Page 25 of Burned By Sin
“You can cook?” I ask, cringing at the way it comes out all squeaky with surprise. Clay ducks his head slightly, as if he’s struggling under the scrutiny of my gaze.
“I can when I’ve got the ingredients to work with.” A faint pink twinge highlights his cheeks. My heart melts and my smile doubles.
“Well then, consider us your sous chefs.”
“Yeah fucking right,” Rhys huffs, settling down as if he’s about to take a nap. I stroke my fingers through his damp hair, teasing the knots out of the longer strands on top. Clay takes the stairs two at a time, disappearing from view. The fire crackles softly, Rhys’ head growing heavy on my shoulder as I stare into the flames.
Unknown to the guys, I’ve placed microphone clips in each room, giving me surround sound hearing of the house directly into my inner ear. If they start a scrap, I’ll know about it quickly enough to break it up. The last thing I want is for Rhys to come up with a new bribery technique or for Clay to be pushed out by thinly veiled threats. I know Rhys isn’t perfect, and I don’t need him to be. I just hope the three of us can find some kind of truce whilst staying here, locked away from the world’s expectations and judgemental stares.
A faint static hum builds in my left ear, the pulsing sound of water hitting tile. I can picture the moment Clay steps beneath the spray with the way the sound changes, no longer smacking the ground but curving around his broad frame. I can imagine it all too well.
Continuing to stroke Rhys’ damp hair against my collarbone, his breathing has gone steady, but my mind isn’t nearly as still. It wanders,flitting restlessly across the quiet cabin. With nothing to distract me but the storm beating against the windows and the glow of the embers before me, every sound feels more intrusive, more alive.
After a few minutes, the shower’s downpour has lulled me into a sense of serenity. Like white noise, I dip my head back against the sofa and simply enjoy it, until a grunt brings me back to the room around it. I startle, eyes wide at the ceiling as the sound comes again. I’m about to fly from the seat and run to check if Clayton is okay, if he’s hurt elsewhere, but then he hisses a broken word.
“Fuck,” he groans. My heart rate kicks up a beat. Diving deeper into the water’s spray, audibly hunting for sounds beneath the noise, I hear it. A rhythmic thrusting, slickened and wet. Holy hell. Clay’s breathing becomes ragged, enticing mine to do the same. My fingers are still in Rhys’ hair, caught halfway through a stroke. The room becomes warm, the heat creeping under my skin having nothing to do with the fire.
I shift, tugging the blanket lower over my chest. The result is a brush of my nipples and a rush of chill causing them to tighten. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, the slippery pumping prevalent in my mind. My core tightens as I imagine in all too vivid detail how it would feel for Clay to be pushing inside of me with those recurring thrusts. How he’d dominate my every thought, drawing me towards the orgasm I’ve been yearning for him to give me.
The groans become longer, more insistent. The intimacy of sound is almost too private to hear. I should stop listening, but the human mind is cruel in its curiosities. The faint hitch of Clay’s breath draws me in like a thread, wrapping tight around my pulse until my own body forgets how to stay still. Beside me, Rhys stirs. His lashes flutter open, a sliver of awareness cutting through the dim glow of the room.
“What’s going on?” he asks, but it’s obvious. There’s no denying the heavy shift of my chest, pushing my nipples further into the air. A flicker of lust passes through his blue eyes, and thankfully, he doesn’t question the how or why. Reading my body language, Rhys smooths ahand over my thigh, feeling how tense I am, and chuckles. “Whatever it is, seems like you need some help, Babygirl.”
I don’t argue. Beneath the blanket, Rhys peels my leggings down the length of my legs. They’re tossed to the floor, those inked fingers skating back up my thighs. It’s slow and teasing, his eyes locked on mine as my pupils dilate. Hovering just over my panties, I ache for contact, and as my body betrays me, I shift my hips up to meet his touch. The soft scrape of his knuckles against the fabric has us both moaning.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.”
The quickening tempo echoes faintly through my implants, blurred beneath the patter of water but unmistakable. It’s smooth then rough, soft then harsh. Each punctuated by a sharp inhale and grunted exhale. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my expression to stay neutral, though my lungs can’t seem to find their usual pattern.
Rhys is mesmerized by my face, his gaze drinking me in as he shifts my panties aside. Brushing his thumb over my clit, I throw my head back, already seeing stars. Thanks to the imagery Clay’s noises are providing, I’m strung tighter than an archer’s bow. Enjoying my suffering, Rhys mimics the action. Slow, tentative brushes that set my blood on fire, his tongue trailing along my throat.
Each quiet gasp from the bathroom tugs me further away from the moment I’m in and into the one I’m not supposed to witness. The sounds are soft, unguarded,raw.The kind of sound someone makes when they finally give into their desire.
Being kept on the precipice of pleasure, I grope my own breasts, teasing my nipples shamelessly while my hips roll, desperate to urge Rhys closer. To coax him into taking me with the same brutality I know him to have. I need it more than I need my next breath. Clay mutters words beneath his breath, my name on his lips as he ramps up his movements. The sound is obscene in its desire, like listening to porn on loud speaker in my skull.
“I don’t know where you are right now,” Rhys grabs my chin andbrings my eyes level with his, “but I want you here with me.” Suddenly, two fingers push inside me whilst his mouth claims mine, swallowing my groan. My teeth sink into his lip, my nails clawing in his hair. I can’t see through the lights spotting my vision, sinking me into a dirty fantasy I didn’t want to admit. It’s like they’re both here with me, driving me towards the point of no return.
Even without knowing it, Rhys’ tempo mimics Clayton’s. The speed increases, the moans intensifying. My legs drop wide open, Rhys shuffling aside and dragging me to lie flat. He grips my nape as he claims me in all ways, his tongue battling with mine whilst his fingers pump at rocket speed and cause my back to bow.
The room shrinks around us, growing smaller and warmer until only the sofa beneath me exists. My thoughts blur between what I’m hearing, what I’m feeling, and what I can’t admit out loud. Three hearts in the same house, all beating for different reasons, and yet, in this suspended moment, everything feels like it’s happening at once.
For once, it’s not about choosing. It’s aboutfeeling.And God help me, I feeleverything.Finally allowing me to breathe, Rhys drops his head to my chest, pulling my nipple into his mouth straight through my T-shirt. The heat and wetness of it is intoxicating, pushing me over that final ledge. I’m certain I explode at the same time Clayton does, the groaning in my head and the rawness of my throat blurring into one messy, delicious moment.
Rhys doesn’t move away as I fall apart for him, for them both. His eyes lift to my face, slicing blue through darkness around us, close enough to share ragged breath. Clay’s sounds taper, a low sigh swallowed by the rush of water. I exhale with him, my chest falling as I shudder through the aftereffects of my orgasm. It ends as quickly as it started, my mind left dizzy. It continues to spin as the water shuts off, leaving a hollow ache behind.
The fire pops sharply, drawing me back to the present. The smell of pine smoke, the flicker of light against the log walls, the soft hum of Rhys’ breathing, it all wraps around me like a secret I can’t untangle.Somewhere in this cabin, another secret drips down tile through the steam. I lie there, caught between three heartbeats.
A few minutes later, once I’ve discarded my soaking panties and tugged my leggings back on, Clay appears at the base of the stairs. His damp hair curls against his forehead, his T-shirt clinging to him, darkened in places as if he didn’t dry off properly. His skin is red raw, the temperature of water no doubt punishingly hot. Dropping my gaze to his hand, there’s a deep imprint of teeth marks surrounding his knuckles. Clay promptly tucks his hand into his lounge pants pocket.
“Shall we get started on dinner?” Clay asks, a roughened croak to his voice. I lick my lips, wincing at the matching bite marks I’ve embedded there.
“Yes, food. Let’s sort food,” I reply almost robotically. Standing and closing the distance between us, Clay stares at me closely. I know my cheeks are pink and my neck is flushed, but neither of us comments on it. Realising Rhys hasn’t joined us, I clear my throat theatrically. “You coming with us?” I choose my words wrongly, causing Rhys to laugh. My entire face sets on fire.
“Nah,” he throws his feet onto the coffee table and lifts two glistening fingers into the air. “I’m all good here.” Pushing his fingers into his mouth, my own jaw drops at the way he blatantly sucks, moaning softly into the microphone on the fireplace. If the atmosphere in the room wasn’t awkward before, it sure is now. Thankfully, Clayton is too much of a gentleman to comment on it.
Gesturing toward the kitchen, already heading that way, his damp footprints mark the polished wood floor. I toss a glare back to Rhys, the firelight dancing across Rhys’ face and casting him half in gold, half in shadow.
“Smug bastard,” I hiss at him. His blue eyes glisten with arrogance as he spins my panties around his inked index finger, his laughter following behind me. Goddamn, these men will be the death of me.
