Page 90 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

I cup his face. “Eat, baby.”

He moans like the words punched through his soul. Then he dives. No teasing. No fluttery licks. He’s a man possessed, tongue firm, greedy, sliding through slick folds like he’s trying to learn me from the inside out. My thighs tremble, then snap around his head on reflex.

Carson’s there in an instant, pressing down on my hips, pinning me with his body weight and iron grip. “You asked forthis,” he growls into my ear. “Told me you wanted to be held down while a good boy made you lose your fucking mind.”

“Oh, he’s doing that,” Edgar hums, perched beside us on the edge of the bed like a perverted art critic. “Look at her, look at those trembling thighs. That’s devotion. That’s worship. That’s poetry written in muscle and saliva.”

Blake moans into me. The vibration wrecks me.

My hands fly to Carson’s arms, fingers digging in. “Fuck, don’t let me go. Don’t you dare let go.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Carson says, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck. “You come when you’re ready. You come hard.”

Blake’s tongue finds a rhythm that should be illegal. Firm strokes. Gentle flicks. Then one perfect swirl, left, right, up.

“Atta boy,” Edgar says, stroking his thigh through his slacks like he’s coaching a damn team. “Make her see stars. Make her forget her own name.”

I buck. I writhe. Carson holds me still while Blake devours.

When I come, it’s with Blake moaning into me like he’s the one undone. Like my orgasm’s an exorcism ripping through both of us. My back arches. My hands claw. My scream gets swallowed by Carson’s palm over my mouth, and I bite down.

The world goes white for a moment.

When I blink, Blake is panting against my thigh, face flushed, mouth glistening, eyes dazed like he’s been baptized. He looks up at me, wrecked and proud. “Was that okay?”

Edgar cackles. “Okay? Ten stars.”

Carson growls, low and dark. He’s already stripping.

Edgar’s loosening his tie, eyes bright with hunger.

And I’m spreading my thighs again.

I haven’t even caught my breath before Edgar’s tugging my hips up like he’s repositioning me for a sacrifice.

“My little dove,” he croons, voice too smooth for the filth he’s plotting, “I think you should ride Carson now. Slowly. Like you own him. Because you do.”

Carson’s already on his back, cock heavy against his stomach, hat crooked on his head like it’s survived a war. He looks controlled, but barely, seconds from growling and flipping me over again.

I crawl toward him, still trembling from Blake’s tongue. My thighs sticky with proof. My mind gone soft and spinning. “You gonna be good for me?” I ask, straddling Carson.

“Always,” he grits, grabbing my thighs and slamming me down onto his cock in one ruthless stroke.

I gasp. Because he’s thick. Hot. Filling. And I’m already oversensitive from coming once.

He groans like he just got punched in the gut. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he hisses. “You were made for this.”

I start to ride him. Not gently. Not sweet. Like I’m trying to kill us both through pelvic sorcery.

Edgar moves behind me, his hands on my waist, his chest against my back. “I’ll go slow,” he lies. He drags his cock through the mess between my thighs, smearing Blake’s spit and Carson’s precum along my ass. Teasing. Testing. “Lube?”

Blake produces a few bottles.

Edgar picks one, squeezes and spreads. Then he presses in, hot, deliberate pressure breaching that second tight ring.

I scream. I moan. My whole body arches.

Carson grabs my hips, holding me in place while Edgar sinks in, inch by unbearable inch. Until I’m made into a living goddamn dessert. Layered and obscene.

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