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Hugo rose, ready to claim her, to fuck her so completely that she would never have sex again without thinking of this moment, of his and Lancelot’s hands and mouths on her.
The sight of her splinted hand stopped him. He squeezed his eyes tight, fighting for control.
Erotic need was replaced by a softer but no less powerful emotion. He returned to his side of the bed, drawing her toward him for a kiss. He lifted her hand, placing it on his hip once more as their lips touched.
He felt Lancelot stirring, rising as he undressed. Hugo released her lips when the mattress dipped, Lancelot returning.
Lancelot scooted closer to her, his chest flat against her back.
The soft smile on Sylvia’s face told him she’d gotten her way.
Hugo lifted her right leg, pulling it over his hip, holding her open so that Lancelot could enter her from behind.
“Yes,” she hissed. “God.”
Hugo cupped her breast, applying pressure, tweaking her hard nipple as Lancelot slowly thrust in and out. The tenor of their lovemaking was different tonight. The first two times had been an exploration, testing, pushing limits. This was something else entirely.
Here, now, they were merely three people at the end of something none of them wanted to lose. It was as if they believed by going slow, by savoring every kiss, every touch, they could make this one night last a lifetime.
It would have to.
Lancelot reached around Sylvia’s hip and stroked her clit when he was close, the knight always determined to make sure she came first. Hugo admired the other man’s control, wondering what it would be like to test it, wishing they’d had the opportunity to explore their own attraction to each other.
Sylvia distracted him from his thoughts, coming with a softer, sweeter sound of pleasure.
Lancelot placed a kiss on her shoulder, then proved exactly how brave he truly was. “I love you, Sylvie. I will until the day I die.”
She shifted to her back, lifting her good hand to his face. “Love at first sight?”
Lancelot shrugged, looking almost boyish. “I know it’s only been a few days. And I promise you, I’m not the type to profess my feelings to every woman I meet, but—”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. Then she looked over at Hugo. “Epistemic approach? Existential?”
He recalled their first night together, when Sylvia had asked if he believed in love at first sight. Like an academic nitwit, he’d tried to answer her with reason.
“‘Whoever loves, loves at first sight,’” he whispered in reply.
“Shakespeare.”
The fact that she picked up on the quote so quickly only proved what he knew. She was the perfect woman for him.
“Sylvia. Ma cherie.”
“I want you, Hugo. Need you.”
He quickly shed his briefs, then moved, coming over her, making sure that softer feeling—love, he could use the word, as all confessions had been made—was in control. Her legs parted and he pushed into heaven. Sylvia’s legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly thrust in and out.
Lancelot lay next to them, not idle. His hands caressing her breasts, then Hugo’s ass, then touching the place where the two of them were connected.
All the walls between them had fallen.
Sylvia came quickly, even though she’d already come twice. He could only assume her pussy was sensitive, still humming from her earlier orgasms.
“Hugo,” she cried. “God. Yes!”
Hearing his name on her lips was all he needed. All he would ever need.
He came just two breaths behind her, his heart nearly exploding with love. And despair.
