71. Sage
SEVENTY-ONE
SAGE
“Wildcat.” Holden makes a sound deep in his chest and I can feel it vibrate through both of us.
He’s standing pressed to me, one hand on Milo’s hip and the other cupping the back of my neck.
His mouth is wet from mine, or from Milo, or from both.
I can’t decide whose flavor I’m tasting, but the confusion is exactly what I want.
Maybe it’s what I’ve wanted since the first night I realized love for us was always going to be a group sport.
Holden pulls Milo in closer, and he’s rough about it, but not mean—never mean.
He pushes Milo’s body up against mine, so the heat is coming from both sides, and I can feel Milo’s heart hammering against my ribs.
He’s hard again, because Milo is insatiable, and the strangled moan he makes when Holden slides his hand up the back of his shirt is everything I ever wanted from the chaos engine version of this man.
I grab Holden by the shirt and haul his mouth back to mine.
He kisses me, teeth and tongue and force, like he’s trying to brand something into me before Milo gets another turn.
Milo’s jaw brushes my cheek and then he’s right there too, lips finding my ear, biting it, smiling against my skin because now he’s the center of attention and he knows it.
He presses forward, sandwiching me between himself and Holden, and for a second all we are is flesh and need and the impossible friction of wanting all of it. At once.
“Is this for science?” Milo breathes into my neck. I laugh—high and giddy and half out of my mind.
“It’s always for science.”
He grins, then nips my shoulder and peels Holden’s flannel down my arms. Holden’s hands are almost too fast, pulling my tank over my head and undoing the clasp on my bra before Milo can even try.
“Hey! We’re taking turns here,” Milo protests, shoving Holden’s arm, which becomes a whole thing, which becomes ridiculous, which becomes perfect.
“If we’re taking turns, you should be on your knees with my cock in your mouth.”
Milo arches an eyebrow. “I’m not hating the thought of that.”
Holden laughs and shoves him against the island with a palm in the center of his chest. “Slow down, Romeo. You don’t need to awaken everything all at once.”
“Bet I could take you both.” Milo’s voice is pure bravado. He’s flushed, pupils blown, and the way he’s looking at Holden—like the only thing he wants more than validation is to get wrecked by the person currently holding him up—is enough to flip every switch I have to ON.
Holden’s hand moves from my neck to Milo’s jaw. “I seriously doubt that,” he murmurs. His thumb passes over Milo’s cheek, and for a second, neither of them move.
It’s not a standoff. It’s a dare.
Holden’s lips find my jaw, my collarbone, my throat, but his gaze never leaves Milo for more than a second.
Teasing him. He lifts me onto the counter, hands steady on my thighs, parting them to step between.
I giggle, but the sound dissolves into liquid need as his mouth tracks down my chest and latches onto my left nipple.
“This fun for you, wildcat?” he murmurs. “Watching your boyfriends get off on each other?”
“Fuck, yes,” I breathe, bracing my hands behind me, arching into him.
Milo watches—he doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t. He stares with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, his eyes tracking every place Holden’s mouth touches and openly loving every second of it.
Holden slides his broad hand over my stomach, then higher, cupping both breasts.
My eyes flutter shut and I gasp with pure, unashamed greed because Holden’s thumbs are circling my nipples with the patient, devastating focus he brings to everything, and my body is already so wound from watching him on his knees for Milo that I’m halfway gone before he’s even started.
Then Milo takes over. His hands find my waist, pulling me to the edge of the counter, and suddenly there are two mouths on my breasts—Holden on the left, Milo on the right—and the dual sensation of being claimed by both of them at once makes me arch off the counter with a cry.
“Fuck, yes,” I gasp, and they take it as the permission it is. Holden tugs my jeans down while Milo lifts me slightly off the counter. Between them, I’m bare in seconds.
Milo whips his shirt over his head then drops to his knees.
“Show me how wet you are, kitten.” He places his hands on my knees and pushes my thighs wide.
“Fuck, Holden. Look. She’s dripping down her thighs.
” He flashes me that grin—half wolf, half kid who found a forbidden word written under the desk.
“You must have really enjoyed watching Holden suck my dick, huh?”
The sound that comes out of me is embarrassing, but neither of them make fun.
Holden grunts and plants his hands under my thighs, spreading me further, and Milo dips in.
His tongue is hot, and the first flick snaps my whole body taut.
He licks, slow and savoring, then moans like he’s just tasted the best thing in his life.
It vibrates right through my cunt, and I almost shout.
Holden’s hand goes to Milo’s hair, raking his fingers through the brown mess as Milo presses in even more greedily, the flat of his tongue working my clit.
“Milo, oh God, don’t stop—”
I’m grinding against Milo’s face with zero dignity.
My nails rake down Holden’s back through his shirt and Holden’s fingers pinch my nipples and every point of contact is another wire in a circuit that’s building toward overload.
I can feel Milo smiling against me—the bastard—even as he doubles down, sucking my clit while his fingers slip inside me, working back and forth.
“You want more, wildcat?” Holden’s voice is rough as gravel.
He’s already undoing his belt. Freeing himself with the same efficient precision he used on Milo minutes ago.
I nod—frantic, shameless—and reach for him.
He leans down and murmurs something in Milo’s ear that makes him groan.
Then Milo repositions himself so Holden replaces his fingers, pushing in deep, stretching me wide.
The moan that rips out of me is guttural and raw and entirely without shame.
Milo doesn’t stop. He adjusts the angle—his face buried between me and Holden, tongue working my clit while Holden fills me with slow, deliberate strokes.
The geometry is filthy and imperfect and the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
Every thrust from Holden pushes me harder against Milo’s mouth, and Milo takes it—takes all of it—one hand gripping my thigh, the other dug into Holden’s hip, his tongue relentless.
The orgasm tears through me, a brutal, high-voltage hit that leaves my thighs trembling and my vision edged in white. There’s a good five seconds where I don’t know my own name.
I clutch Holden’s arms for something to anchor me, but he keeps moving in perfect, measured pulses, drawing out every aftershock until I have to bite my own wrist to keep from howling in the kitchen.
Milo moans against my cunt, lapping everything up, greedy and relentless, not stopping even when I start to squirm away because it’s too much, way too much.
“You want this?” Holden grunts, and it’s Milo who moans in response.
Then Holden’s pulling out of me with a wet sound. I sob a little at the loss, at the way my body feels so fucking empty for half a beat before he’s hooking his hands under me and lifting me off the counter.
“We’ve got you, wildcat. Just getting into a better position.”
He lowers me onto the rug we keep in the middle of the kitchen floor. My back arches, nerves still sparking.
“Please. I need—”
“I’m here, kitten,” Milo says, leaning over me and kissing me deep as he lines himself up, and for a second it’s just the heat of him and the pressure as he slides in and I feel myself stretch to make room for all of him.
My hips jerk and I moan against his mouth because suddenly I’m so, so fucking full.
But it’s Holden I can’t look away from. He’s above us, hand stroking himself with a focus that aches, blue eyes fixed on where Milo and I are joined.
There is nothing clinical or neutral about him now—the mask is off, and what’s left is hunger, pure and unfiltered and naked in a way that makes me want to claw the world open just to see how deep it goes.
Milo shifts back on his knees, dragging me with him so my hips tilt upward. Then he’s looking at Holden, and something passes between them that makes my entire body ache.
Holden comes around behind Milo, looming over him while Milo pushes inside me and grinds his hips like he’s angling for a higher score.
Holden drags his shirt over his head one-handed without breaking rhythm.
His arms are banded in veins, hands flexing open and closed.
When Milo thrusts in deep, Holden grabs his hair in one hand and fists himself in the other, jerking in slow, deliberate strokes inches from Milo’s face.
“Open your mouth,” Holden says, positioning himself beside Milo.
Milo turns his head, eyes huge, and then without hesitation, tips his head back and lets Holden slide his cock between his lips.
The stretch of Milo’s throat when Holden feeds it to him is obscene and beautiful and I can’t look away.
He moans around Holden’s dick, fucking me harder like he’s drawing some insane strength from having his mouth full.
Watching Milo deep-throating Holden is better than porn, better than the most fucked-up fantasy, because it’s real and right here and happening with all three of us raw and unscripted.
Holden’s face is savage with want, jaw tight as he drives into Milo’s mouth and then drags himself out, pausing each time to let Milo lick the head, sloppy and eager.
Milo’s hands are locked around my hips, using me for leverage as he fucks into me harder, even as he swallows Holden down.
The air is hot with sweat and moaning and the obscene slapping of flesh on flesh.
“You like that, baby?” I ask.
Milo pulls off for a second, his mouth red and slick. “God, yes, kitten. Can’t get enough of you or him—fuck—I’m in heaven.”
Holden grabs his jaw and pushes himself deep. Milo chokes, then grips Holden’s thigh and pulls him closer, opening his throat and taking all of him. I nearly come again.
“Milo.” Holden’s hand tightens on the back of his skull, guiding, controlling. “Don’t lose focus. Take care of our girl while you handle me.”
Milo grunts assent and fills me with another brutal thrust, balls slapping against me wetly.
“Touch yourself, wildcat. I want to see you come again.”
I do. My clit is aching, swollen and begging, so I reach down and work myself as Milo fucks me and Holden fucks his mouth and together they make every part of me their instrument.
The feedback loop is obscene—a pornographic Mobius strip of pleasure feeding pleasure.
I’m watching two of the men I love devour each other with lust so raw it feels like we’ve invented a new language for want.
Holden’s holding nothing back, using Milo’s mouth the way I’ve felt him use mine—testing the limits, finding the edge and holding there until Milo pushes for more.
Milo welcomes it. He’s rutting into me with abandon, throat full, spit slicking his chin and down his chest. He looks fucking destroyed, and I’ve never seen him so happy.
I work my clit in tight circles, frantic, desperate, and I come so hard on Milo’s cock that I ruin his rhythm, body locking up so tight my toes curl against the floor.
It sets off a chain reaction, with Milo spilling himself inside me, groaning around his mouthful of Holden.
Then Holden bears down, growling through his teeth as he erupts—jet after hot, violent jet, and some of it spills messily out of Milo’s lips and onto his chin, dripping onto my thigh.
The sight makes me clench hard on Milo, milking him for every last spasm, and I ride it out with a cry that’s part laughter and part animal need.
We collapse, crumpling into a heap of sweat and limbs on the kitchen rug.
“Holy shit,” Milo says, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling like it owes him restitution. “We broke the kitchen.”
“The kitchen’s fine,” Holden says, kissing the top of my head as I curl into him.
“There’s cum on the rug.”
“I’ll clean it.”
“There’s cum on me.”
“I’ll clean you too.”
Milo giggles. High and giddy and pure. “This is the greatest day in the history of days. Holden sucked my dick. I sucked his during our threesome in the kitchen. And I have a boyfriend now.”
“I didn’t agree to be your boyfriend,” Holden mutters.
“You’re my boyfriend, Holden. It’s decided.”
The garage door rumbles under the floor, and thirty seconds later Knox fills the kitchen doorway with his boots still on, taking in the three of us and the state of the counter with one slow pass.
“Knox! I have a boyfriend,” Milo announces, before Knox has both boots through the door.
“We haven’t discussed terms,” Holden says.
Knox grunts and heads upstairs.
“The terms are: you blow me, I blow you. I’m open to butt stuff. Plus, I adore you, and I promise to agree with you on grocery placement until we’re old.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love that about me.”
Holden doesn’t deny it. His hand comes to rest on Milo’s arm. And stays there.
I lie between them on the scratchy rug and stare at the ceiling and think about how before all this, I went home alone after every diner shift and had no reason to believe the world could be anything but cruel.
And now I’m naked on a kitchen floor with two men who love me, in a house that’s ours, with three more who’d burn everything down to keep me safe.
It’s a lot. It shouldn’t work.
It’s perfect.
“We should get off the floor,” Holden says eventually.
“In a minute,” I say.
“The floor’s getting cold.”
“In a minute, Holden.”
He sighs. Doesn’t move. Nobody moves.