Page 60 of Faking with Three

He doesn’t say a word. I look down at myself, realizing I’m still wearing my flimsy nightgown. I fold my arms over my chest. “Sorry, I’m not too presentable at the moment.”

Again no reply. Instead, he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“Marcus?” I say again, but this time it’s softer, more uncertain. He still doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands cup my face, and his lips crash into mine before I can process what’s happening.

It’s not a tentative kiss. It’s full of urgency, heat and I feel myself getting wet immediately, my pussy walls clenching together.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming, coaxing, until I’m lost in it. A soft moan escapes me, and that seems to spur him on. His hands slide down my sides, resting on my hips, pulling me closer. I can feel the hard planes of his body against mine, and it ignites something primal inside me.

“Marcus,” I manage to murmur when we pull apart for breath, my lips tingling. “What are we doing?”

But his lips find the curve of my neck, trailing hot kisses down to my collarbone, and my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. I don’t care what we’re doing. I just don’t want him to stop.

His hands find the hem of my night dress, tugging it upward. I lift my arms, letting him pull it off. The cool air of the room meets my bare skin, and I shiver, but it’s his heated gaze that sends a rush of warmth through me.

“God, Olivia,” he murmurs, his voice rough as his eyes rake over me. The way he says my name makes my knees weak.

I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything—his touch, his breath, the way his hands trace the curve of my waist. My own hands are clumsy but determined as I work on the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.

When his shirt falls to the floor, my fingers explore the hard muscles of his chest, his skin warm under my touch. He groans softly, capturing my mouth again in a kiss that makes my toes curl.

We stumble backward toward the bed, his hands never leaving me, and I don’t care about anything else in the world except this—except him.

When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, he lays me down gently, his body following mine.

And then without preempt, he enters me. I’m all ready for him.

His hands are on my thighs, holding me in place as he thrusts into me with a steady, consuming intensity. I gasp, clutching at his arms.

“Marcus,” I whisper, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer. He leans down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that sends shockwaves through me, deep and searing. His hand slides up my body, cupping my breast, kneading it gently as his mouth trails kisses along my jawline and neck.

My mouth opens, my eyes fluttering shut at the intensity of pleasure. When I open my eyes, it’s no longer Marcus’s face hovering above mine—it’s Jax.

His eyes burn into me, a fire there that sends a jolt straight to my core.

“Jax what are you?—"

His movements are rougher now, more demanding as he pins my wrists above my head. I gasp, my body responding to him in a way I can’t control, the tension in me coiling tighter and tighter.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

“I thought we wouldn’t do this again. What would Heaher?—”

“It was your decision to stay away, not mine. And my sister will be happy to see me happy.”

His teeth graze the sensitive spot on my collarbone, and my hips rise to meet his in a desperate, matching rhythm. The air between us is electric, his touch sending sparks everywhere he lingers.

Jax flips me over, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me back toward him. The angle sends a shiver down my spine, and I cry out as the sensations overwhelm me. But just as I reach out to steady myself, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror across the room—and it’s not Jax behind me anymore.

It’s Ethan.

My heart stutters, and I gasp as his hands slide around my waist, pulling me upright. “Olivia,” he says, his voice breathless yet commanding, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. My skin tingles where he touches me, his body pressed against mine from behind as he drives into me with a force that leaves me trembling.

Ethan turns me around, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me with a fervor that makes my knees weak. His eyes meet mine, dark and intense, and I feel like I’m drowning in them. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough and possessive, sending me spiraling.

The pressure builds and I shatter, the pleasure ripping through me, wave after wave, my cries echoing in the dreamscape around me.

And then I wake up.

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