Slowing his strokes, Ryder pins his eyes to mine, his grip on my waist easing as he swirls his tongue around the rim of my ass, making sure he catches every last drop of my excitement. Taking his time—worshipping me like a peasant would his queen, his mouth making love to my pussy—Ryder kisses my clit as he stretches his hands up my stomach to my breasts. He squeezes them, then groans, the sound so erotic, so insanely intense, I start to fall apart. My muscles lock up as a delicious army of flames spit hot tendrils of pleasure over my sweat-saturated pores, my orgasm milliseconds from exploding into the air.
However, every heavenly sensation comes to a screeching stop as Ryder stills.
I moan in disappointment, my body aching in protest. “What are you doing? I was almost there, Ryder. Why’d you stop? Just keep . . .” I pause, suddenly self-conscious. I reach between my legs, making sure my Brazilian wax is still good to go. All clear. I furrow my brows, praying to God I’m cool everywhere else. “Wait. Is something . . . wrong?”
He slithers up my stomach, his rigid body hovering above mine as a lazy grin fills his face. “No. Nothing’s wrong, momma.” He cushions his mouth to my ear, his words a soft whisper meant only for me to dissolve. “Something as perfect as you are can never be wrong. It’s fucking impossible.”
Soft and slow, he kisses me like he’ll never get to experience feeling my lips on his ever again, like someone’s about to steal them away from his possession. The infusion of my unique taste on his tongue, coupled with his, fires me up, my fingers white-knuckling his hair as I buck my hips, seeking his cock. He growls and deepens the kiss, both of us unleashing months of pent-up sexual energy with each deep lick and angry stroke.
“Christ. Just kissing you fucks me up,” he says with a heavy rasp, sucking on my bottom lip. “I knew you’d become an addiction.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, despising that his boxers are still separating me from what I so desperately need. I move my hands to his waistband—insistent on remedying the problem—but Ryder snags my wrist.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he chides playfully. “Not yet. Patience, beautiful one.”
My pout only fuels the unmistakable amusement swallowing Ryder’s expression as Brock joins in on the taunting, nipping my earlobe.
I sigh, feeling ganged up on.
“And you’re correct,” Ryder continues, a smirk catching the corner of his mouth. “I knew you were almost there. That’s why I stopped.” He lifts my hand to his lips and glides his tongue around my fingers, down the center of my palm, brushing it over my wrist before trailing it to the inside crease of my elbow. “I believe we had this conversation before, remember? I get off on the whole prolonging thing. Don’t worry, though. I have every intention of bringing you back to where you were, Pip.”
“Pip?” I drop my eyes from his as he unbuttons his dress shirt, his rippled muscles—soaked in ink, from his glorious neck to the beautiful V of his waist—flexing as he pitches the material across the room.
“Yeah . . . Pip,” he answers in a low growl, all playfulness gone as he wets his lips. I watch him carefully, a breath fighting up my throat as he slides down my stomach, shackling my ankles in one hand. He dips his head and stares at me a moment—raw hunger lighting his baby blues—before kissing the contour of my calf, the back of my thigh, and the bend of my hip, each tantalizing movement sucking me into the vortex of beautiful oblivion that makes Ryder who he is.
On a groan, he spreads me wide, his tongue gracing my inner thigh as he settles on his elbows, tugging my legs over his shoulders. I freeze, the I’m about to tear you up look bolting through his eyes seizing my heart as he blows a cool breath across the slickened pleats of my warmth.
“It’s short for Pretty”—his finger circles the entrance of my ass, his tongue prowling the edges of my clit—“Italian”—he captures the bundle of nerves between his teeth, groaning as he pulls me flush to his face—“Pussy.”
“Oh. My. God,” I moan, my body humming hot as he lifts my bottom from the bed, spearing his tongue past the puckered, sensitive flesh of my ass. “Mm, yes. Please don’t stop this time, Ryder. I need to come so bad, it hurts.”
He and Brock go all out, nothing soft or gentle in the way either takes me. I rock my hips in tandem with the strokes of Ryder’s tongue fucking into me, my back bowed as Brock’s mouth comes down over my nipples, neck, and lips. Devouring me like a hungry animal would its prey, but still in tune with what I mentally need, they shower me with praise, each man telling me how much I mean to them as they continue to go at it. Their confessions sing to me, their words filling the gouged-out wounds scarring my heart.
With their soft yet rough hands running over my heated skin—their touch wiping out every hideous thing that’s ever harmed me—I crumble, my legs convulsing around Ryder’s shoulders as I let go.
“I want more than one from you,” Ryder snarls, nipping my clit as his free hand teases my nipples. “I need more than one, peach. You taste too fucking good, and I’ve waited a long time for this. I ain’t stopping until you come for me again.”
“Oh, she’ll deliver.” Brock slides across the bed and tosses my leg over his shoulder. A grin kicks up the corner of his mouth as he joins in, working two fingers inside me. “Bet on that.”
My pulse jumps, the delicious pressure of their dual stimulation eating me alive as they ravage my flesh. It doesn’t take long before I’m dangling over the edge of pleasure’s cliff, my heart speeding toward implosion as I hold my breath, feeling another orgasm building.