CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HEAT
Elise
I’m boneless and satisfied and they haven’t even gotten off yet, which seems fundamentally unfair.
I sit up on shaky arms, and Wyatt and Jordie are standing at the edge of the bed now, watching me with dark eyes that make my stomach flip even though I just came three times.
“Come here,” I tell them, my voice still wrecked.
They move closer, standing side by side, and I reach for their waistbands, hooking my fingers in and pulling down slowly. Their boxer briefs fall away and I’m greeted with not one but two very impressive erections.
Jordie’s is longer, curved slightly, flushed dark at the tip. Wyatt’s is thicker, a little shorter than Jordie’s, but Christ the girth makes my eyes widen.
“Like what you see?” Jordie asks, that cocky grin in his voice even though his breathing is uneven.
“Shut up,” I tell him, but I’m wrapping a hand around each of them, feeling the hot silk of their skin, the way they both make this identical sound of relief when I touch them.
I stroke slowly, learning the weight and feel of them, watching their faces. Jordie’s head falls back, his mouth open. Wyatt’s jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on my hand.
I lean forward, spit into my palm, then wrap my hand back around Jordie. Do the same for Wyatt. The slide is easier now, slicker, and they’re both making sounds that go straight between my legs even though I’m too sensitive for more.
“Faster,” Jordie grits out. “Please, Elise, faster.”
I obey, stroking them both in tandem, and Wyatt’s hand comes to my hair, petting it gently even as his hips start to move, fucking into my fist.
Jordie reaches down, pinches my nipple, and I gasp. “Open your mouth,” he says.
I do, and he guides himself between my lips. I take him as deep as I can, which isn’t all the way because he’s long, but I work him with my tongue and my hand and he makes this choked sound that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Switch,” Wyatt says roughly, and I release Jordie with a pop, turn to take Wyatt instead.
He’s thicker and I have to work my jaw wider, but the weight of him on my tongue, the way he groans when I hollow my cheeks—it’s intoxicating.
We establish a rhythm. I switch between them, taking one in my mouth while stroking the other, and they’re both making sounds now, praise and curses and my name like a prayer.
“Fuck that feels good,” Jordie moans.
A low, rough sound pours out of Wyatt as I tongue his cock next. “Yeah, baby. Like that.” He pumps in and out of my mouth, watching me with a look of adoration.
Jordie guides me back to him with a hand on my cheek. “So fucking good,” he groans, angling his hips up to fuck my mouth.
I struggle to catch my breath—this is dizzying, intoxicating—the hottest thing I’ve ever done.
“Fuck,” Wyatt groans again when I move my mouth to take Jordie again.
“Close,” Jordie warns. “Elise, I’m—”
Downstairs, the front door opens. Slams.
Grant’s home.
We all freeze for a second. I can hear his footsteps, heavy and angry, moving through the first floor.
I should stop. Should pull away. Should—
But Jordie’s hand tightens in my hair and Wyatt’s thumb traces my cheekbone and I realize I don’t want to stop. This is the hottest experience of my life and I’m not ending it because Grant decided to come home.
I take Jordie back in my mouth, stroke Wyatt faster, and the fact that Grant is downstairs, the danger of it, just makes it hotter.
“Fuck,” Wyatt breathes. “Elise, if you don’t want me to come in your mouth you need to—”
I don’t pull away. Just look up at him and take him deeper.
He comes with a shout he tries to muffle, his whole body going rigid, and I swallow everything he gives me because the taste of him, the way he looks when he falls apart—I want all of it.
Jordie’s next, groaning my name as he spills down my throat, his hand gentle in my hair even as his hips jerk.
Downstairs, a door slams. Grant’s probably in the kitchen. Probably heard Wyatt’s shout. Probably knows exactly what’s happening up here.
I don’t care.
I release Jordie, lick my lips, and look up at both of them. “Was that good?”
“Good?” Jordie laughs breathlessly. “That was—you’re fucking incredible.”
Wyatt’s already moving, grabbing tissues from the nightstand, cleaning me up with careful hands. “You okay? Was that too much?”
“I’m perfect.” And I am. Sated and satisfied and still humming with the pleasure of making them fall apart.
“Come here.” Jordie pulls me up the bed, arranges pillows behind me like I’m some kind of princess. “Water. You need water.”
He’s already grabbing a bottle from his dresser, opening it, holding it to my lips while I drink.
“I can hold a water bottle, Jordie.”
“I know. But let me take care of you.” His voice is soft now, that golden boy facade completely gone. This is real Jordie. Sweet and attentive and almost babying me in a way that should be annoying but isn’t.
Wyatt’s pulling a blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders. “You’re not cold?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I can turn the heat up—”
“Wyatt.” I catch his hand. “I’m okay. Better than okay.”
He searches my face, then nods. Leans down to kiss me soft and careful.
Jordie’s already bringing a warm washcloth, cleaning between my thighs with gentle touches that make me squirm. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“Nothing hurts. You guys are being ridiculous.”
“We just made you come three times. Let us be ridiculous.” Jordie tosses the washcloth aside, climbs into bed beside me, pulls me against his chest. “Besides, this is my favorite part.”
“Babying me?”
“Taking care of you.” He kisses my temple. “Knowing we made you feel good.”
Wyatt climbs in on my other side, and I’m sandwiched between them, warm and safe and thoroughly satisfied.
Downstairs, another door slams.
Grant knows. Has to know.
Tomorrow there will be consequences. Tomorrow we’ll have to deal with his anger and hurt and whatever else he’s feeling.
But tonight, wrapped up in Jordie and Wyatt, I can’t bring myself to care.