Page 44

I wake to the call of seagulls, the kiss of the ocean breeze, and the glow of the morning sun. The crashing waves provide a steady rhythm in the background. A tangle of limbs ensnares me—Hank’s muscular arm draped possessively across my waist, Gabe’s leg hooked between mine, his breath warm against the nape of my neck.

The morning dew clings to our skin like a second covering where the blankets slipped away.

Hank stirs first, his eyes opening to reveal that molten amber gaze that always strips me bare. His jaw, shadowed with stubble, tightens as he looks over my head to where Gabe lies.

The usual heat that builds between us each morning—that delicious, inevitable collision of bodies—doesn’t materialize.

“We’re going for a walk.” Hank disentangles himself from our heap, rising to his full height with predatory grace. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command from a man accustomed to being obeyed. “I’m thinking brunch at Mike’s burger joint.”

Each movement reveals him in stark, unfiltered detail—no shirt to soften the impact, just bare, bronzed skin stretched over muscle carved with brutal precision. His chest rises and falls, every line defined, the result of years of relentless discipline and control. His abdomen is a roadmap of strength—ridges and valleys that ripple with every breath.

Every inch of him is carved strength, raw masculinity honed into something dangerous. And beneath those thin, stretched briefs, the outline of his cock is impossible to ignore—thick, heavy, restrained only by fabric that clings to him like a second skin.

His arousal isn’t just evident—it’s commanding, the kind of masculinity that demands attention, respect… submission.

I rise slowly, the air thick between us, every nerve ending aware of him—of the tension coiled in his body, of the way his eyes darken as I approach.

Step by step, I close the distance until I’m standing before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. My hand lifts, fingers trembling with anticipation as I cup his hard length straining beneath his boxer briefs.

“Before that walk,” I say, gripping him, “let me take care of this…”

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

He just watches, eyes locked on mine, his jaw tight, chest rising with slow, controlled breaths.

I cup him fully, feeling the weight, the heat, the barely restrained power in my grasp. A low sound rumbles from his chest, and that’s all the encouragement I need.

My fingers slide beneath the waistband, the fabric yielding as I reach inside, my hand wrapping around him—hot, hard, thick.

His breath hitches, control slipping for a fraction of a second.

I stroke him slowly, feeling the tension radiate through his body, the way his breath grows heavier beneath my touch. His hand covers mine, large and warm, guiding but not stopping me—encouraging.

When I rise on my toes to kiss him, he meets me halfway, his mouth claiming mine with slow, deliberate intensity. The world narrows to the feel of his skin against mine, the heat between us sparking into something inevitable.

Behind me, Gabe stirs with a low sound of approval vibrating in his throat. I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze, dark and hungry, one hand lazily stroking himself as he watches.

“Gabe…” Hank snaps his fingers. “Join us.”

Gabe moves, his body mirroring Hank’s arousal.

Hank’s hands move to my shoulders, applying gentle pressure. I yield to his silent command, lowering to my knees, my heart pounding with anticipation.

Hank’s boxer briefs are the first to go, pushed down and kicked aside, revealing his cock, proud and erect. He cups the back of my head, guiding me forward. I open my mouth, taking him in, my tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. A low hiss escapes him, his fingers tightening in my hair.

Gabe moves to my side, his boxers discarded. He grasps his hard length, stroking slowly as he watches me pleasure Hank. I reach out, wrapping my hand around his cock, my grip tightening as I stroke him in tandem with my mouth on Hank.

I pull back from Hank, my lips leaving his cock with a wet pop. Turning my head, I take Gabe into my mouth, my tongue licking up his shaft, my cheeks hollowing as I suck him deep into the back of my throat.

I alternate, mouth and hands working together to bring them both to the edge. Their breaths grow ragged, their bodies tensing, their pleasure building.

I kneel between them, their bodies crowding close, heat radiating off skin slick with sweat. Hank and Gabe tower over me, heads tipped toward each other, foreheads touching. Their shoulders press together, a wall of muscle and dominance above me—unmovable. United.

Gabe’s hand is tangled in my hair, guiding my mouth with slow, deliberate precision. Hank’s grip tightens on my shoulder, steady and grounding, his other hand braced against Gabe’s chest for balance as I move between them.

My rhythm builds—hand stroking, mouth working, tongue flicking in ways I know drive them both wild. Their groans echo above me, ragged and raw, vibrating through their chests and into my bones.

Hank goes first, a harsh grunt ripping from his throat as he pulses in my hand. I swallow him down, turning to Gabe just in time to take him deep. His fingers tighten in my hair, holding me close as his control slips, hips jerking as he spills across my tongue.

The taste of them mingles—salt, sweat, power. I hold it for a beat, savoring it, because this?

This is mine.

They stay there above me, foreheads pressed together, breath syncing, bodies still humming from release. Gabe’s hand rests briefly on Hank’s shoulder, grounding them both. Hank lets it linger before gripping Gabe’s forearm in silent solidarity—brotherhood forged in fire and now tempered in pleasure.

They share a glance—just a flicker—but something passes between them. A shared truth. A wordless, unshakable bond.

They don’t look at me yet. They don’t need to.

They already know—I’d drop to my knees a thousand times if it meant giving them this.

A thrill of power courses through me, setting nerve endings alight with an electric rush that rivals any orgasm. These two powerful men were brought to their knees by my mouth. By my touch.

It feeds something primal and hungry within me.

The ache between my thighs intensifies, my body slick with wanting, but the satisfaction of rendering them speechless is its own reward.

I lean back on my heels, a smug grin spreading across my lips as I look up at them. Their eyes are dark with sated desire, their chests heaving with exertion. A droplet of sweat travels down the hard ridges and valleys of Hank’s abdomen, and I fight the urge to lean forward and taste it, too.

“Now,” I say, my voice sultry with satisfaction, fingers tracing idle patterns against my thigh, “we can go for that walk.”