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It had been a long time, but not that long. Then again, he’d never been with Paige.
Or Paige and Drake, together.
Her fingers closed around his sac, gently squeezing, while she hollowed out her cheeks and took him deeper in tiny increments. Her form of sensual torture was paying off. Between watching Drake nip at her nipples until they were tight and bright pink, and the sensations building at the base of his spine, he knew no technique could keep this party going for long. She sucked at the head of his dick, tongue and lips working in concert, humming so that ripples of heat spun out and gathered in his groin. Low in his belly. Hell, everywhere. And Drake continued to tongue her breasts as he tugged her dress down past her hips, swearing as he reached a point where he could go no farther without interrupting her task.
She wasn’t stopping for anything.
Colt pressed his fingers into her scalp, holding her right where he needed. Her hair tangled around his fists, all that thick red silk, and he couldn’t stop the urge that demanded he drive forward and claim her soft, wet heat. Everywhere she was soft and wet, but starting with those perfect pink lips.
He groaned as she stopped teasing him and drew him down, swallowing the tip of his cock with a shuddery sound that made him throw his head back. This was fucking heaven. He didn’t want it to end, but God, his hearing was shorting out. Frank could’ve been singing about dancing in the rain for all he knew. His vision was going too, narrowing to a pinpoint that centered on Paige. Only the sight of Drake cupping her breasts from behind, his long fingers massaging, intruded on the bubble they’d created.
A bubble for three.
“Christ, darlin’, I’m—” He tried to warn her, tried to ease back just in case this wasn’t her thing. He didn’t know her boundaries yet. But she nodded vigorously and pulled on his length harder, her fingers trailing over his balls before wrapping them in a tight grip.
And he blew.
With a shout, he gripped her hair and thrust deeper. He drained himself in jerky bursts in her throat. Shudders racked him and he couldn’t do anything but hold on for the ride.
Even after it was over, he couldn’t slip back. His lungs ached and his gaze was riveted on the vision before him, one he’d believed he would never get to see in a million years.
Paige’s eyes at half mast as she struggled to hold him in her mouth. Drake’s jaw clenched as tightly as his hands around her gorgeous breasts.
Both of them waiting for him to make the next move.
Finally, he drew away, his thumb catching the pearly drop at the corner of her mouth. “I think it’s time you show us your bedroom, darlin’,” he rasped.
* * *
Paige shut her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Surely she still had some, somewhere.
She’d just let Colt come in her mouth. Now he wanted to see her bedroom. They both did. Assuming Drake ever intended to let go of her breasts long enough for that to happen.
Though she wasn’t in a real big hurry on that score.
“You okay?” Colt’s fingers brushed her forehead while Drake gave her flesh a reassuring squeeze that sent a flare of excitement through her belly.
She nodded and opened her eyes again, giving Colt one last lingering lick as she relinquished her hold on his still semi-hard cock. Jeez. He’d come and come and still had gas left in the tank.
This would be an incredible night. If she didn’t chicken out.
She swallowed shakily, still caught in the snare of his golden gaze. He could’ve directed her to jump naked into Wiley’s Gulch, and she would’ve done it without blinking.
Holy hell, where had this side of him been all those months she’d been teasing and poking at him? She’d tried so hard to keep him in the safe, not-quite-a-friend slot. Now he was so much more.
One night isn’t a lifetime commitment, Wilcox. Don’t go getting fanciful.
“Up you go,” Drake said in her ear, reminding her with sterling clarity that this was just fun. Just something she’d never dreamed she would ever experience. Charli and Lela and AJ and her other friends in town certainly didn’t talk about having threesomes. Now Sadie, maybe she might go for one. She had an adventurous streak a mile wide.
Heck, who wouldn’t go for one, when these two men were the ones involved?
She tugged up her dress and stumbled to her feet, swaying from a bit of a head rush. Drake’s hands cupped her elbows, steadying her, and Colt slipped his arm around her waist, guiding her to the doorway. Frank Sinatra was still playing, singing about witchcraft. Fitting, because she would’ve sworn she’d been put under a spell.
Somehow she led them down the hall and pushed open her bedroom door. Panic rushed through her. Had she made her bed? Left lingerie hanging off the bedposts? Maybe forgotten to clean up yesterday’s late-night snack? She doubted they were sticklers, but at this juncture, she kind of wanted to set a mood.
She flipped on the ceiling fan and the light, praying the cleanliness gods would be on her side. A quick glance around showed that mostly everything was in order. Semi-made bed, no takeout containers to reveal her need for a maid. There was no helping the purple see-through bra hanging off the light next to the bed, though, miles from the laundry basket. She really had to work on her aim.
Drake sauntered forward and picked it up with one finger, raising a brow as he turned to face them. “I like it.”
