Page 114 of Legacy Elite

"Up here."

He comes up the bed and I get my hand around the back of his neck and put my mouth by his ear and tell him exactly what I want, and he says, "Okay," against my throat like I've asked him for a glass of water, and then does it.

Luke's hand goes still on my thigh.

"Say that to me as well."

"You heard it."

"I'd like it addressed to me."

So I address it to him, in detail, and I get to watch every ounce of that famous composure come off his face.

After that neither of them needs telling.

Torres gets an arm under my back and lifts me up against him, and I'm on my knees with him behind me and Luke in front, and Luke's hands come up to hold my face while Torres pushes into me.

"Good?" Torres, rough, at my shoulder.

"Don't stop."

"Wasn't going to."

Luke's hand slides down between my legs and finds where I need it and stays, and I don't have a single thought left in my head — there's just the two of them, working around me without one word of negotiation, one hand at my throat and one on my hip and a mouth somewhere under my ear.

And both bonds open at once.

It's one enormous wave of wanting coming into me from both sides at the same time, and I can't tell whose is whose, and I don't try.

It takes about nine seconds after that.

I come with my hand fisted in Luke's hair and Torres's arm crushed around my ribs.

Luke's mouth comes to my ear.

"You can let go," he says.

And that finishes me all over again.

Torres goes about half a minute later with my name against the back of my neck, and Luke — who has been holding on to something for the last twenty minutes with a discipline I intend to raise with him later — doesn't last much beyond that.

Afterward I'm somewhere in the middle of my own bed, which is significantly less impressive than it was two hours ago, and I have gone entirely boneless.

Torres is on his front with one arm across my stomach, mostly asleep already, doing the thing where he makes a small noise every time I move.

Luke is propped on an elbow tracing something on my shoulder, and I know that look, and it's the look of a man about eleven seconds from a sentence.

"Don't," I say.

"I wasn't going to."

"Liar."

"I was going to say something adjacent," Luke says. "Which is different."

"It's not."

"It's marginally—"