Eighteen #2
She expects a break. A reprieve. Maybe a joke or a towel or even just the soft landing of a warm hand.
Instead, Jason steps forward, plants one knee on the mattress, and takes her by the ankle.
He drags her down with controlled force until her ass is at the edge of the bed and her legs dangle, spread, over the side.
He kisses her, hard. She’s still coming down when he says it.
“Again.”
It’s not a question. Leo catches the other ankle, lifting and pinning her legs wide.
His hands are firmer this time—no more soft checks or pauses.
He knows what she wants, and he gives it.
He runs his fingers up the inside of her thigh, slower than is fair, until he cups her, thumb circling her clit in lazy, devastating circles.
She bucks against Leo’s hand helplessly, and this time both men laugh softly like they already knew she would. Not at her, but for her.
“Don’t tease,” she says, voice already hoarse.
Jason leans down, lips at her ear. “You begged us for more,” he says, tone even. “You didn’t say anything about being gentle.”
He palms her breast, pinching her nipple, and watches as she arches into his hand. Leo’s fingers sink inside her, two at once, knuckles rough and perfect. He fucks her with his hand, slow at first, then faster, all while his thumb never lets up.
The sensation is so sharp, so immediate, she almost cries. She feels herself climbing, tension building, but every time she gets close, Leo slows his hand to a crawl, or Jason pinches a little harder, just enough to jolt her back down.
She whimpers, tries to close her legs, but their grip is iron. “Please—please, I need—”
Jason’s hand clamps over her throat, gentle but absolute. “You need to wait.”
And she does.
No one has ever made her feel this wanted while denying her something.
Leo grins, mouth at her calf. “You look fucking incredible like this,” he says.
She’s trembling, not from cold, but from the unbearable pressure of being held at the edge.
Jason keeps her pinned. “If you want to come, you ask. If you want us to stop, you say it. Otherwise, you take what we give you.”
She’s so wet it’s obscene, the sheets under her soaked. She tries to keep her voice steady, but it’s a lost cause. “Please,” she says, “please let me—”
“Not yet,” Jason says. He slides a finger into her mouth, makes her suck it, then withdraws and runs it down her chest, over her stomach, until he’s circling her other nipple, making her writhe.
Leo leans in, tongue finding her clit, replacing his thumb. He laps slow, then fast, then slow again, never letting her settle, never letting her come.
The sound that leaves her barely feels human anymore.
Need strips her down to instinct.
Jason releases her throat, strokes her hair, wipes a tear from her cheek. “Good girl,” he says, and the praise detonates somewhere deep enough to hurt.
Leo’s mouth is relentless now, tongue working her clit with a precision that should be criminal. His fingers pump in and out, faster, and she feels the orgasm building, unstoppable.
She looks up at Jason, eyes wild, and says, “Now, please, please, please—”
He grins, nods to Leo. “Let her.”
Leo flattens his tongue, sucks hard, and Brielle comes with a scream that rips the air.
Pleasure wipes her out so completely the world disappears for a second.
Her whole body convulses, thighs clamping around Leo’s head, hands clawing at the bedsheet.
He doesn’t stop, not until she’s sobbing, body limp and spent.
Jason pulls her up, cradles her, kisses her temple. “You’re okay?” he asks, but she can’t even answer.
Leo moves up the bed, wraps an arm around her waist, and kisses her shoulder.
They hold her like something precious and hard-won.
She’s still shaking, but it’s not from need now. It’s from the certainty that this—this impossible combination of surrender and safety feels terrifyingly right.
Jason wipes the tears from her eyes, kisses her cheek, and whispers, “That’s more like it.”
She nods, breathless, and laughs—a raw, broken sound.
They don’t let her go.
They don’t stop.
They never, ever will.
?
The world narrows to pulse and heat, fireworks still fading behind her eyelids.
Brielle drifts for a minute—could be ten, could be zero—her head swimming with the residual heat of her last, devastating orgasm.
Leo’s breath stirs her hair, Jason’s palm is broad and warm on her thigh, and for the first time in her life she feels no urge to perform, to soften the edges for someone else’s comfort.
She’s spent years convincing herself she shouldn’t want this much.
It’s Jason who breaks the silence, voice low and steady. “She’s always been sensitive here,” he says, and she realizes he’s not talking to her, but to Leo. “If you press your thumb just under the rim, she’ll lose it. Don’t do it yet. Make her beg for it.”
Leo laughs, a quiet exhale, and nuzzles the back of her neck.
He’s still hard, still vibrating with energy, but he waits, lets Jason guide the tempo.
His hands resume their slow exploration of her body like he’s still learning her by touch.
His palm is rough but his touch is reverent, like he’s holding something priceless.
Jason moves to the head of the bed, kneels so he’s eye-to-eye with Brielle, and strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “She’s going to try to hold back,” he says, voice a little louder now, “but she wants to be seen. Don’t let her hide. Make her look at you.”
Leo hums agreement and wraps his arm around her chest, pinning her arms at her sides, holding her up so she can’t turn away.
“Is that right?” Leo asks, and there’s a smile in his voice.
Brielle tries to sass, but the words stick. She’s too exposed, too raw, and they both know it.
Jason leans in, kissing her eyelids, her nose, the corner of her mouth. He murmurs, “I want to watch you come apart again. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, and the hunger in her is almost violent.
Leo’s hand slides down, slipping between her legs, palm pressed flat over her mound. He moves with intent, not the uncertainty of a new lover, but the focus of someone trusted with something precious.
Jason’s eyes never leave hers. “Slow,” he instructs, and Leo obeys.
He rubs her clit, gentle at first, then with a rolling pressure that makes her jaw clench. He slides two fingers inside her, crooking them just enough to hit the spot that makes her knees buckle.
Jason cups her chin, thumb on her lip, not letting her look away. “That’s it,” he says. “Let yourself have it.”
She tries to fight, to tamp down the rising tide, but Leo’s grip is iron and Jason’s attention is almost unbearable.
“She likes to be called good girl,” Jason tells Leo. “But only when she’s earned it.”
Leo grins, nips at her shoulder. “You gonna earn it?”
She shakes her head helplessly, overwhelmed less by the sensation than by the certainty that they truly want her like this.
Leo fingers her slow, building and backing off, never quite giving her the edge she craves. Jason watches, not with pride, but with a wild, consuming fascination.
“She’s close,” Jason says. “But don’t let her come yet.”
Leo stops moving, fingers buried inside her, and waits.
Brielle’s whole body tenses. “Please,” she manages. “Please, I need—”
Jason kisses her, stealing the word from her tongue. “Not yet,” he says, and the denial strips her down to pure want.
Leo waits, hand still, until she’s trembling, until her thighs quiver and her toes curl into the bedsheet.
Jason strokes her hair. “You want it that bad, baby?”
She nods, tears pricking her eyes. “Yes, fuck, yes—please, I’ll do anything—”
Jason nods at Leo. “Now. Give it to her.”
Leo pulls his fingers out, runs the pad of his thumb under the rim of her clit, just as Jason described.
The sensation hits with surgical precision, sharp enough to tear a scream straight out of her.
Jason catches her head, keeps her looking at him, and says, “Good girl. That’s what I wanted to see. ”
The orgasm is sudden. Overwhelming. She shakes, sobbing, and both men hold her through it—one hand at her breast, the other stroking her cheek, their voices blending into a chorus of praise and encouragement.
She collapses, limp, breath hitching, heart sprinting. Leo doesn’t let go. Jason kisses her forehead, runs a hand down her back.
“You’re perfect,” Jason says, and the words are an anchor.
She laughs, raw and wild. “You’re both insane,” she says, voice wrecked.
Leo grins, kisses the top of her head. “You love it.”
She does. God, she does.
They let her float, let her ride the afterglow until she’s more liquid than woman. There’s no rush, no sense that anyone is waiting their turn. It’s just the three of them suspended inside the aftermath, something intimate enough to feel almost dangerous.
When she can finally see straight, she finds Jason’s eyes again. They’re softer now, but no less intense.
“Thank you,” she says, and means it.
He smiles, leans in, kisses her slow. “Anytime.”
Leo wraps her in his arms, and for a moment, Brielle wonders if she’s ever been this safe, this wanted, this completely alive.
She decides she hasn’t.
And for the first time in years, going backward no longer feels possible.
?
It starts again before anyone moves.
Brielle floats in the warmth of their arms, her body a haze of aftershocks and boneless pleasure.
She expects the moment to soften now, to dissolve into laughter or sleep or the awkward tenderness that usually follows sex.
But Jason doesn’t move. He just looks at her, eyes burning, and she feels the charge re-ignite, white-hot.
Leo is behind her, chin on her shoulder, hand gentle at her hip. His cock is hard against the small of her back, but he’s not moving, not pushing. Just waiting.
Jason sits up, leans in, and brushes a sweaty strand from her cheek. “You’re not done,” he says quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
She’s so raw, so oversensitized, that the words alone make her throb.