"Meaning together," Mira confirmed.
The air in the living room became approximately 10,000 degrees hotter.
"We should probably establish some ground rules before—" I started.
"Screw ground rules," Logan interrupted. "Mira, what do you want right now? This moment. Forget rules and expectations and what's sensible. What do you want?"
She looked at him, then at Blake, then at me. "I want you to touch me. All of you. I want to stop thinking and planning and just feel something."
That was all the permission we needed.
Logan moved first, closing the distance between them and kissing her with an intensity that made my breath catch. Mira melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, her body arching toward his.
Blake and I exchanged a look—some silent communication about consent and boundaries and how to approach this without overwhelming her.
Then Blake moved behind her, his large hands settling on her hips, his body providing support while Logan kissed her senseless.
I positioned myself beside them, my hand finding Mira's face, turning her toward me when Logan finally broke the kiss. I kissed her slower than Logan had, savoring the taste of her, the way she made small sounds of pleasure against my lips.
When I pulled back, Mira was breathing hard, her eyes dark with desire, her body trembling slightly with anticipation and nervousness.
"Bedroom?" Blake suggested quietly.
"Yes," Mira whispered.
We made our way upstairs—not rushing, giving her time to change her mind, to set boundaries, to tell us to stop. But she didn't. If anything, she seemed more certain with each step.
Once in Blake's room—the largest, with the most space—we positioned her on the bed and just... looked at her.
"You're all staring," she said, but she was smiling.
"You're beautiful," I said simply.
"Worth staring at," Logan added.
Blake just nodded, his expression reverent.
The air in the room hung thick with the scent of us—sweat and skin and that faint, musky edge of arousal. Mira lay sprawled on the bed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, her dark hair fanned out like a halo on the white sheets, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
We stripped her slowly, reverently almost, and now there was no holding back. What started as tentative touches ignited into something primal, a shared hunger that pulled us all under. Logan, Blake, and I circled her like wolves staking a claim, but this wasn't about possession. It was exploration. Pure, unadulterated discovery of every inch of her that made her gasp, arch, and whimper.
My hand slid up her inner thigh, parting her legs just enough to feel the heat radiating from her core. She was already slick, her folds glistening under the low light, and when my fingers brushed the outer lips of her pussy, she let out a soft, surprised gasp that shot straight to my cock. It twitched against the confines of my boxers, hard and insistent, but I ignored it.
This was about her. About learning her. I traced the seam of her slowly, feeling the way her body tensed and then melted, her hips lifting instinctively toward the pressure.
Logan, ever the instigator, couldn't resist jumping in. He knelt beside her on the bed, his grin wicked as he leaned down to capture one of her nipples between his lips. He was playful from the start, teasing her with feather-light flicks of his tongue before sucking hard enough to make her laugh—a breathy, startled sound that dissolved into a moan when he grazed his teeth over the pebbled peak.
"Fuck, Mira, you taste like sin," he murmured against her skin, his free hand roaming lower, joining mine between herthighs. His fingers were bolder, circling her clit with a loose, lazy rhythm that had her squirming.
She arched into it, her back bowing off the mattress, and I watched, cataloging every twitch: the way her thighs quivered when he pressed just a little harder, the flush creeping up her neck when he hummed a vibration against her breast.
Blake was next, sliding in on her other side with that quiet intensity of his. Where Logan was firecrackers, Blake was a slow-burning ember. He treated her body like a temple, his large hands spanning her ribs as he kissed a reverent path from her collarbone down to her navel. His mouth was soft, worshipful, lips brushing her skin in open-mouthed presses that left faint, wet trails.
When he reached the underside of her breast, he didn't devour like Logan. He nuzzled, his tongue tracing the curve before laving her nipple with long, languid strokes. Mira's hand found his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, and she whimpered—a low, needy sound that made my pulse thunder in my ears.
Blake's hand joined the fray between her legs, his touch feather-light as he stroked the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, inching closer but never rushing. He was building her up, layer by layer, until she was trembling.
I took my turn methodically, as always. While Logan teased and Blake adored, I observed. I watched her face, the way her eyelids fluttered when pleasure crested a certain wave, the subtle parting of her lips before a gasp escaped. My mouth found the hollow of her throat, sucking gently at the pulse point that hammered there, tasting the salt of her skin. I mapped her with my lips and tongue—down her sternum, across the valleybetween her breasts, lingering on the faint freckles dusting her ribs.
