"I want more," I whispered against Nolan's mouth. "I want all of you. Please."
They exchanged looks—some silent communication passing between them that spoke to years of trust and partnership.
"Are you sure?" Nolan asked.
"Completely sure."
I was in the middle, the eye of this glorious storm. Logan sprawled on my left, his arm slung possessively over my hip, fingers already tracing lazy circles on my exposed midriff where my tank top had ridden up.
Blake mirrored him on my right, his touch lighter, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric. Nolan knelt at the foot of the bed, watching us with that intense, hooded gaze, his hands flexing like he was mapping out plays on the ice.
"What now?" I whispered, my voice breathy even to my own ears. Heart hammering, skin prickling with anticipation.
Logan grinned, that cocky tilt to his lips that always made my stomach flip. "Now? We learn you, Mira. All of us. Together."
He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was all heat and tease—tongue flicking against mine before pulling back just enough to nip my lower lip. "Tell us what feels good. No holding back."
Blake's hand slid under my tank, cupping my breast fully now, his palm warm and steady. "Yeah," he murmured against my ear, voice a low rumble. "We want this right. For you."
His thumb circled my nipple, coaxing it to a tight peak, and I arched into it with a gasp that dissolved into a giggle when Nolan—ever the perfectionist—chimed in from below.
"Communication is key," he said, deadpan, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he crawled up, settling between my spread thighs. His hands gripped my knees, parting them wider with gentle insistence. "Scale of one to ten: how's this?"
His fingers trailed up my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I ached most, the heat of him seeping through my leggings.
"Eight," I lied, squirming. "Make it a ten."
He did. Hooking his fingers in the waistband, he peeled the leggings down—slow, deliberate—exposing the damp patch on my panties. Logan whistled low, and Blake's breath hitched, but they didn't rush.
Nolan's mouth followed the path of my clothes, lips brushing my calf, knee, thigh in open-mouthed kisses that left me shivering. When he reached the edge of my panties, he nuzzled there, inhaling deeply.
"Fuck, you smell like heaven," he growled, and then his tongue pressed flat against the fabric, right over my clit.
I bucked, a startled laugh bubbling up as the sensation zinged through me—wet heat muffled but insistent.
"Oh fuck, that's—" Words failed when Logan joined in, shoving my tank up to expose both breasts. He latched onto one nipple, sucking with playful suction that bordered on silly, popping off to blow cool air over the wet peak.
"Too much? Or just right?" he asked, grinning around the question.
"Right," I panted, threading fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."
But then Blake's hand dipped lower, over Nolan's shoulder, his fingers joining Nolan's at my core. There was afumble—Nolan's hand bumping Blake's, a shared chuckle that vibrated against my skin—and we all paused, dissolving into laughter. Me, red-faced and breathless. Them, eyes crinkling with that easy camaraderie that came from years on the ice.
"Teamwork makes the dream work," Logan quipped, and Blake snorted, adjusting so Blake's fingers could slip under the crotch of my panties while Nolan tugged them aside.
It was awkward at first—them figuring out space, me wriggling to help, a pillow tumbling off the bed in the shuffle. But God, it was perfect. They anticipated each other like they did on the rink: Logan passing the puck to Blake's waiting hand, Blake deferring to Nolan's precise angle.
Blake's touch was gentle, always—fingertip circling my clit in soft, reverent loops that built pressure like a slow tide. "Like this?" he whispered, watching my face with those soulful eyes. I nodded, whimpering as he pressed just a little firmer, his other hand kneading my breast like dough, thumb flicking the nipple in time.
Logan's confidence shone through in his mouth—alternating between breasts, sucking one while pinching the other, his free hand roaming my side, tickling ribs until I laughed again, the sound turning to a moan when he ground his hard cock against my thigh through his sweats. "Feel that? That's what you do to me," he murmured, nipping the swell of my breast.
And Nolan’s fingers delved deeper, one sliding inside me with a slick ease that made my toes curl. He curled it immediately, stroking that spot inside with methodical precision, learning the hitch in my breath, the flutter of my walls.
"Here?" he asked, voice strained, and when I nodded frantically, he added a second finger, scissoring gently while his thumb took over Blake's spot on my clit—firmer, more insistent. They synced. Blake's mouth on my neck, sucking a mark. Logan's teeth grazing my earlobe. Nolan's free hand pinning my hip to keep me from bucking too wild.
It built fast—too fast—them working in tandem, a symphony of touches that had me writhing, breaths coming in pants, core clenching around Nolan's fingers. Laughter faded into whimpers, awkwardness burned away by heat. I was close, so close, the edge shimmering—
"Wait." My voice cracked, but they froze instantly. Hands lifting, mouths pulling back. I lay there, trembling, pussy throbbing with need, a whine escaping my throat. "Not yet. I want... I want to taste you. All of you."
