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I shuffled back, sat on the far side of the couch as he got up, went over to the trash can. “Again, not sanitary,” I said, realizing I was bare assed once more on a public surface.
“Sweetheart, we’ll never see this couch in the same way after this,” Mac said. “Lie down for round two.”
I shifted, slid down so I was on my back. At some point he’d rolled a condom on and was ready to go.
“Eager?” he asked me.
“You’re the one who looks eager. Take your shirt off,” I told Mac.
Hardin looked over his shoulder as Mac tugged the T-shirt over his head. He, too, had hair on his chest, darker than Hardin’s. While Mac was well muscled—I wanted to run my hands over those six-pack abs—he was smaller than Hardin. Narrower shoulders, tapered hips. It was the tattoos that snagged my attention, too many to focus on just one. Some were monochrome, others multicolored. Geometric shapes, words, images that covered one arm and part of his torso.
He settled one knee on the couch. “I’ve been eager since I laid eyes on you.”
Lowering himself, he settled on top of me, most of his weight held off me by one hand next to my head, but he pressed me into the cushions. I felt every—very hard—inch of him. God, what a feeling. I had no idea I could feel so dominated, so safe, with a guy on top of me.
“More?” he asked, his gaze shifting from my eyes to my lips and back.
“More,” I breathed.
“Not too sore?”
I shook my head. I was a little because Hardin was big, but it felt good.
“When you first talked about the dildos you’ve fucked yourself with, I admit, I was a little jealous. Now I’m glad you used them. Virgins can’t take one guy easily, let alone two.”
I smiled at him. “I’m not a virgin anymore.”
Hardin made a funny sound as he tucked his dick back in his jeans, then dropped onto the desk chair to watch.
Slowly, carefully Mac pushed himself into me. “Oh, fuck. Shit, no, you’re not,” he growled, lowering his head and kissing me.
He swallowed my gasps, my whimpers as he fucked me, his tongue mimicking what his dick was doing.
Hardin was the calm one, the toucher, but he’d been rough in his fucking—or at least I’d thought so. Mac was the opposite. He was the wild one, but now he was gentle. Slow. Maddeningly patient.
My hands settled on his waist, slid down to cup his ass beneath his jeans, to feel the play of those taut muscles as he took me.
“Mac,” I breathed when he kissed my neck, nibbled on my ear. I angled my head to give him better access, lifted my knee to his hip, which I discovered changed the angle of his penetration. I gasped at the delicious feel.
“So good, sweetheart. So fucking good.”
He fucked me into that couch with a ruthless, patient precision. I tried to lift my hips to take more of him, to get him to go faster. Harder. He wouldn’t have any of it. He was in control. And that control allowed me to let go, to give up everything in my head, my body, my soul and hand it to him.
I came on a quiet gasp, the pleasure rolling through me in soft yet powerful waves.
“Shit, you’re clenching. Fuck.” He dropped head beside mine, held himself deep and came, his chest pressed to mine. I could feel his rapid heartbeat, his ragged breath.
This hadn’t been clinical. It hadn’t even felt biological. It had been… instinctual. As if something primal inside me had been unleashed. I hadn’t controlled anything about how my body reacted, and it was obvious Hardin and Mac had been unable to do the same.
That hadn’t been sexual intercourse. That had been fucking.
Pure and simple.
And it brought a smile to my face.
9
HARDIN
