Page 90 of Knot on the Market

From the kitchen, I'm dimly aware that Dean has moved to the doorway, drawn by the sounds we're making, but I'm too lost in Callum's hands and mouth to focus on anything else. One of his hands slides down my stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of my sleep shorts.

"Can I?" he asks, voice rough with restraint.

"Please," I gasp, and he doesn't need any more encouragement.

His hand slides beneath the elastic, and when his fingers find me wet and ready, he makes a sound like he's been punched. "Lila, sweetheart. You're soaked."

"For you," I manage, hips rolling against his hand. "Been thinking about this for days."

"Yeah?" His fingers trace through my slick, teasing. "What have you been thinking about?"

"Your hands," I admit breathlessly. "How they'd feel inside me. How you'd make me come apart."

The honesty seems to break something in him. His fingers find my clit, circling with exactly the right pressure, and I cry out sharply.

"She's okay," Callum says to Dean without taking his eyes off my face. "Aren't you, sweetheart? You're perfect."

I nod frantically, beyond caring that Dean is watching. Beyond caring about anything except the way Callum's fingers are moving against me with devastating precision.

"Tell Dean what you want," Callum commands. "Tell him what you've been thinking about."

"I—" I start, then gasp as he increases the pressure. "I've been thinking about all of you. How different you'd each be."

Dean's breathing is audible now, rough and uneven, and when I risk a glance at him, his eyes are dark with want.

"Different how?" Callum asks, sliding one finger inside me while his thumb continues its circles.

"Dean would be gentle," I manage, voice broken by pleasure. "Soft and sweet and careful. Julian would be intense, focused, like I'm a puzzle he needs to solve."

"And me?" Callum's voice is pure sin.

"You'd be possessive," I gasp as he adds a second finger. "Rough and demanding and—oh Callum, right there?—"

"Right here?" he asks, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes me see stars. "Is this what you've been wanting?"

I can't answer because I'm too busy falling apart on his fingers. The orgasm builds fast and hard, and I grip his shoulders desperately as pleasure crashes over me in waves. I'm making sounds—probably embarrassing ones—but I can't bring myself to care when Callum is whispering praise against my ear and working me through every aftershock.

When I finally come back to myself, I'm slumped against Callum's chest, breathing hard and thoroughly debauched. He's holding me gently now, one hand stroking my hair.

"Better?" he asks softly, satisfaction and tenderness in his voice.

"Much," I manage, voice hoarse.

He pulls back to look at me, smile soft and proud. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that were inside me to his mouth and sucks them clean.

The sight makes me whimper with renewed want, and from the doorway, Dean makes a sound like he's dying.

"Delicious," Callum says conversationally, like he didn't just completely ruin me against my living room wall. "Better than pancakes."

Then he steps back, straightening his shirt like nothing happened, and walks back to his abandoned tools. He picks up his hammer and goes back to the trim work like he didn't just give me the most intense orgasm of my life while Dean watched.

I stare at him in disbelief, still slumped against the wall with shaking legs. "That's it? You're just going back to your carpentry?"

"You said you wanted to see what I'd do," he says with a shrug, but there's heat in his eyes that promises this is far from over. "Now you know. And maybe next time you'll think twice before critiquing my technique."

Dean is still standing frozen in the doorway, staring at both of us with wide eyes and an obvious erection straining against his uniform. "What the hell just happened?"

"Callum happened," I say weakly, pushing myself off the wall on unsteady legs. "And apparently he has no problem with delayed gratification."

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