Page 98 of Kill for a Kiss

Then Sterling moves. He leans forward even more, his hand sliding up my thigh, palm warm, firm and possessive. His other hand tilts my chin toward him, fingers framing the side of my face. “Eyes on me, Elle,” Sterling says, his voice gravelly.

I obey. I always do with him. And when he kisses me, it’s not rushed, never rushed, but claiming all the same. His lips take their time, mapping mine like he didn’t already do so last night. His tongue slides in, and I melt into him without thinking. It’s so nice not to think, to put all of my trust in Sterling.

Behind me, Stan comes closer. His breath warms the nape of my neck. I feel the way his chest fits against my spine.

Sterling breaks the kiss to let me breathe. His hand stays on my thigh. Stan wraps an arm around my waist.

“Fuck, Elle, you still smell like us,” Stan says, lips brushing my ear.

Sterling glares at Stan over my shoulder. “Crass,” he hisses at his brother.

“But she does. Tell me I’m wrong,” Stan counters, the grin clear in his voice.

Sterling doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop him either.

Stan’s fingers dip lower, toying with the buttons of the shirt I’m barely wearing. He works them loose with ease. Then he slips the flannel off my shoulders and holds me against him, my back against his chest like before.

Sterling stares, jaw tight and pupils dilated. His fingers slide higher along my thigh, inching inward. I tremble from his tantalizing touch.

“You okay?” Sterling asks, voice hushed.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Stan answers against my neck, his teeth grazing enough to make me arch.

The back of my head drops on Stan’s shoulder. Sterling’s mouth traces a line down my chest, heat pressed into every slow kiss. I’mbreathless and boneless and wanting. The desire burns, singeing into the very essence of me. I can’t think. I don’t want to. Not when the memories keep clawing up. Not when I’m not ready to face them yet. Not now. Not when I’m between these two.

Stan holds my hand and gently moves it to his chest, right where the skin is still raised. The tattoo. ThatE. I trace it. My fingers shake. He groans and presses his mouth to my shoulder.

“That’s where you are, Elle,” he whispers. “Right under my skin.”

My heart stutters, but before I can react, Sterling’s mouth is on my stomach. His hands slide under me, lifting me slightly. Then he lays me down on the rug, cushioned by Stan behind me, both of us facing Sterling.

Sterling’s hands skim my thighs. His lips press a kiss below my navel. He slowly goes lower and lower, leaving a warm trail of tender kisses down my body. Stan cradles me from behind, arms wrapped tight around my waist. His hands drift to my breasts, the tips of his fingers teasing. I moan, lost between them.

“I can’t think…” I whisper, overwhelmed by everything. From too much heat, too many hands. Their breath, their voices, everything they’re giving me.

“Don’t think,” Sterling says. His mouth is between my thighs now, breathing warmth against my bare center.

“Just feel,” Stan adds, sliding beside me. The second he does, his lips find mine.

Their hands roam. Touch after touch. Mouths mapping opposite ends of me.

Sterling’s lapping at me, slow and warm, his tongue circling with care that only drives my pleasure. His finger glides in, stretching me. Preparing me for him.

Yes. For him. I want him. I want both of them. Again.

The pressure builds and I arch back with a gasp. Their namestumble out before I can stop them. “Sterling—Stan—”

I can’t say anything else. Everything burns. Yet it’s still not enough. I feel the heat of Sterling’s breath against my folds. More of his fingers seek entrance. I nod and moan, practically begging for more of him.

Stan’s palm coasts up my side. He picks up the flannel on the floor, winding it around my wrists. He’s restraining my arms behind my back. My skin tingles where their hands and lips have been, and ache where they haven’t touched yet.

They move me. In the next moment, I’m on my knees. Sterling kisses my cheek, slow and sweet, working his way to my mouth. Stan’s behind me, his chest warm against my back, his breath hot at my ear. “I could get used to this view,” Stan mutters. His hand slides along the dip of my spine, going lower. “Think we broke the couch in last night, but this floor’s got potential.”

Sterling shoots him a look.

“Touchy,” Stan teases, but that’s all he says. His hands say the rest.