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My laugh is nervous, tinged with excitement. “Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”
“Maybe,” he admits, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. “But I bet there’s a wild side to you that’s just waiting to be unleashed. I refuse to believe you’re just the good girl your dad thinks you are.”
I’m so sick of being called that. “I’m not just a good girl.”
His other hand comes up to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, his fingers lingering along my jawline. “Then let me see another side of you. Let me see you lose control.”
The heat from Grayson’s palms seeps through the fabric of my dress as they settle confidently on my hips. He guides me, a subtle pressure that sets a rhythm against his lap, his breath warm on my neck.
“Like this?” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with curiosity and need.
“Exactly like that,” he responds, the low timbre of his voice resonating against my skin. “Move with me, Brielle.”
My heart pounds. And as I move, I feel the pull of another gaze—the burn of Conrad’s eyes on us.
I can’t help but watch him—the way his jaw clenches, a vision of restrained control. His lips part slightly, as if tasting the charged atmosphere between us, and I know without a doubt he’s envisioning himself in Grayson’s place.
“Good?” I ask, eyes still on him.
“Better than good. Gorgeous,” Conrad says, his voice roughened by arousal. “I’m just getting ready for my turn.” The air shifts as he moves closer, his presence enveloping me from behind. A gasp escapes me as I feel the hard proof of his desire press against my lower back. My body reacts instinctively, rolling against him in a sinuous wave, seeking friction where heat pools within me.
“Conrad,” I breathe out, surprised by how much my voice quivers with want.
“Shh,” he soothes, one hand trailing up my spine, sending shivers cascading down my body. “Just feel.”
And oh, how I feel—every inch of me alight with a hunger that demands to be sated. I grind back against Conrad’s solid length, eliciting a guttural sound from him that thrums through me. The sensation is intoxicating, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that has me teetering on the edge of abandon.
I close my eyes, lost in the rhythm we create, the slick slide of fabric between us doing little to diminish the rawness of our connection. With each movement, with every breathy moan that spills from Conrad’s lips, I’m drawn deeper into their world?—
“Does that feel good?” Grayson asks, his hands gripping tighter.
“More than you could imagine,” I admit, my words punctuated by the roll of my hips. The room spins, reality blurring at the edges.
Conrad’s fingers are bold, firm as they find the curve of my breast through the fabric of my dress. My breath hitches, every nerve ending singing beneath his touch. The world narrows down to the sensation of hands—Grayson’s at my waist, Conrad’s tracing fire across my skin.
“Ever pleased a man with your mouth, Brielle?” Conrad’s voice is velvet wrapped around steel.
I can’t look at him. I’m caught in the gravity of the moment, the question hanging heavy in the air like the thick scent of arousal. “No…I haven’t,” I confess, my words barely above a whisper.
“Then it’s time you learn,” Grayson comments, and I feel his hands slide away as he gently dislodges me from his lap.
My heart is a wild thing in my chest, pounding against my ribs. I don’t move right away, caught in the indecision that swirls within me like the wine in our glasses moments ago. But then Grayson’s hands guide me, insistently yet tenderly, toward Conrad.
“Go on, sweet girl. Let Conrad teach you.” His voice is encouragement laced with promise.
I take a shaky step, then another, until I’m standing before Conrad. His eyes burn into mine, dark and commanding. There’s no room for doubt in his gaze, only expectation—a challenge I’m ready to rise to.
“Conrad…” His name tumbles out of my mouth, a plea.
“Shh,” he soothes, one hand leaving my breast to tilt my chin up. “Just follow my lead.”
At his coaxing, my resolve solidifies. There’s power here, in the willingness to explore, to taste the unknown. And I want it—I want them, with a ferocity that startles me. It’s a wanting that has nothing to do with experience and everything to do with the raw desire that pulses between us.
“Good girl,” Conrad praises, and the words fan the flames of my arousal into a blazing inferno. My pulse races, anticipation licking at me.
“Show me,” I breathe, leaning into Conrad’s space, surrendering to the lesson I’m about to receive.
Conrad’s fingers graze my chin as he undoes his pants with a fluid, practiced motion. The sound of the zipper is loud in the silence?—
