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Every part of my body tenses as moan after moan leaves my lips, my legs nearly buckling under the weight of my body. This is what an orgasm feels like? It’s almost an out-of-body experience.
I’m barely aware of my surroundings, but I hear Grayson’s moan as he spurts his come onto my chest. The sudden warmth, combined with the knowledge that I’m the one who brought him to that point, sends more shivers of pleasure through my body, along with a flare of pride. I lean against Grayson’s chest, feeling spent, my breathing hard and uneven.
Then, Conrad’s pants are hitting the ground and he’s naked, grabbing ahold of my waist and repositioning me on the couch, making one thing clear. I’m far from finished.
“You need to stay relaxed,” he instructs, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “And talk to me, Brielle. If anything feels wrong, you tell me, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, the single word a ghost of sound, still trying to get my breath back. I’m lying on my back on the couch now, Conrad positioned between my spread legs and Grayson kneeling on the floor next to me. There’s an intimacy to this moment—a silent pact between us. I nod, trying to steady my pulse, to soften the tightness coiling within me.
Grayson’s hand cups my cheek tenderly, drawing my attention back to him.
Conrad positions himself at my entrance, and I can’t help but tighten around nothing as a reflex. I feel the heat of his body, the power in his thighs, and the head of his erection nudging against me, insistent yet cautious.
“Deep breaths,” he coaches, and I follow his lead, inhaling deeply.
“Okay.” I breathe out, my fingers entwined with Grayson’s, seeking something solid to hold on to. As Conrad begins to push forward, I grip Grayson tighter—so tight it must hurt, but he doesn’t complain.
Pain. A sharp intake of breath. It’s there, undeniable, as Conrad breaches the threshold of my body. My vision blurs for a second, and I blink back the sting of tears even as I try to remember the deep breathing Conrad suggested.
“Hey, look at me,” Grayson says softly, his thumb brushing away the wetness that escapes down my cheek.
“Is it too much?” Conrad’s voice is laced with concern, and he pauses his movement. He looks down at me with a mix of desire and worry etched on his features.
“No…no, keep going.” My voice is hoarse, the words barely a thread of sound. “I just need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” he assures me, holding still, allowing me to adjust to the new sensation, the fullness. The initial pain ebbs, replaced by a dull ache that promises more—more pleasure, more connection, more of them.
“Better?” Conrad asks after a moment, once I’ve relaxed around him a little bit. The muscles in his arms are tensed, ready to either retreat or advance, depending solely on my cue. I have all the power.
“Better,” I confirm, and it’s true. With each measured breath, I feel myself opening up, welcoming him inch by painstaking inch.
“Good girl,” Grayson praises, his voice warm with pride. “Taking it all in stride.”
His hands explore my body with a reverence, tracing the contours as if committing every dip and curve to memory. The rawness of it all—the unspoken trust, the shared breaths—intoxicates me more than any wine ever could.
Conrad moves a few times, but this time it’s not pain I feel but intense pleasure.
“Conrad,” I gasp, my voice a broken whisper, “it’s…incredible.”
“Let me show you just how incredible it can be,” he promises, sending shivers down my spine.
With each thrust, he guides me, teaching my body new ways to feel, new thresholds of ecstasy. The pleasure builds, a crescendo in my veins, as I cling to him, my nails digging into his flesh in silent pleas for more, for everything.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Grayson commands, his gaze locked onto mine, a stormy sea of blue that drowns all my fears and inhibitions. He’s removed his clothes as well, and I notice he’s hard again, gently stroking himself, his eyes blazing with lust at the scene in front of him.
I nod, unable to form words, riding the wave that he commands.
“God, Brielle, you feel amazing,” Conrad groans, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. He moves his hand toward where we’re joined, stroking my clit in time with his thrusts.
“Grayson…I—” The sentence dies on my lips as another wave of pleasure crashes over me, stealing my breath, my composure, my very sense of self.
I’m building all over again, getting closer with every thrust.
“Come for me,” Conrad urges, his pace quickening, relentless in his pursuit of my unraveling.
“Yes!” I cry out, the sound muffled against his shoulder as I teeter on the edge of the abyss.
“Let go,” he whispers fiercely, and it’s the permission I didn’t know I needed.
