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Those words singe my skin. My body responds instantly, muscles clenching, thighs trembling. A protective instinct has me trying to close my legs because this enormous climax will ruin me in more ways than I can comprehend.
Marcus isn’t having it.
“Stay.” He wedges his shoulders more forcefully between my thighs to keep me open wide, then pries my sensitive folds apart with his thumbs. Even the whisper of air across my clit has me crying out.
“I-I can’t… It’s too much.”
“It’s not,” Marcus insists. “Stop resisting. Give in.”
Josh slides his thumb across my lower lip in a soft, sensual caress at odds with the way he torments my painfully hard nipple with his tongue. Marcus does the same to the super-sensitive button between my legs. At once, they suck me in deep. The suction forges a live wire between my breasts and my clit that has me gaping sightlessly wide and wailing incoherently.
The demand of their touch crushes my ability to do anything but give myself over to them, exploding like a supernova through endless space, both terrified and intoxicated by the gush of ecstasy they’re heaping on me. It’s breath-stealing. It’s addictive. It’s like nothing I’ve ever imagined. And it’s breaking me wide open. The walls I erected around my heart after my divorce are crumbling so quickly, I have no idea how—or if—I can shore them up. Keening pleas and stream-of-consciousness cries tumble from my mouth. I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just coming apart.
Marcus and Josh pounce, using their touch to wedge themselves in the cracks in my defenses to tear down what’s left. I try to fight it…but I can only shudder with ecstasy as they wring every last ounce of pleasure from my throbbing, overwrought body.
As the thick honey of satisfaction slides through my veins, I come back to the moment—back to Josh and Marcus. I’m panting and heavy-limbed but sharply, achingly alive. But I’m also aware of the elephant-sized emotions crushing my chest.
Oh, my god. They didn’t merely damage my defenses; they tore down the dam holding back the feelings I’ve walled off since my divorce. Everything I’ve compartmentalized and tried not to feel rushes out in a never-ending spigot. The doubts, the insecurity, the grief. Hopelessness. Worthlessness. It’s a bubbling hot spring of emotion that has me sobbing uncontrollably. I’m totally mortified. I don’t even know what I’ve said, but the way they’re surrounding me with comforting touches and soft kisses is only ruining me more.
“We’re here,” Josh murmurs in my ear. “We’re not going anywhere. We’re not leaving you.”
“What the fuck?” Marcus demands furiously.
“I-I don’t k-know. I had an orgasm and…” I dissolve into more tears, helpless against the storm of my emotions.
It’s embarrassing and horrible, but the pleasure they heaped on me unzipped all my control, turned me inside out, and left me bleeding between them.
“We wanted you to come, baby girl. Our goal was to unravel all that deliciously tight self-control. Mission accomplished.”
Josh casts a reproachful glare at Marcus, then turns my way with gentle reassurance. “What he’s asking is why you’re convinced you aren’t worth loving.”
I admitted that out loud? Horror smothers me. I feel like I’ve fallen and landed on my back with a jarring thud because I can’t breathe.
“Exactly. Who fed you that bullshit?” Marcus snarls, sounding like he’ll gleefully kill someone the second I provide a name. “That fucking ex of yours?”
“Leave it,” I beg. The last thing I want to do is talk about Derrick while I’m not just naked with Marcus and Josh but stripped bare to my soul.
Marcus scowls. “Fuck that. What exactly did he say to you?”
So many things. Nothing was ever his fault—even when it was. Derrick was a master at deflecting blame and making me feel as if everything bad between us was my responsibility. I found myself apologizing when I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong just because I hated it when he stopped talking to me.
But past is past, and my present is Marcus’s stare prying me open like a crowbar. I grapple to find some lie that will defuse his anger—and keep him from digging into my psyche. His piercing eyes merely eat away at my composure like a truth serum.
Besides, I’ve spilled too much already. What’s the point of withholding now? “That, other than my looks, I’m a disappointment. I was smarter than him in school, but not quite as clever. I worked harder and was more dedicated than him, but I would never be as successful. And when it came to relationships, I was married, but not committed enough. I was mouthy and difficult and cold.”
Admitting that makes me sob again. Derrick’s words don’t hurt me anymore. He was an ass, and I’m better off without him. But wondering if his cutting criticisms have any kernel of truth has been killing me for too long.
“I gave him everything—years of devotion when all the other girls in school had a revolving door of boyfriends. I worked two jobs to put us both through college financially while I did not only my schoolwork, but the majority of his, too. I skipped parties he attended, and I ignored red flags because I was young and idealistically thought he wasthe one. I’d written our ‘happy’ future in my head, the one where we were married forever. So I didn’t mind the mountain of student debt. We’d pay it back together, of course.” My sarcasm is unmistakable. “After our college graduation and our wedding, I went to work with my dad. When Derrick didn’t find another position that he thought was worthy of his skills for the salary he demanded, he joined me. I ended up on job sites. He schmoozed prospective clients. Admittedly, he was good at it. He can be charming as hell when he needs to be. But in the end, he wanted a divorce. The day he served me, he told me I wasn’t good enough for him. That I’m unlovable.”
I close my eyes, but nothing blocks out those cruel words. Nothing ever has. The moment he uttered them, they struck deep in my heart and burrowed, festering like a parasite, slowly eating away at me from the inside.
Suddenly, Josh crowds in front of me, thumbing away the tears stinging my hot cheeks. “That’s not true, sweetheart.”
“He’s dead fucking wrong,” Marcus seconds, handing me a tissue.
“You say that…but you don’t know me,” I object as I clean my face.
Marcus paces the room, violence and fury pinging off him. “We know enough to know he’s an asshole.”
