Page 29

She blinks, half dazed, mostly aroused, and her pussy relaxes around me enough to let the first inch of Nash’s dick penetrate.

Grace gasps, clamping down again, making us all groan.

Nash is braced above her, shaking on his thick, strong arms as he holds still enough for her to adjust, dipping to kiss her spine.

For all his quiet sensitivity, he has another side to him that he lets out in bed.

As animalistic and instinctual as the creatures on this ranch that he loves so much.

He slides in deeper, keeping tight control over his urge to thrust. “That’s it, Grace. Be a good girl and let me inside.”

“Fuck,” I grunt as he bottoms out, filling her completely. “You okay?”

She nods, gripping my bicep so hard my eyes water.

“Tell us to stop if it’s too much, okay? ”

She nods, and I kiss her mouth, sliding my tongue against hers as Nash moves.

Goddamn, the slide of his dick over mine and the tight, wet clasp of Grace’s pussy is too good. I groan loudly, forgetting that this house is full of people who’d be better off avoiding our sex noises. Her moans fill the room, desperate and beautiful, and I laugh, unable to hold in my satisfaction.

“Jesus, fuck, Nash. Fuck,” I growl, barely holding on.

Grace cries out, clenching around us as she shatters again. Nash keeps going, taking her through wave after wave, until she’s trembling, boneless, wrecked. And fuck me if I don’t feel a dangerous pride at knowing we did that—together.

“You close?” Nash asks me.

I grin at him over Grace’s shoulder, thrusting into her pussy as he withdraws.

We saw in and out of her until sensation gathers at the base of my spine and surges through my dick.

Nash lets go, and both our cocks spurt inside her, swelling and pulsing with our joint release.

My vision flickers between darkness and light as I hold Grace’s limp body close, and Nash collapses on top of her.

It’s hard to breathe until he rolls away, conscious that she’s tiny and pressed between two massive cowboys.

I’m sore, and Nash must be, too. It was a tight squeeze, but it was worth it.

I roll Grace onto her back, smiling when her arms flops over her face.

She’s fuck-drunk, and it’s cute as hell.

Gently, I part her legs to check that she’s okay.

Her clit is so swollen it’s poking out between her puffy pussy lips.

Her hole is still gaping and leaking so much cum, Nash is going to need to change his sheets.

Watching our shared cream trickle out of her is an experience I’m never going to forget, and one I want to repeat over and over again.

This is what it is to share a woman. Two men, or sometimes more, ramping up her pleasure until she’s speechless and boneless and totally taken care of.

I use my fingers to scoop some of our cum back inside her, holding my fingers deep against her G-spot, fluttering them to make her come again.

She groans, hips jerking, fingers finding her own nipples, lost in the chase towards more ecstasy.

Jaxon and Levi were right. She needs this, more than any woman we’ve tried to share before.

In barely any time, she’s twisting and clamping down on my fingers, gushing her own arousal as well as the remnants of ours, and I hum contentedly, wondering how many times I can take her to the brink.

She’s had enough for tonight, but next time, she’ll know what to expect, and maybe I can push her further.

I rest my hand on her stomach, feeling the soft flutter of her breath, while Nash brushes lazy fingers through her tangled hair. The room smells like sweat and sex, and I glance over her head at Nash, who meets my gaze with a tired grin and a small nod. We did good.

Grace suddenly lets out a soft, satisfied groan. “Holy hell.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “You ain’t gonna need to use that pillow tonight, darlin’.”

That earns me a breathless laugh. She turns to me, eyes still heavy-lidded but warm. “Jaxon told you about that?”

“We want to give you what you need, Grace. That’s why.”

“It’s okay,” she says, brushing her fingers across my lips.

There’s a long beat of silence. Strange as hell, but it’s comfortable. I don’t move, and neither does Nash. Grace doesn’t pull away or cover herself like she’s got regrets waiting in the wings.

I know better than to believe this means she’s staying. We’ve been here before with other women, on other nights with a similar soft aftermath that hid more doubt than we could see. But I can’t stop myself from brushing my knuckles lightly over her bare shoulder.

“You good?” Nash murmurs.

She hums, half asleep already. “Yeah. More than good.”

I glance over, catching the curve of her mouth in the low light. “I gotta admit,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair. “I usually don’t stick around long enough to ask that.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and a little self-conscious. Then, quieter: “I don’t usually stick around, either.”

The edge in her voice is there. It’s a flicker of fragility she’s conscious of sharing.

“Not used to waking up in the same place two mornings in a row?” I ask gently.

Her fingers drift across my chest, slow and aimless. “I’m not used to being wanted after,” she says. Then, a breath later, like she’s afraid of the words. “Sometimes I panic. I get this rush of—what if I’m messing this up by staying?”

“We want you to stay,” Nash whispers softly, stroking her arm.

I grin against her temple. “Even if you couldn’t cook for shit, we’d still want you.”

“Yeah. You’re not interested in my homemaking skills?” she teases.

“We’re good on that front. There’s a line of eleven men already handling all that stuff.”

“That’s a solid selling point.”

I roll onto my side to face her better. “We’re all figuring this out, you know? How to act around you. How to be with you.”

“Don’t act,” she says. “Just be.”

“Okay,” I rub my stubble, the rough scrape grounding me. “Alright. I’ll be real, then. We want to know you. All of it. The sweet parts. The messy parts. Even the weird stuff.”

Her lips twitch. “Weird like what?”

“Weird like—I snore. It’s brutal. I like to think I make up for it in other… nighttime activities.”

Her smile blooms now, warm and amused. “Okay. My weird thing? I alphabetize my books. Even the cookbooks.”

“Lennon will love you for it.”

“I sing in the car.”

“Beau will join you,” Nash says, smiling. “I talk to animals more than people.”

I smile at the ceiling, contented that this is turning out how I hoped. “I sing in the barn.”

“We can duet,” she laughs. “Who’s your favorite?”

“Garth Brooks or John Denver.”

“Country Roads. That’s a good one. I was thinking Taylor Swift.”

I poke her in the ribs, mortified. “No Swifty shit in this house.”

“Way to make me feel welcome, dude.”

Nash searches out her closest hand and brings it to his lips. “Ignore my brother. All your terrible music taste will be welcome if you stay.”

“He’s such a softie,” I say, fixing him with an amused grin.

“It’s the freckles.” He rubs the tip of his nose up Grace’s cheek, making her laugh.

“He’s not a softie when it counts.”

“No, he isn’t.” I press my lips to her temples and close my eyes, sinking into a deep, contented, relaxed state. I sigh, settling back on the pillow to stare up at the dark ceiling beams.

Brody might think this is going to fail before it starts, but I’m not a doubter. Pop always told me that thinking positive is the easiest way to get through life, so that’s what I’m going to do.

There’s no way I’m leaving this bed until morning.