27. Reva #2
Without sight, the room changes. I hear fabric.
Shiloh’s zipper. Ever’s belt. Nash’s footsteps crossing the carpet to the chair near the corner.
The faint creak as he sits. My own breathing, too fast. The city behind the curtains.
The old panic waiting outside the circle they have built around me: my mother’s face, Delia’s flinch, Cal’s hand warm under mine, Isabel’s shadow over every move we make.
Then Nash speaks.
“Ever, put her on the bed.”
Large hands close around my waist.
I gasp even though I know him. Ever lifts me like I weigh nothing, carries me three steps, and lays me on the mattress with more care than his grip suggests. The sheets are cool beneath my back. My arms move instinctively to cover myself, but he catches my wrists and pins them beside my head.
“No hiding,” he says.
My body arches at the sound of his voice so close.
Shiloh’s fingers skim up my calf, over my knee, along the inside of my thigh. “Poor Yank. You’re shaking.”
“I hate the blindfold.”
Nash’s voice comes from the corner. “No, you don’t.”
I turn my head toward him, uselessly, because he’s right, and I hate that more.
“Shiloh,” he says. “Mouth first. She has too much to say.”
Shiloh’s laugh is soft, then the bed dips near my head.
His hand cups my cheek. “Open for me.”
I do.
He slides his thumb over my lower lip first, teasing, and then he feeds me his cock.
I take him carefully at first, tongue sliding along him, lips closing around the head.
He groans, and the sound goes straight through me.
Ever’s mouth finds my breast at the same moment, hot and wet, teeth catching my nipple while his fingers drag through the slick between my thighs.
I moan around Shiloh.
“That’s better,” Nash says.
The only voice with shape is his.
Ever and Shiloh become touch. Weight. Heat.
Shiloh’s hand in my hair, guiding without forcing.
Ever’s fingers working into me from below, two at first, then deeper, curling until my hips jerk.
My own hands twist in the sheets because I have nothing to hold and nowhere to look.
Every sensation arrives too bright. Shiloh sliding over my tongue.
Ever biting my breast. Nash breathing from the corner, quiet and controlled, telling them when to slow, when to stop, when to make me wait.
I lose track of anger quickly.
That might be the point.
Shiloh pushes a little deeper, and I gag.
He freezes.
“Color,” Nash says.
I pull off enough to breathe. “Green.”
Shiloh’s thumb strokes my temple once, tender enough to undo me. Then Nash says, “Again,” and Shiloh pushes back into my mouth while Ever’s fingers make wet, filthy sounds between my legs.
My first orgasm comes too fast. Nash does not let me have it.
“Stop,” he says.
Ever withdraws his hand.
I whimper, empty and furious, Shiloh’s cock still heavy on my tongue.
“Mean,” I gasp when he pulls free.
Nash laughs softly. “You started the evening by trying to throw everyone out of your room. I’m comfortable with mean.”
Ever’s hands roll me over.
The mattress shifts, bodies moving around me. My knees are brought under me, thighs spread, face turned to the side against the sheets. Shiloh’s mouth kisses down my spine while Ever positions himself behind me. My body tightens in anticipation.
Nash notices everything.
“Slow,” he says. “Make her feel the first inch.”
Ever’s hand presses between my shoulder blades, holding me down with just enough force to make my body melt into the mattress. The head of his cock nudges my entrance. I bite the sheet as he pushes in shallowly, exactly as Nash ordered, stretching me in one careful breach.
I moan.
“That’s it,” Nash says. “Take him.”
Ever’s breath leaves him hard. His fingers dig into my hips, and for a few strokes he keeps it restrained, short and shallow, letting me feel every inch he has not given me yet. Then Nash says, “deeper,” and Ever obeys.
He drives into me in one long stroke that punches the air from my lungs.
Shiloh’s hand slips under my cheek, turning my mouth toward him. “Still with us?”
I nod blindly.
“Words,” Nash says.
“Yes.” My voice breaks. “I’m here.”
“Good. Shiloh, give her something to do.”
Shiloh shifts in front of me, and I open for him again because I need the fullness, the heat, the way they take every spare thought and replace it with command and touch.
Ever fucks me from behind, hard enough to rock my body forward onto Shiloh’s cock.
Nash directs from the chair, voice rougher now, each instruction darker than the last.
“Hold her hips.”
“Make her gag.”
“Ever, harder.”
“Stop before she comes.”
I sob when Ever stills inside me.
Shiloh pulls from my mouth, breathing hard. “You are cruel tonight.”
“She needs to sleep.”
“She needs to come.”
“She will.”
Nash lets that hang there, and the promise is worse than denial.
They move me again. On my back. One leg over Ever’s shoulder while his mouth works between my thighs until I am shaking too hard to pretend dignity.
Shiloh beside me, kissing me with the taste of salt and himself on my lips, one hand wrapped around my throat lightly enough to anchor, never squeeze.
Nash tells me not to come, and I curse him.
He tells Shiloh to pinch my nipple, and I arch so hard Ever has to hold my hips down with both hands.
When Nash finally says, “Now,” I shatter.
It rips through me with no room for grace. My hands find Shiloh’s hair, then Ever’s shoulder, then the sheets. I cry out, blind and shaking, my whole body seized around pleasure so sharp it feels almost like pain.
Nash gives me thirty seconds. Maybe less. Then he starts again.
Time breaks after that.
Ever’s cock inside me. Shiloh’s mouth at my breast. Shiloh inside me while Ever holds my thighs open and tells me to breathe against my ear.
Nash’s hand in my hair at some point, because he leaves the chair, because restraint has limits and apparently I have found his.
His mouth takes mine, slow and devastating, while someone’s fingers circle my clit and another orgasm rolls through me, softer than the last, then another, until I am boneless and damp and barely able to lift my head.
I do not think about Isabel.
I do not think about my mother.
I do not think about Cal’s machines or Delia’s flinch or Deacon’s silence.
For a little while, my world is black silk, male hands, low voices, and the aching certainty that every person touching me knows exactly where I end and will not let me disappear past it.
Eventually, Nash unties the blindfold. Light returns slowly.
I blink up at him through wet lashes. His face is close, hair falling forward, eyes dark and almost tender in the way that nearly scares me. He strokes two fingers along my cheek.
“There you are,” he murmurs.
The line lands near something he has said before, and he seems to catch it too because his mouth tightens faintly. “With me,” he corrects.
I manage a nod.
“With you.”
“Color?”
I smile without much strength. “Green. Sleepy green.”
Shiloh laughs softly against my shoulder. “That’s my favorite shade.”
Ever pulls the blankets up around me. Someone wipes between my thighs with a warm cloth. Someone brings water to my mouth. Nash makes me drink. Shiloh kisses my temple and tells me I was perfect.
The room settles around me.
Bodies close. Sheets warm. The air smelling like sex and hotel soap and the strange, impossible safety of being held by more hands than grief can fight at once.
I’m still angry.
I’m still hurt.
My mother is still alive, Cal is still unconscious, Isabel is still breathing somewhere she should not be.
But my body is no longer trying to outrun itself.
Sleep pulls at me in thick, dark waves. I feel Shiloh’s fingers in my hair, Ever’s chest against my back, Nash’s hand heavy on my hip. Their voices blur above me, low and careful, already shifting back toward guards and plans and whatever war waits on the other side of morning.
I should listen. I should stay awake. I should hold on to every sharp thing in case I need it.
Nash’s mouth brushes my ear. “Rest, little wolf.”
For once, I do.