Page 170 of What We Burn

Milo goes still.

“Here,” Holden says, placing Milo’s hand flat against the small of her back. “Keep her down.”

Their fingers overlap for a beat.

Milo looks at him again.

“Don’t move,” Holden says. “Don’t touch yourself until she’s ready for you.”

Milo doesn’t.

Holden starts to fuck her in deep, controlled strokes while Milo holds her to the table and watches every movement of his hips. Sage moans around Knox, the sound vibrating through him. His head tips back.

Eli pulls me to my feet.

I’m barely steady, but he doesn’t give me time to recover. His mouth finds mine as he backs me against the table near the others. My hands slide beneath his shirt, over lean muscle and heated skin. He presses against me, hard through his pants.

I reach between us.

His breath breaks.

“You want me?” I ask.

His gaze flicks to Sage, then returns to me. “Yes. Fuck yes.”

I open his pants and wrap my hand around him. He grips the table behind me while I stroke him, his forehead pressed to mine.

Across from us, Sage pulls off Knox with a gasp.

“Milo.”

He turns immediately.

She reaches for him and he steps close enough for her to take him into her mouth. He groans as she sucks him in, her lips stretching around him, eyes locked on his. One of his hands braces against the table, the other in her hair, guiding her pace. On the next pass, she tilts her head and returns to Knox, tongue working the thick length of him as she watches his face shift from impassive hunger to something almost breakable. She alternates—Milo, then Knox—spit slicking her chin, both men’s hips flexing, each time a little less self-control, a little more raw need.

Milo lets out a cracked laugh. “Fuck, kitten, you’re going to ruin me.”

“Line starts behind me,” Knox rumbles, but his voice is barely a vibration, low and hungry.

Holden’s rhythm stutters as he watches, the fingers on her hip digging deeper. “So fucking greedy, wildcat. Look at you.”

She doesn’t stop. Just keeps switching between them like there’s nothing left but white-hot focus, a singular, devouring need. When it seems like she can’t breathe, Knox retreats with a smear of spit and a swipe of his thumb over her lips.

Her face is wet, jaw trembling. She presses her cheek to Milo’s thigh and just breathes for a second. He strokes her hair, a rare soft touch. “Need a break, kitten?”

“Did I tell you to stop?” she growls, and gets a snort from Knox, who crowds her back toward his dick, relentless but reverent.

Eli and I both watch, kissing and touching, enjoying each other and the show.

Holden breaks next. I see it happen—the stutter in his rhythm, his fingers digging into Sage’s hip. His jaw locks. His eyes stay open, fixed on where their bodies meet, and he comes with a sound dragged up from somewhere deep, his whole body going rigid behind her.

“Fuck. Wildcat⁠—”

Sage moans around Milo, and that’s all it takes.

Milo’s head tips back. “Oh, shit—kitten, I’m gonna—” His hand fists in her hair, his hips jerk, and he comes with a broken laugh like it hurts. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

She takes everything he gives her. When he finally sags, she lets him go slowly, and he drops to his knees beside the table like his legs forgot their job.