Page 93 of What We Burn

They don’t understand a damn thing.

Holden licks a slow stripe up her cunt and she jerks, one hand flying to Milo’s hair.

“Fuck—Holden⁠—”

“Patience,” he murmurs against her, then sucks her clit into his mouth like he’s got all night.

She whines, hips rolling. Micah’s thumb circles her nipple, pinching just enough to make her gasp. Milo’s mouth is busy at her throat, sucking a mark that’s going to show tomorrow.

This is my favorite part. Watching her come undone under the men I trust. Watching them take her apart piece by piece, and knowing that I’m the one who put them there. That every touch, every mouth, every sound she makes is happening because I said so.

Some men want to be the only one. I want to be the reason she falls apart, no matter who touches her.

“More,” she begs, voice already rough. “Please⁠—”

Holden pushes two fingers into her and curls them. Her back bows off the bed.

I stay still, waiting until her eyes find mine through the haze.

“Make her come.”

Holden’s fingers fuck into her harder, thumb working tight circles over her clit. Milo bites down on the spot he just sucked and Micah takes her nipple between his teeth. Fury comes with a sharp, shocked cry, thighs shaking around Holden’s head.

They don’t stop touching her. Just ease her through it—soft licks, slower strokes, quiet praise.

“Milo?” I say, watching her closely.

“Oh Captain, My Captain?”

“Lick her clit.”

He grins, already sliding down her body. “With fucking pleasure.”

He settles between her thighs, spreads her open with both hands, and pauses like he’s admiring the view.

“Goddamn, kitten. Look at this pretty pussy.” His thumbs stroke her inner thighs. “I wanna Cookie Monster the fuck out of it.”

Fury lifts her head, half-laughing. “What⁠—?”

“Nom nom nom nom⁠—”

He drops his mouth to her and the sound he makes is obscene—wet, hungry, shameless. Micah bursts out laughing against her shoulder, even Holden’s mouth twitching where it’s pressed to Fury’s jaw.

She yelps, then moans, one hand fisting in his hair.

“Oh my God—Milo⁠—”

“I know,” he says into her skin, muffled and smug. “Terrible branding. Incredible execution.”

“Milo!”

“Nomnomnomnom.”

His mouth is everywhere—open, messy, devouring. Tongue flat, then pointed, then broad again, lapping at her like he’s trying to consume her whole. His hands grip her thighs, holding them apart, and he doesn’t come up for air. Just keeps noming against her clit, tongue working fast then slow, reading every twitch of her body.

Holden watches from beside her, his hand on her breast, his expression caught between aroused and bewildered. “Are you seriously pretending you’re Cookie Monster?”

“He is,” Fury gasps. “And it’s— oh God— it’s accurate⁠—”