Page 81 of Mile High Heist

We both knew who watched us.

Had Madoc ever seen him like this? Hard, exposed. I knew they had history. I knew that both men struggled with their stupid man feelings, unable to communicate without threats or violence.

“Hey,” I said quietly. Jax’s eyes sharpened on my face. “Look at him.”

With visible effort, Jax lifted his gaze to the silent demon at the door. The effect was instant—his thighs spasmed, his hand tightened in my hair, and his cock pulsed.

He liked whatever he saw.

I was too much of a coward to follow his example. Having Jax was one thing, but seeing whatever he did to Madoc was way too much.

I was tempted to drag it out. Take my time with it. Part of me was still angry at Jax. All the secrets, resentments, bitter silences. I could punish him for hours.

I leaned down and opened my mouth, tracing my tongue slowly across his weeping head. He stiffened, fingers clawing into my hair. His control was tenuous. Shaky.

I wanted him to finally let go.

I sucked him down, swallowing. I was by no means an expert at this. My experience was limited. And even though we’d done this before, it felt different this time.

We had an audience.

I could just imagine how I looked to Madoc—on my knees with Jax’s fist in my hair. Could he see the heat spreading up the back of my neck? Could he see the way I squirmed?

Jax groaned.

“Fuck,” he drawled. His voice was gutted, winded. “Fuck, Liv. Your mouth…”

I knew the moment his control snapped. His fingers clawed, and he shoved me down, the pace brutal. His cock hit the back of my throat, causing me to gag. Tears sprang to my eyes.

My chest hummed in victory.

My body burned and burned.

He was already so close. I knew his tells. The twitch of his jaw. The way his breathing changed. The darkening of his eyes when he was fighting for control. I knew exactly how close he was to breaking.

When I peeked up at him, I was oddly pleased at the fact that he was still watching Madoc.

And I knew, without question, that Madoc was watching him back. Those cold, green eyes were calculating his every twitch, every pant, every ripple and movement of pleasure.

It was almost like we were sharing him, drinking him in.

Jax groaned again, his chest hitching. I pulled back just enough to swirl my tongue over his crown. He tasted salty, raw. “Shit,” he hissed. “Shit, fuck—”

I redoubled my efforts, my heart squeezing like I was running a marathon, or running for my life.

I ignored the mess of spit and tears. I was lost, delirious in my efforts. I was so turned on, I was certain I was about to fall with him—

And then he spoke. “Stop.”

Jax’s fingers clenched in my hair, forcing me to stop. The command was quiet but cutting, slicing through the thick tension. Jax twitched in my mouth. He was so close, so achingly close.

But he held off.

Because Madoc spoke, and Madoc was watching, and Madoc was inserting himself.

Participating.

Fabric shifted behind me again. God, was he—