Page 65 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
Finn’s eyes open, and he looks at me too. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even falter. He just holds my gaze for a beat, and then he grins, the kind of crooked, dangerous grin that means he’s in control, that he’s always been in control, and now he’s letting me have a piece of it.
Sage rocks back harder, and Finn meets her with a thrust so deep she cries out, the sound echoing off the cracked plaster. Her hand goes between her legs, fingers working furiously, and I watch as her whole body tenses, every muscle locking down as she chases the edge. Finn lets her, lets her use him, lets her get as close as she wants, but doesn’t let her finish.
The three of us are caught in this triangle of tension, every sense sharpened to a point. I feel the urge to move, to do something, but all I can do is stand there, transfixed, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Sage is the one who breaks the stalemate. She pulls her hand away from herself and beckons me forward with a crooked finger, her mouth open, her eyes wild.
She wants me.
They both do.
The moment stretches out, elastic and trembling, and I step forward, closing the distance, ready to see what happens when I let myself fall.
The space between me and the couch is measured in centimeters and years: all the distance I’ve spent running from my own appetite, from the sick fascination of wanting too much, for too long, until it curdles into something sharp and unspeakable. I cross it anyway, no plan, no script, just the static in my ears and the iron tang of sweat cutting through the air. I can feel Finn watching me as I move, his eyes flat and hungry and not at all surprised. He doesn’t slow the rhythm of his hips, doesn’t adjust his grip on Sage’s body, but the set of his jaw relaxes, just a little, like this is how it was always supposed to be.
Sage’s smile widens when I get close, and she reaches for my wrist with fingers that are slick and trembling. She hauls me in with more strength than I expect, and the next thing I know I’m on my knees, eye level with the place where Finn’s hands meet the bruised swell of her hips. Her breath comes in shallow littlebursts, and her skin is hot enough to leave a mark. The noise from outside—the radiator, the drunk shouts from the alley, the endless low roar of city life—fades to nothing. All I hear is the slap of skin, the creak of old springs, the wet gasp as Sage grinds down onto Finn and tilts her head to catch my mouth with hers.
The taste is perfect. Her tongue flicks against mine, teasing, then demanding, and I open for her, let her take what she wants. Her hand slides up my arm, nails biting the muscle, and she drags my palm to her chest, pressing it flat over her heart. Her breast is soft and heavy, the nipple hard and wet from Finn’s mouth. She leans back further, arching her body so that I can take her in both hands, thumbs circling, squeezing, the motion in perfect counterpoint to the pounding inside my own skull.
Finn shifts beneath her, and the movement rocks Sage forward, breaking the kiss but not the connection. She moans, low and guttural, and the sound vibrates straight through the bones of my face. I watch as Finn’s cock disappears into her, slow and deep, the whole length of it sheathed in skin that glistens with slick and sweat. I am close enough to see the fine tremors in Sage’s thighs, the way her ass reddens where Finn’s hands grip her. I want to touch, but more than that, I want to be touched, to be needed, to be wrecked and remade by this impossible geometry of want.
Sage must sense it, because she twists at the waist and yanks me closer, her hand threading into my hair. She kisses me again, harder this time, teeth nipping at my bottom lip until it stings. When she breaks away, she doesn’t let go; she pulls my mouth down to her neck, and I bite her there, just enough to leave a mark. She gasps, and I do it again, softer, lapping at the welt with my tongue. Her hand finds my other, the one not on her breast, and drags it down her stomach, guiding my fingers to the place where she is stretched wide around Finn. She makes me touch, makes me feel the slick, the heat, the impossibletightness. She holds my hand there, pressing my fingertips to her clit, and rides both of us, using my touch to take herself higher.
Finn’s hand brushes my wrist as I work her, and for a second, I think he’s going to push me away. Instead, he tangles his fingers with mine, adding pressure, guiding the motion. His palm is rough, his touch practiced, and together we bring Sage to the edge again, and again, until she’s panting, her head thrown back, mouth open in a wordless cry. Finn never looks at me directly, but I can feel his attention, the shared ownership of this moment. There is no jealousy, no fear, only the hunger to consume and be consumed, to blur the lines until there is no way to tell where one of us ends and the other begins.
Sage starts to shake, the rhythm of her hips going ragged as she chases the next wave. Her hands find my face, and she crushes my mouth to hers, biting, sucking, licking until my lips go numb. I want to crawl inside her, to drown in the noise and heat, but all I can do is let her devour me, let her take every piece I’m willing to give. Finn’s thrusts pick up speed, his breath coming harsher, and I know he’s close, but he holds back, keeps the edge sharp and dangerous. I press harder, fingers working Sage’s clit with Finn’s hand over mine, and she clamps down, her whole body locking in a spasm so intense I feel it in my own gut.
She comes with a sound that is half laugh, half sob, collapsing forward so that her forehead rests against mine. She shudders, the aftershocks making her twitch and flex around Finn, and he groans, a guttural sound that sends a shiver down my spine. He lets her ride it out, every muscle in his legs flexed and trembling, but still doesn’t let himself finish. He’s in control, always in control, but the strain is starting to show. His eyes flick up to mine, dark and glassy, communicating without words.
I break the stare first, turning my head to kiss Sage’s shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her throat.She is still quivering, her breath hot on my cheek. Her hands roam, grabbing at whatever flesh she can reach, marking me as hers. I am so hard it hurts, the pulse of blood in my cock matched by the wild irregular beat of my heart.
Sage looks up at me, her hair a curtain of wild, and she smiles, lazy and satisfied. “You’re overdressed,” she says, voice barely more than a whisper. The words go straight to the part of my brain that still cares about shame, but that part is small, shrinking by the second.
I stand, just long enough to strip my shirt off, then my jeans, then my boxers. My hands shake, but not from nerves, just the overwhelming need to get skin on skin, to be as naked as they are. When I’m done, I kneel back beside the couch, closer this time, close enough that Finn’s thigh brushes mine, close enough that Sage can reach both of us at once.
She does. Her hand finds my cock and squeezes, slow and sure, her grip slick from her own wetness. She strokes me while still rocking on Finn, using my body as leverage for her own pleasure. I moan, unable to help it, and she laughs, a deep and dirty sound that makes my balls draw up tight. She leans in and kisses me again, her tongue probing, tasting, claiming. I kiss her back, desperate, letting her have whatever she wants.
Finn’s hands move from her hips to her waist, then up to her breasts, kneading and squeezing until Sage is gasping again. He pulls her down hard on his cock, making her grind against him, making her take every inch. I watch, transfixed, as she loses herself in the sensation, as she rides the fine line between pain and pleasure. Her hand never leaves my dick, stroking in time with the movement of her own body.
There is a moment, just before it all unravels, where everything is perfect: Sage’s lips on mine, Finn’s hands on her, my fingers still slick with her orgasm, our bodies knotted together in a mess of sweat and need. For the first time in mylife, I feel like I belong—like I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I was made to do.
Sage pulls back, her lips swollen and her eyes glazed with lust. She looks at me, then at Finn, then back at me. “Don’t stop,” she says, and the words are a command, a benediction, a promise of more.
I don’t.
I press my mouth to her breast, sucking the nipple between my teeth, biting until she gasps. I trail my tongue down her belly, licking the sweat from her skin, tasting the salt and the sweet and the metallic tang of desire. I want to go lower, want to taste her where she tastes most like herself, but Finn is still inside her, and the logistics are impossible. Instead, I settle for kissing her everywhere else: her ribs, her hip bones, the inside of her thigh. She shudders with every touch, her muscles flexing under my lips.
Finn’s grip tightens, and I know he’s on the edge. He lets out a sound, half growl, half moan, and for a second, I think he might finally let go. But he holds himself in check, grinding his hips up into Sage with a force that makes the couch creak and shudder. Sage is moaning again, the noise getting higher, more urgent. She is close, so close, and I want to see her come again, want to be the reason for it.
I look up, meet Finn’s eyes, and there is a challenge there—a dare, an invitation. I accept. I reach around Sage’s waist, my fingers finding her clit again, and I rub her, slow at first, then faster, matching the tempo of Finn’s thrusts. Sage cries out, her body arching back so that her breasts are in my mouth and her cunt is stretched tight around Finn’s cock. She comes again, this time harder, her whole body shaking, her nails digging into my scalp.
Finn loses it. He grabs Sage by the waist and slams her down onto him, his own orgasm hitting with the force of a body check.He groans, loud and raw, and I feel the shudder of it through Sage, through the couch, through the floor. He holds her there, buried deep, until the spasms pass and the only sound is the wet, heavy breathing of three people who have given everything and still want more.
Sage slumps forward, collapsing onto my shoulder. Her hair is in my mouth, her breath hot on my skin. Finn leans back, spent, his eyes closed and his chest heaving. I am still hard, still wanting, but for now it’s enough to be here, in this moment, surrounded by the people who make sense.
We stay like that, tangled and spent, for a long time. Nobody speaks. Nobody needs to.
There will be time for words later.
