Page 37 of Burned By Sin
My hair tickles my lower back as I allow my head to drop to the side, lost to the sensations of Rhys’ tongue and the pulsing between my legs. Wetness seeps through my panties already, my hips rolling in my jeans. His mouth switches to my other nipple which he instantly bites down on. I gasp loudly, dragging my nails across his shoulders.
I glimpse at Clay, wondering if he would step in if things got too rough. He takes a long swig of his beer, moving jerkily as if he’s barely restraining from launching himself across the room. Rhys pulls back, his hand grabbing me by the roots of my hair and angling my face toward him.
“When I’m pleasuring you, you focus on me,” I watch his lips move and feel the rumble vibrate through his chest. Refusing to be dominated, unable to let go of my stubborn pride, I snarl and shove him back a step.
“If you don’t want my attention to wander, you’ll need to do a better job at pleasuring me.” Rhys’ blue eyes burst with approval, his hand wrapping around my throat and roughly shoving me to lie back onto the island. I arch, hissing. The marble counter is cold against my skin, not that I have time to gasp as Rhys rips my jeans and panties off in one smooth, practiced move. Dragging me closer to the edge, he throws my legs over his shoulders. I don’t have time to be embarrassed as his fingers dive into my slick heat, my core clenching around him instantly.
I can’t hear Rhys’ praise, but I can sense it. Hummed against my thigh, muttered between hot, wet kisses. My hands fist by my sides with nothing close by to grab onto, all of my willpower going into not giving Rhys the satisfaction of bringing me to orgasm so quickly. Pumping his fingers leisurely, the pad of his tongue scrapes over my clit before he takes it into his mouth. I moan, writhing against the onslaught of pleasure consuming my body.
Distracted by the colors bursting behind my closed eyelids, I flinch at the touch of a mouth covering mine. Not believing my own mind, my eyes fly open to find Clay leaning over me. His blond waves tickle my neck, a deprivation to his black eyes I didn’t expect. Rhys quickens his pace, thrusting his fingers into me while his mouth devours my clit and draws strangled cries from me. Well there’s no acting coy now. Throwing away all inhibitions, I grab Clay by the neck and drag him down to clash my mouth against his.
His lips are fuller than Rhys’, soft and tentative. I don’t let him withdraw now, my chest heaving and noises muffled by his mouth. On my next gasp, his tongue darts into my mouth almost hesitantly, which I take full advantage of. Clay might want to take baby steps, but my body is balancing on a tightrope above an abyss. There’s no time for hesitancy.
Delving my tongue into his mouth, my hands fist in his hair and shirt desperately. I need him to follow me into the fire. Within seconds, his tongue is battling against mine, my moans swallowed whole. I bitehis bottom lip, nibbling along his stubbled jawline before returning to his mouth that’s waiting to devour me. Needing more, I search for his hand and cover my breast with it, squeezing hard in encouragement.
This is a fluke, one I’m sure will not happen again, so I might as well see how far we can go. I’m past the point of return now, my head spinning and my core tightening. Rhys is relentless, sucking and licking my clit like his favorite lollypop. He adds another finger into me, pumping more vigorously and dragging me closer to sweet release. I want to give it to him, but I also don’t want this to end.
As his confidence grows, Clay breaks our kiss to latch onto my hardened nipple, taunted insistently by his hand. His tongue is like a caress after the bite mark Rhys left there, the clash of aggressive and gentle on different parts of my body causing me to spiral. Nothing exists beyond the building orgasm that’s threatening to be my ruin, and the two men staking a united claim over me.
With a hand embedded in both of their hair, I grind shamelessly against Rhys’ mouth and pull Clay as close as possible to chase my release. It answers my call immediately, the dam breaking in a rush of ecstasy. My back arches, my pussy crushing Rhys’ ever moving fingers. Strangled moans I’m glad I can’t hear escape my throat, which Clay kisses and nibbles his way across. I shudder at the throbbing of my clit, at the throes of rapture overriding my limbs. Rhys finally stops his tormenting, his breath fanning my center as he watches the display with rapt interest.
Withdrawing his fingers, Rhys stands and nudges Clay aside. Even after we’ve just proven they don't always have to butt heads, there’s a battle of shoulders before Rhys leans down and captures my lips in a kiss coated with my own arousal. It’s chaste, purely intended for the reason to claim. His eyes are wild, a smirk dancing across his lips. I can’t see Clay, but his fingers are trailing a pattern up and down my arm to let me know he’s still here. I blow out a laugh, the realization of what we just did settling in. Holy crap, we’ve crossed a line, and I don’t want to go back. I want more. There has to be more.
My head lolls to the side as my body enters the blissfully numb aftermath stage. That is, until a tiny flash of red from the living area catches my attention. My eyes narrow, a wash of cold settling over my naked body. I reach up gripping Rhys’ shoulder as I make a pointless event to cover myself, twisting away from the open laptop set on the living room coffee table. I know I can’t hear their answers, but I need to ask the question burning my tongue anyway.
“Um…guys? How long has the light on Clay’s camera been on?”
Chapter Twenty Three
“What the fuck, Rhys?!” Harper’s cry wakes me and a sudden headache tears through my skull. Pulling myself upright on the sofa, I frown and instantly regret it. Pain explodes in my head, the daylight burning my retinas. What the hell happened?
I remember Harper’s fingers clawing through my hair. Her taste on my tongue, her sweet cries as her cunt clenched around my tattooed fingers. The sight will forever be imprinted in my mind. Then, like a beckon of dread, a tiny red light flashes through the image.
That’s when it all comes rushing back. How I’d barely contained my rage long enough to demand Clayton get Harper out of here. How she kicked and screamed as he crowded her upstairs, while my white-knuckled grip trembled on the counter. How I let the monster within take over, a living entity crawling beneath my skin that begged for blood and promised pain.
Someone took invading Harper’s privacy to a whole new level. No one gets to see her in the throes of pleasure, flushed and dazed with desire. Well, except Clayton in this one scenario, but I wasn’t focused on him. I was being driven by my need to possess and indulge. By the primal need to mark and own her. Her body is mine. Her soft moans, clawing nails and flushed skin belong tome.
Slowly easing upright, I hold the sides of my head together as if they might crack open. Various points of my body ache as I tense, the whole motion of sitting up like I’m being dragged through tar. At some point last night I’d lost my t-shirt, but my jeans are still in place. Dark spots have stained the blue material, my brows pinching together as I check myself for injuries.
“It’s your nose,” Clayton states. Striding into view, he hands me a wet cloth. Accepting it tentatively, I press it to my face and jerk back as blinding pain shoots through my already pounding head. The throbbing is unbearable, a string of harsh hisses escaping me. The bone is going to need to be reset.
“Can you find my phone? I’ve got a physician on speed dial.” Harper looks around the room, lowering to her knees to peer beneath the sofa I’m sitting on. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, the white material drooping forward as she bends and pushes her peachy ass into the air, also clad in my boxers. Finding the device, she hands it over and crawls into my side, nuzzling softly. I wish I could smell the scent of my laundry powder mixed with her vanilla shampoo, the way our scents compliment each other.
Pulling Harper closer, I wrap one arm around her body and stroke her back, my phone in my other hand as I shoot off a message to the doc. He responds instantly that he’s on his way, as the doorbell sounds as McClean arrives for his morning shift. Clayton lets him in, muttering a low apology about the mess. My arm tightens around Harper, the throbbing in my face resonating with one spasming in my chest. Why the fuck is Scum apologizing for me, for the mess I made, for the monster I am? It doesn’t sit right. Neither does the way Harper strokes my abdomen with her fingers, pretending I’m not some asshole who can’t contain his rage.
That’s when it all comes rushing back. How I’d mercilessly owned her body, worked her sweet pussy into a frenzy with my fingers and tongue. She tasted divine. She screamed my name. Only to have the moment ruined by someone pathetic bastard who decided theydeserved a front row seat through the webcam. No one gets to see Harper like that except me, and apparently Clayton for however long Harper takes pity on him.
Last night wasn’t my first time sharing or being watched, but it’s the first time I was controlled by pure possessiveness. When it comes to Harper, I can’t fight the primal need to mark and own her. Her body is mine. Her soft moans, clawing nails and flushed skin belong tome.
Sweeping a gaze around the house, I see my reason for not having expensive décor or personal belongings has finally come to fruition. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long. The staircase banister is hanging uselessly to one side, there are holes in various walls. Behind me, the kitchen floor is covered with smashed plates and glass. A baseball bat lies on the central island, a vision of me playing crockery cricket flashing to mind. But there’s something else. An arm winding around my neck and hoisting me off my feet. A figure and a fist, just before it all goes dark.
“You broke my freaking nose,” I rasp nasally as Clayton rounds the sofa and drops into my book throne. His arms are crossed, microscopic smirk pulling at his mouth. For some reason I try to sniff, sending white hot agony splintering through my face. “Jesus Christ!” Clayton chuckles deeply, the noise more like a rumble infiltrating the air. Not a trace of regret passes through his face.
“I found myself in the rare position of being able to land a punch without you getting hard over it. And you’re welcome. You wouldn’t have had any furniture left if I hadn’t.”
I can’t deny I would have done the same in his position, but glare at him regardless. Needing painkillers, I gently ease out of Harper’s hold and make my way into the kitchen. The cabinet where I keep the Xanax is missing its door, a lone mug left in the cupboard beside it. I turn to the basin, finding the faucet torn clean off and laying uselessly on the counter. Someone had the good sense to turn off the water, and I reckon it’s the same person who’s stepping into my personal space now.
“You need to sort your shit out. You can’t be losing it like that with her in the house,” he warns as I swallow the tablets raw. Shoving past him, I pick up a bar stool to perch on, glass crunching beneath my bare feet.
