—but I don’t.
Instead, I lift my gaze and my heart slams once—hard enough to hurt—then completely drops out as I meet Talen’s.
He isn’t leaning back anymore, he’s bolt upright, lips parted, chest rising just as heavily as mine.
Then his eyes drop.
To Reya’s hand at my waistband.
To the button coming loose.
To the slide of her body as it inches closer to mine.
Shifting, his weight tips forward like he’s about to come to me—about to stop this, or join it, or do something—but he doesn’t.
He freezes there instead, every line of him pulled taut, body held rigid as he watches Reya’s hand slip beneath the fabric and the air between us turns hot enough to choke on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gasping, my hands fly back to grab the support pole behind me as Reya’s cold fingers slip inside my trousers and slide straight to the needy ache pulsing between my thighs.
Even through the thin fabric of my underwear, the touch sends a sharp tremor through me and a broken sound escapes my throat. It ricochets off the dimly lit canvas walls and slams back into me, bringing a flood of awareness with it—how close Reya is, where she is, where Talen is.
Instinct takes over and my hand flies down, catching her wrist.
She stills beneath me.
I should stop this. I know I should.
But then I look at him.
He’s still staring at me, and everything about him lights my nerves on fucking fire.
The way his eyes keep widening as they rake over me; the way his uniform is pulling taut across the muscles of his chest with each laboured inhale; the way his fingers are digging into thesolid muscle of his thighs as though he’s holding himself back, restraining himself.
Fuck, I want this man.
Something dark and reckless unfurls beneath my ribs and my grip on Reya’s wrist loosens. Only slightly, but enough.
She understands immediately, and as she slips beneath the final layer of fabric separating us and glides her fingers over the swollen, sensitive flesh between my thighs, a wave of white-hot pleasure races up my spine so fast that my knees almost give out.
A strangled moan slips from my throat and across the tent, I catch Talen’s expression shift. His jaw locks tight, muscles flexing beneath his cheek in the flickering candlelight, and he starts breathing heavily through his nose like he’s trying to cage something dangerous, something feral.
Keeping my eyes fixed on him, I feel Reya’s touch turn firmer, more certain now—slow, merciless circles against me that build pleasure so unbearably intense it borders on torture.
And I let her.
I drop my hand fully from her wrist and let the lie slip in.
That it’s him touching me—his hands, his mouth, his body pulling these helpless cries from my lips.
It’s wrong. I know it. I shouldn’t want this.
But Reya’s rhythm never falters, never eases; it stays maddeningly precise, and my body folds beneath it completely, my hips rocking against her hand, chasing the friction, the sweet pressure.
Across from us, Talen’s breathing becomes rougher, faster, and mine matches it as I let my gaze drift down his body, over the carved lines of muscle flexing beneath his uniform, lower and lower until I reach the tight fabric stretched across his thighs.
Every Thread in me sparks to life.
