Chapter Eighteen
Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her.
He shucked off his shorts as T climbed off her, as Sawyer gently lifted her off his deflated cock and laid her on her back. Her eyes were closed, her body shaking, jittering with the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm he’d ever witnessed.
He climbed on the bed as T and Sawyer climbed off. Ava was already standing by the side of the bed, having escaped during the mad double fuck, and was watching with wide eyes as Nash spread Bailey’s legs once again.
He jerked his chin at her. “Give me the lube.”
Bailey’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, blurry with fatigue and confusion. “Nash?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”
“Nash,” she said again, this time a sigh.
“Don’t go to sleep on me, Bay,” he warned. “You got one more dick to fuck.”
She moaned. “I can’t.”
“Don’t worry,” he told her, taking the lube from Ava and squirting a generous blob into his palm. “I’ll do all the work.”
He stroked the lube over his shaft, making it sloppy. He knew she’d be sore and swollen—Sawyer wasn’t huge, but he wasn’t exactly average, and assholes weren’t pussies. They weren’t built for taking dicks and pushing out babies, so he wanted her to have as much help as he could give her.
And thanks to the live porn show she’d just put on, this wasn’t going to take very long.
“Deep breath, baby,” he warned and, pushing her legs back, set his dick at her still-open asshole and pushed.
She let out a gurgling moan, half distress, half pleasure when her snug, warm asshole enveloped his dick.
He gritted his teeth against the sensation—Christ, he could come right now, but he’d be damned if would.
He wanted to make it last, not just for him, but for her.
This was her fantasy, eight years in the making, and he wasn’t going to give her any less than she deserved.
He slid forward a few inches, then back. He added more lube—he was going to have to throw these sheets away—then slid deeper. When he was balls deep, he held himself there for a moment, savoring the heated cavern of her ass. Then he began to move.
He knew she was exhausted, drained by the four orgasms, and still he felt her body respond.
“You like that, Bailey?” he murmured, fucking into her softly, steadily. “You like my dick in your ass?”
Her face was flushed, her eyes heavy. Her breasts bounced gently. “Yes.”
“You liked Sawyer’s dick in your ass, too, didn’t you?”
Her face flushed deeper, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“And T’s in your mouth, your pussy. Ava’s cunt in your face.”
She moaned, long and low, her ass fluttering around his cock. “Nash.”
“Didn’t you?” he repeated, thrusting a little harder, a little faster.
Her breathing was coming faster, harder. “Yes.”
“Why?” He laid a hand on her pussy, ignoring her flinch. It was bright red, all but glowing. “Tell me why, Bailey.”
“Because I’m a slut.”
“Yeah, you are.” He rewarded her with a swivel of his hips, a swipe of her clit with his thumb. She jerked and whined, her ass tightening on his dick. “Whose slut are you, Bailey?”
“Yours,” she breathed. She had her hands on her tits now, squeezing, plucking, pinching. “I’m your slut.”
“Damn right.” Fuck, he wasn’t going to last. “You want my load, baby?”
She moaned, and he could see, actually see her pussy pulse in response. “Yes.”
“You want theirs?”
She looked up at T and Sawyer, standing by the side of the bed, holding the condoms they’d worn to fuck her. “Yes.”
“Ask them for it.” He sped up, pounding her ass hard now, thumbing her clit, hoping he could get her there fast, because he wasn’t going to be able to wait. “Ask them like a good slut.”
She licked her lips, breathing so hard she could barely get the words out. “Please, can I have your come?”
“Where do you want it?” Sawyer asked.
“On my tits.” Cupping them in her hands, she squeezed them together, offered them up. “Please.”
Sawyer’s gaze flicked to Nash, then back to Bailey. “You got it, slut.”
“One order of fuckjuice, coming up,” T said, emptying his condom over her right breast, painting her nipple, letting it drip into her cleavage.
“Make that two,” Sawyer corrected, holding his condom over her left breast so its contents spilled over her nipple, over the upper slope and onto her collarbone, up onto her neck.
“That’s it, paint the little slag in spunk,” Ava urged.
“You’re gonna get mine, too,” Nash panted. That feathery sensation was racing down his spine, his balls tingling. “Right up your ass. You want that?”
Bailey nodded, still clutching her tits, milky fluid slipping and sliding over her fingers. “Yes. Do it, come inside me. Fill me up, Nash. I need it.”
“You, too,” he urged.
She shook her head, a look of genuine regret on her face. “I can’t. Really, I can’t.”
He refused to believe it. “You can.”
“She can,” Ava agreed and, leaning around Nash, latched her mouth onto Bailey’s raw, swollen clit.
Bailey’s cry was pure shock, and her asshole clamped down on Nash like an angry fist. With a roar he let go, the orgasm that had been building while he watched her get fucked ripping through him.
He felt her pulse around him—weakly, and only a few times—then she went limp and lose around his pulsing dick.
Ava, seeming to sense that Bailey was well and truly done, eased back. Nash would have liked to stay where he was, lazily pumping his spent dick in the warm, wet cavern of her ass. But she’d earned a rest, so he eased out.
Still holding her legs up, he sat back on his haunches to catch his breath while all four of them looked at Bailey with awe.
Her hair was matted and dark, her face flushed and damp, eyes closed.
Her body lay limp, like a rag doll tossed aside, hands loosely cupped around her jizz-covered tits.
Her thighs were dotted with red marks, her pussy so swollen and wet and red it looked like someone had taken a can of spray paint to it, and below, from her equally raw asshole, his come bubbled.
In the silence, Ava declared, “That is one used-up little tart.”
“I’ll say,” Sawyer said.
“This was the hottest night of my life,” T chimed in.
“Seconded.” Sawyer nodded at Nash. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
“Thanks. Thank you,” he repeated, looking at each of them in turn.
They smiled back, gathering their clothes in silence and retreating to the living room. Sawyer closed the door behind them with a quiet click, leaving him alone with Bailey at last.
He lowered her legs gently to the bed then eased himself down to lie beside her. When he reached up with one hand to brush her hair away from her face, and she opened her eyes. “Nash.”
“Hey.” He murmured it, keeping his voice soft. He wanted to wrap her in softness now. “How’re you doing?”
“Nash,” she said again, and lifted a hand to his face. “Thank you.”
Unable to resist, he turned his lips to it. “It was,” he assured her, “my very great pleasure.”
She let out a watery laugh. “I could tell.”
Alarmed at what sounded like tears, he peered into her face. “Are you hurting?”
“No. Sore,” she admitted. “Tired.”
“Understandable,” he assured her. “After all, you just fucked four people.” He smiled when she laughed again. “Why don’t I draw you a bath, and order some dinner. How does pizza sound?”
“Do I get ham and pineapple?”
“Tonight, you get whatever you want.”
“’Kay.” She dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. “Nash?”
Wishing they could stay just like this for the rest of the night—hell, for the rest of their lives—he rested his chin on her head. “Yeah, Bay?”
“You might have to carry me to the bath.”
He brushed a kiss over her hair. “That would be my pleasure, too.”
* * * *
He’d carried her to the bath, then stayed to gently sponge the come off her breasts, help her wash her hair.
She’d eaten ham and pineapple pizza bundled in his robe, with some silly movie on the television, then at his insistence had slept in his bed—after he’d changed the sheets—so that if she’d needed anything in the night, he’d be there.
She’d woken once, thirsty and sore, and he’d brought her a bottle of water and one of the painkillers leftover from when he’d had a root canal.
She’d spent the rest of the night in blissful, dreamless sleep, cushioned by grade-A pharmaceuticals and the comfort of Nash’s body next to hers.
She woke to his snores, and for a moment, in those first, blurry, seconds of the day, she was back in college, sharing a one-bedroom apartment off campus with Nash, like the last eight years had never happened.
Then she shifted, setting off a dull twinge in her sore ass, and it all came flooding back.
She lay there, watching the morning sun fight at the edges of the blinds while Nash slept on beside her, stunned at the weight of disappointment.
Annoyed by it. She hadn’t spent the last eight years pining for Nash, mourning what could have been.
She’d had a life, goddammit. Gotten her degree, bought a house, opened a fucking business. Had lovers, built friendships, lived.
Beside her, Nash snuffled into his pillow, grumping and grousing the way he did when he was waking up but didn’t want to.
In a few moments—or a couple of hours, there was no way to tell which—he’d open his eyes, blinking blearily at the offending sunlight, then he’d see her and smile his sleepy good-morning smile.
And if now-Nash was the same as eight-years-ago-Nash, his good-morning smile would come with a good-morning erection.
Eight-years-ago Bailey would’ve greeted both happily, but now-Bailey was too sore and too confused.
So she slid out of bed, trying not to wake him up, and scooped her phone off the nightstand.
She hurried out of the room, the oversized T-shirt Nash had given her to sleep in brushing her thighs, and dialed Chloe on her way up the stairs.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s early,” she whispered when her friend answered.
“It’s okay, I’m up. Why are you whispering?”
Bailey wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear and dug a pair of panties out of her dresser. “I don’t want to wake up Nash. We did the gang bang last night.”