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Sylvia’s gaze remained locked on Lancelot’s face. The beautiful, confident woman didn’t seek to shield her nakedness from him.
Genuine. Open.
Mine.
Lancelot dismissed the last word instantly. He was here under pretense. Lying to her. He should leave and drag Hugo out with him.
But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that.
Even if he hadn’t been ordered to remain with her by Lorelei, he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist stealing this night, this time with her, however brief.
Hugo kissed the side of Sylvia’s neck as he cupped her breasts. Lancelot licked his lips as he studied her taut, pink nipples. He wanted to suck them into his mouth, bite them, pinch them.
While Sylvia was all things soft and sweet, the sketch she’d shared with them in the restaurant revealed there was so much more there.
He recalled the rope on her wrist.
“Take her hands in yours,” Lancelot commanded. “Hold them behind her back.”
Once again, Hugo looked at him, saw the same intense need, the same wild desires reflected there, and then, he did as Lancelot said.
Sylvia’s breasts rose and fell more rapidly, her breathing increasing as Hugo held her hands captive. The position thrust her breasts out more fully.
Lancelot was no longer content to merely observe. Crossing to her, he bent over, grasping her breasts. Unlike Hugo, he couldn’t be gentle.
His blood pumped with the unfamiliar need to take her roughly, claim her, mark her.
Her story about the Rutherfords at the sex club, along with the images reflected on her sketch, had fueled the flames of his own desires.
He took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard.
Her gasp of surprise captured Hugo’s attention.
He released Sylvia, then reached around her, gripping Lancelot’s hair in one hand. “Lancelot,” he said, tugging his head back until her nipple popped free.
Lancelot looked up as Sylvia shook her head. “No! Don’t stop. Harder.”
Hugo’s eyes had been narrowed, but after her request, they widened in surprise.
Lancelot gave the other man a smug smile, then returned to her breast. Rather than resume his grip on her wrists, Hugo put his hands to work, one sneaking down Sylvia’s jeans, the other still tangled in Lancelot’s hair.
His tight grip turned Lancelot on. A lot.
While he couldn’t see Hugo’s fingers, he knew when the other man had hit pay dirt because Sylvia began squirming like a fish on a hook, her hips gyrating as she cried out for more.
“God, please.”
“She likes having her clit played with, Lancelot,” Hugo said. “Makes her hot and wet. She’s ready for us. Ready for both of us.”
Lancelot grinned, even though he didn’t give up his hold on her nipple.
The serious Frenchman liked to talk dirty.
Lancelot turned his attention to her second breast, nipping the distended flesh with his teeth as Hugo continued to stroke her clit. “Take off her pants.”
Hugo’s hand slid free from the waistband, unfastening her jeans fully and slipping them over her hips, taking her panties off at the same time.
Lancelot rose, standing in front of her, Hugo still at her back. Sylvia shivered, even though the temperature in the room had risen to a tropical heat. The air was thick with need, silent except for her excited, shallow breaths and soft moans each time one of them touched her.
