Page 30 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
SAGE
Ireach for Finn, yanking him in by the collar of his T-shirt, and press my mouth to his. He surges into the kiss, one hand bracketing my jaw, the other tangling in my hair like he’s been waiting to be pulled under.
His fingers are rough, grounding, searing against my skin. His mouth is hotter, tasting of apple and spice, winter wind, and withheld need. Then his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I groan, full body, the sound stretched with a wordless ache.
He kisses like he skates, hungry in a way that feels like losing control. There’s no slow build, just heat and pressure, tongue sliding against mine, coaxing, claiming, devouring. My lips part wider, aching for more, and he gives it, licking deeper, teeth catching on my bottom lip until I gasp.
My brain is melting. Nerve endings short-circuit. Every flick of his tongue sends another bolt of want through me, and my thighs tighten, yearning for friction. I clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fists, not to steady myself, but to pull him closer, harder, deeper.
The world goes sideways when Grey steps in, a wall of heat and muscle at my back. He crowds up behind me, big handscircling my ribs, then higher, his chest pinning me against Finn. I break away from the kiss, gasping, and Grey bends down to nuzzle the back of my neck. His lips are impossibly gentle, almost reverent, but his arms around me are steel. There’s nothing slow about the way he moves; it’s as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he doesn’t stake his claim right now.
Beau watches, eyes so dark they border on black in this light, mouth parted like he’s forgotten the punchline to his own joke. Then he breaks, laughs under his breath, and steps forward until the heat of him singes away any remaining doubt. He slips a finger beneath my chin, tilts my head up, and whispers, “Told you I’d bring the entertainment.”
His mouth is softer than Finn’s but just as hungry. He tastes like citrus and mischief, his tongue coaxing mine into a rhythm that’s half challenge, half invitation. When he breaks the kiss, he licks the salt from my upper lip, then plants a small bite just below my jaw, right where my pulse is thundering.
I should be overwhelmed, should be doubting, should be anything but what I am—completely present, desperate for more.
Finn’s hands are on my hips now, fingertips digging into bone, and with a single coordinated push, he and Grey lift me up, settling me onto a cold table. The shock of it sends a jolt through my core; I yelp, then laugh, and Beau is there, standing between my knees, his hands already skating up my thighs. He palms the backs, fingers tracing slow lines, as if mapping out exactly how far I’ll let him go.
Grey buries his face in the side of my neck, breathing deep, and for a second, it’s just the warmth of him and the electric pressure of his lips on my skin. He murmurs something, barely audible, and the vibration sets every hair on my body on end.
Beau slips his fingers under the hem of my shirt, dragging the fabric upward until it bunches around my ribs. He doesn’t pullit off, but runs his knuckles over the bare strip of skin, slow and featherlight. “Goose bumps,” he murmurs, delighted, and plants a hot kiss above my navel.
I look down and realize Finn’s eyes are on me, wide and hungry, pupils blown out. “You okay?” he asks, like he half expects me to bail, to laugh it off, to run.
“Better than okay,” I breathe, and hook my legs around Beau’s waist, pinning him in place.
Finn grins, the first real smile I’ve seen on him in weeks, and leans in to capture my mouth again. He’s still hungry, but more careful now, as if tasting me for the first time. His hands roam up under my shirt, splaying wide at the curve of my back, and the sensation makes me arch into him, desperate for friction.
Grey peels the shirt up higher, then pauses, waiting for my nod before pulling it off entirely. It’s so cold, but the rush of blood is fire. Beau slides his hands up my sides, thumbs brushing the edge of my sports bra. “This on, or off?” he asks, voice low and teasing.
“On,” I say, just to see his face fall, then, “for now.”
He groans, mock agony, and ducks in to mouth the exposed skin at my sternum. I can feel the heat of him, the promise in every kiss.
Grey keeps one arm looped tight around my waist, anchoring me, while his free hand trails up to tangle in my hair. He tilts my head, gives the softest bite to my earlobe, then kisses the sting away. “You smell good,” he rumbles, and the words hit harder than they should.
Finn, never one to be outdone, slips his hands between my thighs, spreading them wider, then runs a palm up, up, until he meets Beau’s hands and their fingers tangle together. For a heartbeat, they just hold me, three sets of hands mapping out the territory, and I’m so far beyond caring if it’s too much.
“Fuck,” I gasp, and all three of them laugh, the sound vibrating straight through me.
Beau moves first, tugging my shorts down slow, letting the elastic snap against my skin. He kisses the newly bare flesh, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. “Still okay?” he asks, eyes up.
“More than,” I pant.
He slides the shorts off entirely, tosses them behind him, and the air is so cold on my skin it makes every touch that much hotter. I’m shaking, not from nerves but from need.
Finn ducks down, pressing his mouth to the inside of my knee, then works upward in a trail of heat. He sucks a mark high on my thigh, his hands bracing me open, and the sensation is so sharp I almost cry out. Grey steadies me, hand splayed across my ribs, and for a second, I feel utterly weightless, like I might float off if they let go.
Beau slides his hand higher, thumb pressing just enough to make my hips buck. He grins, then leans in and kisses me, this time slow and deep, tasting every sound I try to swallow.
Grey kisses my shoulder, his beard rough against my skin, and murmurs, “Beautiful.” The word lands, deep and dark and heavy, and something in my chest comes undone.
Finn finally gives in, pushing up to kiss me again, but this time he doesn’t stop at my lips. He kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, pausing to nip and suck and leave a constellation of bruises only I’ll see in the morning.
I arch, caught between the three of them, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I have to be anywhere else, anyone else.
“Let’s get you comfortable,” Beau says, voice full of mischief. “Or is the table your thing?”
