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I blow out a breath that does absolutely nothing when the heat is insufferable. When my skin is so ... sensitive and I’m so wet!

There has to be something wrong with me. How many times can a girl climax before it’s too much? Is there such a thing? Can a person die from too many orgasms because I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit some kind of record and they know it. I don’t know if it’s a bet they made to see how many times they can kill me because both seem adamant to give me as many as possible until I can’t without crying.

Actually crying!

Tears and sobbing, begging them to stop as my body convulses and I’m so stimulated I can’t take it.

And I love it and need it. It’s become like a drug, an addiction that can be sated by no one else, not even my own hands.

“Okay, sweetheart?” Lachlan appears at my side with his own carton of things.

It’s dropped on the bed and the man turns to me. One arm lifts. The forearm smooths across the beads of sweat dampening his brow.

What am I supposed to say? I’m ready to go again? I’ve been ready since they stopped? That I’m so close I can’t think and all because watching them do random shit gets me hot and bothered? I can’t tell him that.

“I see.” He murmurs, and for a panicked second, I wonder if I actually said everything out loud. “Van,” he calls over my head towards the house.

Arms loaded with old blankets, Van steps onto the porch. His silver eyes flick from me to Lachlan.

“Yeah?”

I’m nudged forward like an offering. “Take care of her. I’ll finish the rest.”

The bedding is dropped down on the front steps, freeing his hands to move up and brush back damp locks off his brow.

“Come here, Everly,” he commands with a jerking motion of his chin.

He doesn’t even wait when turning on his heel and disappearing inside.

It’s pure curiosity,I tell myself as I follow after him. But I know that’s not it when I find him headed up the stairs, the sound of belt buckles unfastening drifting after him.

He’s in my parent’s room, beautiful and naked standing next to their bed. His cock is a piece of art bobbing free.

“Take your shorts off,” he says, getting up on the bed. “Panties, too.”

My fingers shake as I obey. The cool, air-conditioned breeze hits my soaked folds like a greedy tongue.

“Come here and sit on it,” he says.

I do not resist.

I scramble up onto the mattress and climb over him. I straddle his hips and drive myself down on all that perfect meat without a second’s hesitation.

We both groan. My back arches as my body gets what it’s been aching for. My core seizes every inch of him with an insatiable fist that has Van bucking his hips.

“What have you guys done to me?” I pant, grinding. “Why can’t I get enough?”

He groans again, hands clamping down hard on my hips as I ride him. My slick channel holds him, desperate and hungry as I bounce harder. Faster. Rattling the bed. Banging a dent into the plaster behind the headboard.

He lets me.

His big hands twist my top up over my breasts and let them bounce with every rise and fall of my hips. He watches them as I take my pleasure from him.

It’s not until I exhale and my body shudders. Until my nails sink into his chest and I gasp his name.

“Stop.”

Thrown, I stop and stare down into his set expression. “What? Why—?”