Page 78 of Savage Surrender

He lets the anticipation build again.

When the tenth finally lands, it is broad and hard and perfectly placed. My body gives up. I sag over him, mouth open, no sound left except the thin whimper that escapes when his palm settles over the heat.

“Ten.”

Weller rubs slowly. My skin throbs beneath his hand, each pass gentling the sharpest edges without taking them away. His arm loosens around my waist, but I don’t move. I may never move again. The rug seems far away. The bed is on another continent.

His fingers slide into my hair and lift it from my face.

“That’s settled. Once you leave my lap, it’s done.”

My eyes burn. I close them before anyone notices.

His palm keeps circling my ass while the hand in my hair massages the base of my skull. The quiet holds until I can breathe through it.

“Gentlemen.”

Weller shifts me across his thighs, one forearm beneath my chest and his other hand parting my legs enough to expose what his discipline did to me. Cool air meets the heat between my legs.

Tristan crouches beside Weller’s chair and studies my ass with shameless concentration.

“That is a very pretty shade of red.”

Telling him off emerges as a breathy collection of sounds that have no recognizable language in them.

Weller’s thumb moves over the nape of my neck. “Kiss it better.”

Freddie drops to his knees on the other side. His mouth finds the outer curve of my left cheek, lips soft against skin still hot enough that even the kiss stings. My toes curl. A moan catches halfway out, and I try to lift away from the tenderness because the relief is somehow worse. One cool, gentle press leaves the heat twice as sharp when his mouth lifts.

Weller holds me against his thighs.

Freddie kisses me again, closer to the center. My mouth opens around his name, but only the first sound survives.

Owen kneels behind him, too impatient to wait for access. He kisses each mark like he’s finding treasure, lips lingering while his thumb strokes the back of my thigh. I whimper and twist over Weller’s lap, unable to decide whether I need their mouths gone or glued to my ass.

Freddie tells me I’m beautiful against my skin, each word warmed by his breath while honey rolls thickly through the bond.

Tristan is the only one not kissing me.

He remains crouched where I can see him, his gaze moving between their mouths and the wet mess spreading over Weller’s lap.

“You were so pleased with yourself a few minutes ago.” He drags one finger between my legs. My hips twitch toward him as his finger circles my clit once, then withdraws.

Freddie’s lips close over the hottest place on my left cheek and Owen answers with an openmouthed kiss on the right.

Tristan leans in and puts his lips against the center of my ass.

The kiss is slow. Almost respectful. Then his tongue slides over the heated skin, and I cry out. My body shudders across Weller’s lap, arms too weak to push me up while all three mouths return to places that can no longer tell comfort from torment.

“All that from a kiss.”

Freddie kisses lower. Owen’s teeth graze one cheek without closing, and Tristan keeps talking between drags of his mouth, telling me how pretty Weller made me, how shamelessly I opened my legs for an audience, how my pussy is still trying to beg...

Weller’s not touching me at all, other than brushing my hair gently while my sounds get louder, none of them close to words anymore.

Maybe that was the plan.

By the time Tristan finally stands, I am shivering.