Page 85 of Kill for a Kiss

“Christ,” Stan mutters. “You two always like this?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t think Ican. Because suddenly my mind’s full of memories. Stan’s voice, his hands, his mouth. On me. His bed, and mine. The touch of silk sheets. His low laugh against my throat. His name between my lips, over and over again. A dream made real soaked in pleasure and Kys. Clo drugged us. That much is clear now. But the memories? Those feel real. Because they are. They happened.

My breath falters. Sterling’s arms circle around me, his hands under my breasts, grounding me again. His lips find the back of my neck, soothing the quiver in me with careful kisses and soft murmurs of praise.

Then I hear fabric move in front of me. Stan is sliding his clothes off. The thump of clothes drops to the floor by my feet. I don’t have to see it. I feel Stan’s body heat even more. His closeness draws out a sharp inhale from me that seizes my spine.

“Didn’t tell you the best part yet,” Stan murmurs by my ear. “Got a tattoo.”

Sterling’s hands pause but still hold. I turn my head slightly, though I’m still blindfolded. “A tattoo?”

“Yeah. Stupid, impulsive, and permanent.” He laughs under his breath. “You wanna know where it is?”

Sterling exhales hard through his nose. “Don’t.”

Stan talks over him. “Left pec. Over the heart.”

And suddenly I’m burning all over again.

“Big cursive E,” Stan adds. “Guess who it’s for.”

Sterling growls low behind his teeth. His fingers tighten possessively, making me quiver and moan.

Stan chuckles. “Relax. I’m not asking for her back.”

Sterling leans in, voice quiet against my hair. “Because you never had her.”

The air closes in. Heat, silence, and tension building with every breath shared, every line blurred. I don’t know where this is headed. I don’t need to, even if the tension in this room could snap a spine. Because I’m not thinking. I’m only feeling. And right now, all I feel iswant.

Their bodies are heat and temptation. Sterling’s mouth finds the back of my neck, slow and consuming. But Stan moves differently. He acts before he thinks, bold in every motion where Sterling is purposeful.

Stan’s hand finds mine. And before I have a chance to react, he brings it to his chest, where his heart beats. I suck in a breath when he presses my palm over bare skin. Warm, flushed, and feels rather raw and subtly raised. It takes me a moment to recognize the shape beneath my fingers. The curve of a looped letter, still tender to the touch.E.My initial.

My breath catches. My hand twitches over his skin. Stan leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. His voice sounds like hunger disguised as a smile. “It’s there forever.”

I shiver. Stan’s hand stays over mine, holding it there, keeping me connected to his tattoo, as if he wants me to fully feel it. To understand that he branded himself with an inky confession he’ll never take back.

But Sterling doesn’t stop. His tongue drags a line up the back of my neck. His hands are patient, mapping down my body until they settle on my bare hips. Sterling anchors me when Stan makes me feel like I might float away. I’m surrounded, braced between Sterling’s restraint and Stan’s recklessness. Still, neither of them are giving me what I want. What Ineed.

I arch against Sterling’s chest, gasping when his teeth graze my shoulder. He strips away the flannel wrapped loosely around me.

I break, my patience snapping. “Please,” I whisper, dizzy with need. “Please stop.”

They both go still. The fire roars, but it’s nothing compared to the blaze beneath my skin.

Sterling’s lips move against my shoulder. “You want us to stop?”

“No.” I shake my head, desperate. “I want you to stopteasing. I want you totake me. Both of you.”

Then Sterling groans. His hands tighten around my thighs, spreading me open. His fingers slide between my legs, over the soaked fabric, and I grind down against his lap without thinking.

“Fucking finally,” Stan growls. “I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you, Silver.”

Sterling lifts me up a little with one hand. I hear the sound of his zipper. Stan’s fingers move in next. Slow at first, stripping the last barrier from my skin until I’m bare, exposed, and caught between them completely.

They move in tandem. One hot. One cold. One careful. One carefree. Both of them mine.

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