Page 88 of Triple Play
He comes with a shout he tries to muffle, his whole body going rigid, and I swallow everything he gives me because the taste of him, the way he looks when he falls apart—I want all of it.
Jordie’s next, groaning my name as he spills down my throat, his hand gentle in my hair even as his hips jerk.
Downstairs, a door slams. Grant’s probably in the kitchen. Probably heard Wyatt’s shout. Probably knows exactly what’s happening up here.
I don’t care.
I release Jordie, lick my lips, and look up at both of them. “Was that good?”
“Good?” Jordie laughs breathlessly. “That was—you’re fucking incredible.”
Wyatt’s already moving, grabbing tissues from the nightstand, cleaning me up with careful hands. “You okay? Was that too much?”
“I’m perfect.” And I am. Sated and satisfied and still humming with the pleasure of making them fall apart.
“Come here.” Jordie pulls me up the bed, arranges pillows behind me like I’m some kind of princess. “Water. You need water.”
He’s already grabbing a bottle from his dresser, opening it, holding it to my lips while I drink.
“I can hold a water bottle, Jordie.”
“I know. But let me take care of you.” His voice is soft now, that golden boy facade completely gone. This is real Jordie. Sweet and attentive and almost babying me in a way that should be annoying but isn’t.
Wyatt’s pulling a blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders. “You’re not cold?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? I can turn the heat up—”
“Wyatt.” I catch his hand. “I’m okay. Better than okay.”
He searches my face, then nods. Leans down to kiss me soft and careful.
Jordie’s already bringing a warm washcloth, cleaning between my thighs with gentle touches that make me squirm. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“Nothing hurts. You guys are being ridiculous.”
“We just made you come three times. Let us be ridiculous.” Jordie tosses the washcloth aside, climbs into bed beside me, pulls me against his chest. “Besides, this is my favorite part.”
“Babying me?”
“Taking care of you.” He kisses my temple. “Knowing we made you feel good.”
Wyatt climbs in on my other side, and I’m sandwiched between them, warm and safe and thoroughly satisfied.
Downstairs, another door slams.
Grant knows. Has to know.
Tomorrow there will be consequences. Tomorrow we’ll have to deal with his anger and hurt and whatever else he’s feeling.
But tonight, wrapped up in Jordie and Wyatt, I can’t bring myself to care.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BREAKING POINT
Grant
