"Good." She pressed a kiss to my shoulder and straightened. "Turn over, darling. Let them see you."
I obeyed, rolling onto my back. The oil made my skin gleam in the candlelight, and I felt utterly exposed—naked and vulnerable and completely at her mercy. The men's gazes burned into me: Darius's silver eyes dark with hunger, Lucien's amber gaze blazing, Azrael's golden stare reverent and awed.
Selene stood at the side of the table, looking down at me with that wicked, knowing smile. Her robe was gone, and she was as bare as I was—her curves gilded by candlelight, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like silk. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"Now," she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the room, "I'm going to show them what you look like when you fallapart. And they're going to watch. They're not going to touch. They're not going to touch themselves." Her emerald eyes swept over the men, sharp and commanding. "Is that understood?"
Three voices answered in unison: "Understood."
Selene smiled. "Perfect."
She poured more oil into her palms and began again—this time on my front. Her hands glided over my collarbone, my shoulders, the swell of my breasts. She circled my nipples with featherlight touches, never quite giving me the pressure I craved, until I was arching off the table and begging for more.
"Patience," she murmured, her lips curving. "We have all night."
She worked her way down my body with agonizing slowness. My stomach. My hips. The tops of my thighs. Everywhere except where I needed her most. By the time her hands finally—finally—slid between my legs, I was trembling, soaked, utterly desperate.
"There you are," she breathed, her fingers parting my slick folds. "So wet. So ready. Look at her, boys. Look at how beautiful she is like this."
I felt their gazes intensify. Heard Lucien's strangled groan. Saw Darius's knuckles whiten where he gripped the arms of his chair. Azrael's golden eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that bordered on worship.
Selene's fingers found my clit—circling, stroking, never quite giving me enough pressure to tip over the edge. I was climbing, rising toward a peak that hovered just out of reach, and every time I got close, she would ease back, change the rhythm, deny me the release I craved.
"Please," I sobbed. "Selene, please, I need—"
"I know what you need." Her voice was gentle, almost tender. "But I want them to see. I want them to watch you come apart knowing they can't touch you. Knowing thatI'mtheone giving you this." She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. "You're mine right now, darling. All mine. And they get to witness it."
Her fingers pressed harder, faster, finding the perfect rhythm. The pressure built and built andbuilt, and I felt myself cresting, rising toward a peak that promised to shatter me completely—
"Come for me," Selene commanded. "Now."
The orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave. I screamed her name, my back arching off the table, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me. I felt myself gush—actuallygush—soaking the linen beneath me, and heard Lucien's sharp intake of breath, Darius's low groan, Azrael's whispered prayer.
Selene worked me through it, her fingers gentling but never stopping, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until I was a trembling, sobbing mess on the table.
"Beautiful," she breathed, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "So beautiful. You did so well, darling."
I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe. I was floating in a haze of endorphins and exhaustion, my body still twitching with aftershocks. Dimly, I was aware of Selene covering me with a soft blanket, of her murmuring something to the men, of their quiet responses.
Then she was lifting me, cradling me against her chest, and carrying me to the pile of cushions she'd arranged in the corner. She settled me into the soft nest and pulled the blanket up to my chin, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Rest," she murmured. "You've earned it."
The men moved closer, forming a protective circle around us. Darius settled into an armchair beside the cushion pile, his silver eyes soft. Lucien stretched out on the floor beside me, his head resting on his folded arms, his amber eyes warm. Azraelperched on the edge of the cushion pile, his cool fingers finding mine beneath the blanket.
