Page 87 of Altius
“You move to the side,” Joaquin said. “I’ll handle the rest.”
A few deft maneuvers later, Joaquin’s back rested against my pillows and headboard, with me settled between his legs, thighs draped over his, spreading me wide for Alijah’s benefit.
He was staring again, black eyes growing glassier by the second.
“Well, well,” Joaquin murmured in my ear. “Looks like this position is a winner.”
He tilted my head back, slanting those scheming lips of his against mine for an overdue, pepper-laced kiss, hands coming up to caress my breasts.
Sprawled between our legs, Alijah gave my clit a tentative lick—his treatment of me totally at odds with how boldly he cupped Joaquin’s balls, refusing to let him off easy.
But our beta had learned a few crafty lessons from his mate, and their tandem ministrations soon had me seeing stars.
“See, doc,” Joaquin purred in my ear with a maddening flex of his knot. “We could be so good for you.”
I came twice before they relented—and Joaquin’s knot finally subsided.
Well and truly drained, I didn’t resist when Joaquin scooped me up, carrying me into the bathroom.
Alijah hurried past, showing off his tight ass as he bent over the bathtub, adjusting the taps to the perfect temperature.
Leaning against the vanity, Joaquin was content to hold me, purring softly and nuzzling my hair until the bath satisfied Alijah’s standards.
“Stay with her,” Alijah said, taking my everyday fuzzy bathrobe from the hook by the shower and putting it on. Stupidly adorable little thief.
His shirt was mine now. Well, it would be as soon as I gathered enough strength to get out of the tub.
“I’m going to fix breakfast,” Alijah said as he hurried off.
Joaquin carefully deposited me into the water. “You all right for a minute?”
I nodded, closing my eyes and letting the restorative warmth wash over me. He reappeared wearing jeans, carrying a tumbler of water and a container of grapes, with Alijah’s shirt draped over his arm.
“If you want your prize,” he said, sitting on the bench beside the tub, “you have to finish the water. The grapes are to tide you over. Don’t know why he thought French toast was a good idea.”
“Worth it.” I opened my mouth, accepting the straw for a few mouthfuls of water, eyes fixed on the polo shirt.
A girl could get used to this kind of pampering—a different girl—but even I could pretend for a few minutes.
Twenty-One
Morgan
“One more, give me one more.” Pressed against the wall of the shower, Cal pistoned into me, hands sunk deep in my ass, trying to wring out yet another climax. There was no way he’d ever let me fall.
The fact that I was aware of the mechanics of our current position bothered me.
It was late Sunday night. I should be a hormonal express train, mindlessly exchanging riders left and right.
Hadn’t I consumed a gallon of pheromone-laced bodily fluids by now?
Yet all I could think about—despite how fervently my boyfriend was fucking me and the increasing pressure of his knot against my pussy walls—was curling up in my nest and playing a round of Sudoku on my phone.
If Cal wanted to add a vibrator to the mix, I could multitask.
“Shit,” I groaned against his neck. “This isn’t working.”
His hips faltered. “The position, or…?”
