Chapter 17 #3
I lower my palms to the rug. Blood rushes toward my head, and from this angle I can see Tristan’s bare feet near the towel, Freddie kneeling at the edge of the mattress, and Owen sitting back with a satisfied look on his face, his cock still wet from me.
Weller makes me wait until my muscles tremble with the effort of holding the position. His palm remains warm and heavy on my ass, doing absolutely nothing. Not a twitch.
In the quiet tension of the room, all I can focus on is my pathetic breathing.
“Are you planning to start sometime tonight?”
“You’ve exhausted enough of my patience for one evening.” His thumb strokes once through the crease beneath my ass. “Now you may use some of yours.”
The first strike cracks through the room.
Heat flashes across my skin a fraction before the sting catches up. I jerk over his lap with a sharp sound that turns embarrassingly close to a laugh, more startled than hurt.
“One.”
His palm covers the place he struck. The ache spreads beneath it, bright and delicious, while he rubs once and lifts his hand again.
“I expected worse.”
Weller’s hold around my waist tightens.
The second hits the opposite cheek, harder. My elbows nearly buckle. Before I can recover, the third catches low, right where the sting turns into want.
“Still unimpressed?” Tristan asks me pleasantly.
“Watch quietly, Tristan,” Weller replies before his hand comes down again.
I yelp at the burn, but he makes me stay there and feel it, palm pressing the heat into my skin while his erection remains hard beneath my stomach. I shift instinctively, searching for friction.
He adjusts me on his lap, taking it away.
The fifth strike wipes the smile off my face.
I gasp and make stupid sounds I don’t have control over. My ass is hot now, each separate sting beginning to blur into one deep throb that pulses in time with my clit. Weller circles the sorest place with the heel of his hand, almost soothing, until I relax.
Then he strikes the same spot again.
“Weller.”
“Six. Do you want to stop?”
His palm skims my ass, and the ridiculous ache behind my ribs tangles with the one beneath his hand.
“No.”
“Look at me.”
I turn my head. Weller’s hazel eyes are fixed on my face.
“Tell me where you are.”
“Right here with you.”
He holds my gaze through the seventh. My fingers dig into the rug and my thighs open farther over his lap.
Tristan says, “Look how wet she gets when you make her behave.”
Weller doesn’t look away from my face.
My arms fold beneath me, lowering my forehead almost to the rug. Weller’s hand travels up my spine and closes around the back of my neck, not forcing me down, only keeping me where he put me while his other palm presses into the blazing curve of my ass.
“Three more.”
I make a sound that might be okay.
“Use your words, Bianca.”
“Ready.”
The answer barely clears my mouth.
“You have no idea how much patience I’ve already dedicated to you.”
The next two send me forward with a broken cry.
Weller catches me before my shoulders meet the floor, holding me suspended over his lap while fire spreads through both cheeks.
Tears gather without falling, pleasure and pain and something far worse pressing together until I can’t tell which one stole my voice.
He lets the anticipation build again.
When the tenth finally lands, it is broad and hard and perfectly placed. My body gives up. I sag over him, mouth open, no sound left except the thin whimper that escapes when his palm settles over the heat.
“Ten.”
Weller rubs slowly. My skin throbs beneath his hand, each pass gentling the sharpest edges without taking them away. His arm loosens around my waist, but I don’t move. I may never move again. The rug seems far away. The bed is on another continent.
His fingers slide into my hair and lift it from my face.
“That’s settled. Once you leave my lap, it’s done.”
My eyes burn. I close them before anyone notices.
His palm keeps circling my ass while the hand in my hair massages the base of my skull. The quiet holds until I can breathe through it.
“Gentlemen.”
Weller shifts me across his thighs, one forearm beneath my chest and his other hand parting my legs enough to expose what his discipline did to me. Cool air meets the heat between my legs.
Tristan crouches beside Weller’s chair and studies my ass with shameless concentration.
“That is a very pretty shade of red.”
Telling him off emerges as a breathy collection of sounds that have no recognizable language in them.
Weller’s thumb moves over the nape of my neck. “Kiss it better.”
Freddie drops to his knees on the other side.
His mouth finds the outer curve of my left cheek, lips soft against skin still hot enough that even the kiss stings.
My toes curl. A moan catches halfway out, and I try to lift away from the tenderness because the relief is somehow worse.
One cool, gentle press leaves the heat twice as sharp when his mouth lifts.
Weller holds me against his thighs.
Freddie kisses me again, closer to the center. My mouth opens around his name, but only the first sound survives.
Owen kneels behind him, too impatient to wait for access. He kisses each mark like he’s finding treasure, lips lingering while his thumb strokes the back of my thigh. I whimper and twist over Weller’s lap, unable to decide whether I need their mouths gone or glued to my ass.
Freddie tells me I’m beautiful against my skin, each word warmed by his breath while honey rolls thickly through the bond.
Tristan is the only one not kissing me.
He remains crouched where I can see him, his gaze moving between their mouths and the wet mess spreading over Weller’s lap.
“You were so pleased with yourself a few minutes ago.” He drags one finger between my legs. My hips twitch toward him as his finger circles my clit once, then withdraws.
Freddie’s lips close over the hottest place on my left cheek and Owen answers with an openmouthed kiss on the right.
Tristan leans in and puts his lips against the center of my ass.
The kiss is slow. Almost respectful. Then his tongue slides over the heated skin, and I cry out. My body shudders across Weller’s lap, arms too weak to push me up while all three mouths return to places that can no longer tell comfort from torment.
“All that from a kiss.”
Freddie kisses lower. Owen’s teeth graze one cheek without closing, and Tristan keeps talking between drags of his mouth, telling me how pretty Weller made me, how shamelessly I opened my legs for an audience, how my pussy is still trying to beg...
Weller’s not touching me at all, other than brushing my hair gently while my sounds get louder, none of them close to words anymore.
Maybe that was the plan.
By the time Tristan finally stands, I am shivering.
“Give her to me before she melts through the chair.”
Weller looks up at him. “Careful with her.”
“I am always careful with her.”
Weller shifts one supporting arm beneath my ribs. “You have a creative definition of always.”
Tristan laughs and reaches down. He slides one arm beneath my shoulders and the other under my knees while Weller supports my waist. Together they lift me from Weller’s thighs, and Tristan turns me in his arms until he’s holding me bridal style.
My head falls over the crook of his elbow.
One arm dangles until he catches my wrist and folds it across my stomach; the other is trapped uselessly between us.
Like my bones are soft. Tristan carries the warm, whimpering remains of me toward the mattress, cock hard beneath my hip and mouth close to my ear.
“Completely useless,” he murmurs.
“M’not.”
“Adorable. I admire the effort.”
He lowers me onto my back so slowly I feel every inch of my weight leave his arms. My sore ass meets the blankets and pulls a hiss between my teeth. Tristan keeps one hand beneath my hip until the sting settles, then lets my leg fall open where it wants. The other follows.
The blankets are already starting to smell like us. Owen climbs onto the mattress near my feet and rubs one broad palm up my calf. Freddie brings water, supports my head, and holds the glass while I take several clumsy swallows.
Weller kneels beside the bed.
“Look at me.” Weller waits until I manage it. “Any dizziness? Any pain you don’t want?”
“No. Everything hurts exactly the right amount.”
His hand settles over mine. “Do you want to stop for the night?”
That question gets my eyes open. “No.”
Tristan sprawls beside me, props himself on one elbow, and runs a fingertip around the tender edge of my ass.
“How do you feel?”
I search through the pleasant static in my head. “Happy.”
Weller closes his hand around mine and bows his head over our joined fingers until his lips touch my knuckles.
Tristan’s finger dips lower, stopping just before where I want him.
I shift my hips. “I need more.”
His eyes move to Freddie, who is still kneeling beside my head, one hand around the water glass and the other stroking damp hair away from my mouth.
“You heard her.” His hand closes around the back of Freddie’s neck and guides him toward me. “Take care of our needy girl.”
His shorts hang low on his hips, his cock tenting the front so hard it has to hurt. The way he looks at me is worse. Like he’s afraid wanting too much might frighten me.
“Come here.” My voice is barely audible, but it gets him the last step.
He bends over me, one hand braced beside my head. His mouth finds mine softly. Too softly. I catch his lower lip and pull until the sweetness breaks, and the sound he makes pulls my hips up off the blankets.
“Baby.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, as if he can’t settle on one place. “Tell me if you’re sore.”
“I’m sore.”
Freddie freezes and Tristan laughs under his breath behind him. “But she didn’t say stop.”
“I didn’t say stop,” I agree, sliding my hand beneath Freddie’s waistband. Hot skin. His cock jumps into my palm.
He shuts his eyes.
Freddie shoves his shorts down without looking away from me. Tristan hooks a hand beneath my hip before Freddie can settle between my legs.
“Turn over.”