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“Here, stand on this,” Byron said, positioning it by the desk. “Nat, roll onto your back. Mia, hook his knees over your elbows and get back inside him. Then spread your legs as wide as you can for me, beautiful.”
Nat flopped over and repositioned himself, with about as much grace as a landed fish. I clumsily did as Byron directed, finding the angle completely different. It felt far more intimate this way, with Nat’s pleasure-drugged gaze blinking up at me.
His legs were heavy over my arms, and it took a couple of tries to line up the strap-on correctly before it slid in, more easily than the first time.
Nat moaned. ThenImoaned, as Byron slotted in behind me with his taller frame. The footstool was exactly the right height for his cock—now sheathed in a condom—to slide between my legs until it nudged at my entrance.
“Fuck,yes,” I groaned as he slowly slid in, filling me the way I’d needed so badly.
“Mmm, my perfect girl,” he rumbled in my ear. “Nice and easy, now.”
He pressed my upper body forward, reaching around me to take the weight of Nat’s bent legs. Then we were moving, Byron’s smooth rocking motion driving me into Nat’s body in a lazy rhythm. Nat’s mouth fell open, his head lolling back and his eyes growing unfocused as the dildo stroked into him, over and over.
God... I wasn’t going to last. It was too much. Too good. The slightly awkward angle of having Byron entering me from behind while we were both standing meant that every thrust tugged and pressed on my passage in ways I’d never felt before.
“D-don’t stop,” I begged. “Byron, oh, god, don’t stop!”
“If it was up to me, I’dneverstop, baby girl,” Byron rumbled against the shell of my ear.
Beneath us, Nat looked like someone having a religious experience—but at the sound of Byron’s voice, he shuddered violently. Hot come painted my belly as he spurted, his ass grabbing and dragging at the dildo even as Byron kept the rhythm going.
“Love you,” Nat panted. “Love you so much, Mia. Please... please, I can’t—”
And I was done for.
My orgasm crashed down like an avalanche, my cries joined by Nat’s as I jerked into him with abandon. Byron snarled and pulled out of me before I could clamp down on him. He let go of Nat’s legs in favor of grasping my hips—easing me backward, out of Nat and off the footstool before my balance gave out and sent me tumbling.
“Luca, help Nat,” Byron ordered, sweeping me up in his arms and crossing the room. He tossed me onto the huge bed as though I weighed nothing. My stomach swooped as I landed on the soft mattress with a bounce.
Impatient fingers unbuckled the harness around my hips and tossed it away. Then I was flipped onto my front, and those strong, demanding hands dragged my hips up. Byron slammed into me from behind, and I wailed—rutting back against him as he jackhammered my oversensitive passage.
I came again at the same time he did, squeezing my eyes shut and biting a mouthful of the pretty, dove gray coverlet almost hard enough to tear the fabric. Waves and waves of ecstasy washed through me as Byron’s knot swelled inside me, my muscles bearing down to trap him there before he could try to leave again.
We folded gracelessly to the side in the aftermath, tied together and slick with sweat. The amazing, mindless tide of wellbeing I’d come to associate with being knotted flowed over me, warm and serene. It deepened even more when another limp body flopped down in front of me—Nat, deposited next to us by Luca.
“My ass hurts and I don’t even care,” Nat slurred, looking about as blissed-out as I felt.
“That’s because you’re a good boy who deserves to enjoy his afterglow,” Luca said with faint amusement. “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll care more in the morning.”
I snickered, unable to help myself, then stopped to watch appreciatively as Luca leaned down for a slow, filthy kiss with my husband. Nat hummed into the press of lips, but I could see sleep threatening to overtake him.
Luca had pity on him after a few seconds, moving on to kiss me, and finally Byron—whose low, male noise of satisfaction sent a pleasant shiver along my nerves.
Leaning past Nat’s prone form, Luca stroked hair back from my face, smiling down at me. “That was awesome, but I’m too wired to cuddle right now. I’m going upstairs to see how Emiel’s getting on with that trashy novel.”
A prickle of interest tried to fight its way past my knotting fugue, only to fizzle in the face of all the oxytocin floating around in my brain. Behind me, Byron made a disgruntled noise that seemed to lose steam in a similar fashion.
“’Kay,” I mumbled. “Y’know... he’s probably still got those handcuffs. Just saying.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he does,” Luca said, and I knew I wasn’t imagining the tone of speculation behind the words.