Page 106 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I don’t answer with words. I can’t. I need tofeel,not think, so I slide my hand down into his sweatpants.

“Ethan,” I groan as I pull him out, swallowing his groan with my mouth, marveling at the velveted heat of him in my palm. “I want you.”

He’s huge. Heavy.

It’s like handling liquid danger, but my hand is firm as I pump him, thumb circling his head to gather the bit of slick, working him the way I’ve been daydreaming about ever since we crashed back into one another’s lives.

His palm slides up my thigh, finds the hem of my dress, and yanks it up with zero hesitation. I arch, I help, I'm complicit. I'm so goddamn ready for this mistake.

The cold breeze on my skin is nothing compared to his fingers, three of them at once, knuckle deep and unapologetic.

My body jerks and trembles, but he doesn’t slow down.

Not until he grinds his palm against my clit, not until my hips are bucking into his hand uncontrollably. He stares at me while he does it, a dare in his eyes, as if he can will me closer from the inside out.

“Fuck, Addy,” he groans, and there’s nothing careful about him now.

Not his hands, or his words, not the way he’s looking at me like I'm the only person who’s ever mattered. He pushes his fingers deeper, curls them up, and I nearly scream.

If the neighbors care, fuck them.

He leans in and covers my mouth with his, swallowing the sounds I can’t contain. I bite his lower lip, hard enough to make him gasp, and he grins right back at me, fast and feral.

“You’re a menace,” he says, and I want to laugh, but then he adds another one.

Four?

I don’t have time for arithmetic. I'm too busy coming apart at every seam, shaking, vision whited out, my body a vessel for whatever unsayable thing he’s doing to me.

This isn't a craving. This is a detonation.

Everything dissolves. There's only his hand, his mouth, the heat of his cock, the impossible fullness of his fingers.

His thumb on my clit is ruthless, the precise kind of torture that makes you beg for mercy but hope you never get it.

I'm keening, a broken thing in his arms, and he's grinning wildly, like he owns me.

Maybe he does. Maybe I want him to.

I don’t want gentle. I don’t want slow. I want to be razed to the ground, scraped raw, rebuilt in the force of this animal heat.

His hand is a weapon, and I lose track of the number of times he makes me shake, clawing at his arm, his neck, his T-shirt now wrinkled and spotted with my own sweat.

“Addy,” he gasps into my mouth. “Can I taste you?”

I yank him down, kiss him harder, a wild, wet drag of teeth and tongue. He laughs into my mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us.

“Get on your knees,” I growl.

He does and crowds between my legs. The dress is hiked to my waist, my panties shoved carelessly aside. He palms my knees, pushes them wider, and sinks lower until his breath is hot and loud against the inside of my thigh.

I’m shaking already, and he isn’t even tasting me yet.

His eyes never leave mine, that blue-gray storm smoldering as though he's daring me to look away. Like he needs to see exactly how much I want this, need this, am coming apart for this.

He licks a stripe up my thigh, slow, then presses his whole mouth to me, tongue soft then hard, then gentle again until I’m quivering, both hands in his hair.

He keeps doing this thing with his lips, with the flat of his tongue, the edge of his teeth. It isn’t just climbing; I’m unraveling, cells gone nova, entire lifetimes of sensationtelescoping into the hot dark center he’s coaxing open with every flick, every greedy groan vibrating through me.