Page 26 of The Triple Play

Iwasn’t supposed to be this kind of girl.

Not the kind who lets herself get pressed up against a balcony railing with her thighs clenching around a rising ache, not the kind who kisses a man like she needs him to breathe, not the kind who whimpers when his hands start to wander.

But here I was.

My fingers were buried in Cole’s shirt, holding on like I might float off the edge of the world if I let go. His mouth was on mine—hot and insistent—and I could taste the faint sweetness of beer and heat and something darker, something hungry, something just… him.

And god, I wanted more.

His body pressed me harder against the balcony railing, and I could feel him—God, I could feel him—thick and hard, his cock straining like it was begging to be freed.

My whole body lit up at the contact. My clit throbbed, my panties already soaked, and he hadn’t even really touched me yet.

Cole groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as his hand slipped under the hem of the hoodie I was wearing—Xavi’s, I realized distantly—and splayed across my bare skin. I was only wearing a crop top under it. His fingers were rough, warm, reverent as they traced over the small of my back, making me shiver.

I didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him down.

Instead, I opened my legs for him, shamelessly needy, heart pounding as his fingers grazed the edge of my panties.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I gasped, even as my hips tilted toward his touch. “I’m not?—”

Cole’s mouth found the curve of my neck again, sucking a mark into my skin like he wanted to brand me, and I felt it—everywhere.

“Not what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, hand sliding beneath the lace, fingers skating along my slit and making me gasp. “Not the kind of girl who gets fingered on a balcony by a man she barely knows?”

Oh. My. God.

My knees buckled.

He hooked a finger into my panties, dragging them aside with a single, ruthless move. The next moment, his fingers were between my folds, dragging through the slick heat like he was tasting me with his tongue.

He groaned again, deeper this time.

Then he slipped one finger inside me.

I choked on my breath.

He didn’t go slow. He pushed in deep, until his knuckle was brushing my entrance, curling his finger just right—like he knew exactly how to find the spot that made me jolt and claw at his shoulders.

I moaned, helpless against the sensation.

Then he added a second finger.

My head fell back, the stretch making my legs shake as he started to thrust them in and out of me—slow at first, deep and deliberate, curling with every pump.

“Cole—oh my god—” My breath hitched. Everything inside me tightened. His thumb went to my clit, slick and precise, circling with firm, knowing pressure. My thighs spread wider, my hips jerking against his hand, chasing every perfect thrust, every grind of his palm.

My walls fluttered around his fingers, the pressure building, spiraling?—

“I don’t— I shouldn’t be—” I gasped. “I’m not?—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Be a good girl, then, and come for me.” His fingers curled again, rubbing hard over that spot inside me while his thumb pushed down on my clit.

And I snapped.

The orgasm tore through me like a goddamn wrecking ball.

My whole body locked up—thighs shaking, walls clenching hard around his fingers, back arching as a cry ripped from my throat, raw and broken.

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