cracked. Damaged. Maybe repairable.
"Thank you," I tell him. "For... for not pushing me away."
"Couldn't if I wanted to," he replies honestly. "Not anymore."
The admission makes my throat tight.
We stay like that for a while—me in Xavier's lap, Zay's hand on my back, Asher watching from his chair. The morning light streams through the windows, illuminating the mess we've made of the kitchen. Evidence of what we've done scattered everywhere.
It should feel wrong. Dirty. Shameful.
Instead it feels like the most honest thing I've done in weeks.
"We should probably clean up," Zay says eventually, voice still rough. "And maybe eat actual breakfast."
"In a minute," Xavier murmurs, tightening his arms around me. "Just... give me a minute like this."
So we do. We give him—give ourselves—this moment of peace. This moment of being together without questions or pressure or complications.
Because reality will intrude soon enough.
The secrets I'm carrying will demand to be told.
The truth about Marcus will eventually come out.
But for now, wrapped in Xavier's arms with Zay's hand steady on my back and Asher's eyes on me—
For now, I let myself believe we might actually survive this.