Page 150 of Well That Happened

Hunter’s hands tighten on my waist, his mouth hot against my throat as I move—slow, deliberate, trying not to fall apart too fast.

Then I look to my left.

And freeze.

Because Caleb is next to us, pants pushed down and one fist around his hard shaft, and he’s stroking himself without an ounce of shame. Like this is just what you do on a Thursday night when your girl’s riding your best friend.

Our eyes lock.

He winks. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, voice low and lazy. “Butdamn, Rilee.”

Heat slams through me. Equal parts embarrassment and thrill.

“Caleb,” I murmur, warmly. I brush my hand along his cheek, and he kisses the inside of my wrist.

Grayson, beside me, just hums under his breath like this is all very predictable. Like he saw this coming a mile away.

“Should I stop?” Caleb asks, not sounding remotely like he intends to.

Hunter growls beneath me, his voice wrecked. “Don’t care what he does. Just keep looking at me.”

And I do.

Because as wild and unhinged as this is—I want it.

All of it.

My rhythm falters as pleasure builds, deep and consuming, curling hot at the base of my spine.

Hunter’s eyes are locked on mine, his hands guiding me, grounding me.

“Rilee,” he pants, voice thick with restraint. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t hold back.”

And that’s all it takes.

The next thrust hits perfectly—deep, slow, and so full I swear I see stars.

Pleasure tears through me in a blinding wave. I cry out, my whole body locking tight as I break apart in his arms.

He follows a second later.

With a rough groan and a helpless jerk of his hips, he buries himself deep, holding me like he never wants to let go as he falls apart too—his mouth pressed against my shoulder, breath ragged against my skin.

I collapse into him, boneless and buzzing, his arms the only thing keeping me from floating off the planet.

Somewhere in the haze, I feel movement.

Grayson’s voice, low and gentle: “Hey. Just gonna clean you up, sweetheart.”

I blink as he appears beside us with a warm washcloth, moving with quiet efficiency—wiping between my thighs with a kind of care that makes my throat tighten.

Hunter’s still holding me, one hand stroking my spine like he can’t bear to let go.

And Caleb?

Still half-hard, still smirking. But quiet now, with a mess of sticky come on his abs. Watching like he’s memorizing every second.

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