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EMILY
“I may have misrepresented what he meant,” I whisper to Wyatt.
He gives me an incredulous look. And then he grins.
If I’d known talking about sex was this much fun, I’d probably have spent less time with my nose in a book for the last three years.
“There’s more to sex than fucking,” Wyatt repeats slowly. “Let’s call that lesson one. I want to know everything about that.”
“It’s probably lessons one through fifteen,” Heath drawls as he joins us on the bed.
Wyatt slides a possessive hand over my hip from behind as I twist and wrap my arms around Heath’s neck. “So, what’s lesson two?”
Heath brushes his lips against the corner of my mouth. “You’ve already had a taste of it. Kissing.”
I shiver. “Tell me more.”
“We could spend all night just kissing you, Emily. Make you burn so good.”
My pulse pounds as he takes my mouth again. This time, it’s a slow, lazy exploration. His tongue licks along my bottom lip then glides deeper, showing me how to thrust and parry at a we’ve-got-all-night kind of pace.
A little less desperate, a lot more promise. This kiss stokes a fire I didn’t know could burn this hot inside me.
And the way his fingers press into my upper arms, holding me ever so still, I know I shouldn’t rush him. He’s trying to show me something here.
So I give in to the searing gentleness of his tongue in my mouth, this heady invasion that makes me think of bodies moving together in the middle of the night, of slow, drawn-out sensations. It’s all-consuming, hot, and possessive, just like Wyatt’s grip on my hip.
And everything else fades away.
The only three heartbeats in the entire world are in this room.
When Heath finally slides just an inch away from me, his lips hovering above mine, he smiles lazily. Proud, because he must be able to tell from the glassy, unfocused look in my eyes that I’m punch-drunk now.
Lost from his intoxicating kisses and bruisingly slow pace.
“How was that?” he murmurs with an arousing confidence.
He knows.
My heart wants to burst with the goodness of it all. “That was perfect.”
He turns me around, lifts my whole body up like I’m a little rag doll, and sets me on his lap. He curls one of his hands over the top of my thigh, brushing his fingers just an inch from my aching core. “Now, kiss Wyatt, just like that. Take your time. Explore his mouth and find out what he likes.”
I want to lunge at our other lover—I have two lovers, I think drunkenly—but Heath’s grip strongly advises I take my time. He’s literally holding me back, even as Wyatt licks his lips, his eyes wild and needy.
“Come here,” I whisper, and Wyatt surges into me, sandwiching me between him and Heath’s broad chest. I catch his face in my hands, slowing his approach.
His chest heaves against mine, his hands landing on my torso, just below my breasts.
“Kiss me slow,” I tell him, breathless in my newfound knowledge. “Almost lazy-like. Like we have all night.”
Heath groans at my description, then murmurs his agreement. “That’s exactly right. All weekend, in fact.”
Wyatt’s lips hit mine, soft and teasing. His version of lazy is even slower than Heath’s, and I’m the one who caves first, thrusting my tongue into his mouth.
He catches it and sucks, a leisurely pulse of his lips around my tongue, then a release. I gasp and suck his tongue into my mouth, trying that out. He surges against me at the first pull, and Heath holds us upright.
A rock behind me.
