Page 64 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

“What if I don’t want to go to sleep?” I whispered.

We were all hot and sticky, and so were the sheets.

Miguel’s cum slid down my legs. I should’ve wanted to go to sleep.

I should’ve wanted to take things slow. Maybe wait until morning, at least, until we had clear heads and could set the rules and the pace.

But I didn’t want to. I’d just had the best experience of my life, an experience I’d already waited long enough for.

“What if… I want more?” They hovered over me, breathing rough, the size of their naked bodies making me feel small and overwhelmed.

Quentin looked desperate, and Miguel seemed on his way there. They wanted me; I could see the strain of it on their faces, could see it in the way they swallowed.

Feeling both inexperienced and brave, I ran my fingers down their chests.

They shivered in response, their pupils blown.

I wrapped my hands around their hard cocks, nervous that I hadn’t done it right somehow.

Quentin was thicker, more veiny and intimidating than Miguel, but Miguel was a little longer.

I still wore my nightgown, but it didn’t cover my dick.

Without instruction from my brain, my hips rolled against the mattress.

My face heated because even after what we’d just done, I couldn’t shake my shyness. I held Miguel’s stare anyway. “Can we do more?”

I turned to Quentin then, knowing I could convince him, knowing he lacked the same control Miguel had. “Please.”

I felt embarrassed and childish. I wanted to be more demanding like Quentin, or more decisive like Miguel—even if he was about to say no. But maybe they were okay with how soft I was, with the way I nervously asked for what I wanted. Their cocks grew bigger in my hands. I took that as a good sign.

Quentin made a growling sound, watching me like he was waiting for the signal to strike. “Guelly?”

“Yeah?” Miguel sounded like he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold Quentin back, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Give us the fucking rules,” Quentin demanded.

“I-I…” Miguel stammered as I lightly stroked them. Should I grip them harder? Should I spit in my hand like I’d seen Quentin do before?

“ Fuck , you’re perfect,” Quentin gritted out, boosting my confidence, making me feel like I was doing okay. “Guelly,” he almost whined.

“Right,” Miguel breathed, “rules. Maybe w-we should—”

Scared he’d say no, I shot up, kissing him to keep him quiet.

Again, I wondered if I was doing it the right way.

Should I force my tongue deeper into his mouth?

Did he like that my tongue moved like it was afraid to?

He cupped my face and kissed me harder than he had before, and I let him take the lead.

“You’re such a fucking innocent tease,” Quentin groaned, now thrusting into my loose grip on his dick.

Tease? Thoughts of that vanished when he groaned out his next words.

“It’s hot as fuck, pretty girl.”

Me? Hot as fuck?

Miguel pulled back, and I leaned toward him, eyes closed, lips parted, chasing him. Snapping out of it, I jerked back, my cheeks warming again.

“Sorry,” I whispered. Did he think I was too anxious? Did he stop because he didn’t like the way I kissed?

“Sorry?” he shook his head. “Do you know what you’re doing to us right now?”

“I… I…” I stared down at their dicks, licking my lips when a creamy bead leaked from both their slits. Did I cause that?

“Lick that pretty mouth one more time and I’ll have to fill it with something,” Quentin growled.

My eyes flashed to his, my mouth gaping open as his words made my insides hot.

“Fuck, look at your head, pretty girl.”

My head?

Quentin pointed his chin at the place between my legs. I stared down at myself.

“So pink and shiny. Look at that pearl run.” He scooped up the milky pearl, sucking his finger into his mouth. “Fuck,” he cursed. “If you don’t let me go, I’m gonna bust a nut all over your hand before the real fun starts.”

I released my grip on him, then let go of Miguel. Their dicks bounced upwards, bobbing in the air. Mesmerized, I reached a shaky finger out, collecting the creamy dribble running down Miguel’s shaft. I stared at my finger, then sniffed it before sucking the digit clean.

“Rule number one,” Miguel panted, and I smiled. We were gonna do more.

“Rule number one?” I asked when he seemed stuck staring at me.

“Uh, yeah.” He came back to his senses. “It’s okay to make out and be affectionate if one of us isn’t around. Like if Quentin has practice and we’re home studying or just hanging out.”

“Hey,” Quentin interrupted. “Why the heck aren’t you two at my practices if you have time to study and hang out?”

“Because we won’t be allowed near the field while you—”

“So, you sneak under the bleachers and peek out.”

“Can you be reasonable for once, Quentin?”

While they debated, I took the opportunity to touch one of Miguel’s dark nipples. I rubbed it gently, excited when it hardened.

“I won’t be able to finish if you keep touching me like that,” he breathed. I yanked my hand away.

“Where was I?”

“Rule number one,” Quentin said. “You’re not at my practice, and you want to touch and kiss.”

“Oh yeah,” Miguel said, getting back on track. “If I happen to be alone with you, or with Quentin, or if you and Quentin are alone, kissing, hugging, and cuddling is okay. No sex, no blow jobs or hand jobs, no orgasms—”

“No fun,” Quentin grumbled, his head falling back when I couldn’t help but touch his nipple too.

“—unless we’re all together,” Miguel finished. “Or unless we have each other’s permission. Got it?”

“Got it,” Quentin and I both said.

“Rule number two, we talk about everything. Well, everything that has to do with our relationship,” he amended, probably remembering there were things neither of us wanted to talk about.

“If anyone feels jealous, we say something. If we need more attention, more time, or if we’re feeling neglected at all, we say something.

We don’t keep it a secret.” He glanced at Quentin then.

It had been all about them for years, and even when I came along, there were still parts of their relationship that belonged just to them. We’d belong to each other equally now.

“Got it,” Quentin said, more serious and determined than he’d been since this conversation started.

“Rule number three…” Miguel lost his train of thought when Quentin lifted my nightgown over my head. My hair fell in waves over my shoulders, and Miguel sank his fingers into the messy strands.

I bit my lip to hold back the embarrassing sounds I wanted to make, and Quentin cursed, fisting his dick.

“Free that fucking lip, pretty girl.”

I did so immediately, but was glad he hadn’t asked me to stop staring at his dick. I couldn’t have—it was just too scary and beautiful.

“Rule number three,” Miguel tried again, “we have to be honest about what works and what doesn’t work for us individually. Elliott, you might enjoy watching the things me and Quentin do, but that doesn’t mean you’ll like it for yourself. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I like it all,” I blurted out, blushing. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll like it all.”

“Okay, well, you might change your mind, and that’s okay.” Miguel went quiet, and I assumed those were all the rules. Quentin must have too because he hopped off the bed and left the room.

Miguel watched me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me or himself, and it occurred to me I wasn’t the only one having a first time tonight.

“You’ll be a great top,” I whispered. “You’re patient, and I trust you.”

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he whispered back. “Promise?”

“I swear I won’t.”

Quentin appeared in the doorway with a bottle of lube in one hand and his dick in the other.

His shoulders almost brushed the sides of the doorjamb, the top of his head only an inch from the header.

He was adorable. Bright green eyes, light freckles along his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and his trimmed sandy-blond hair.

His body was anything but adorable, though.

Quentin was all muscle, aggression, high intensity, and dominance.

I wanted him anyway. I wanted him because of all that.

He owned the field, whatever room he was in, and now he’d own me.

Instinctively, I flattened onto my back and planted my feet on the bed. The heel of my foot landed on a wet spot. Miguel leaned over to kiss me.

“Wait,” Quentin called, and Miguel stopped, his lips suspended above mine. “I changed my mind.”

Miguel and I both looked at him, my heart sinking from what I thought was rejection.

“We’re fucking you in our bed.” Quentin stalked over, dragging me to the foot of the bed by my ankle. “Let’s go, Guelly,” he said, lifting me into his arms and heading across the hall.

Our bedroom was dim, nearly dark, and I had to admit, the idea of them making love to me in the bed we slept in turned me on even more.

Quentin dumped me onto the bed. He was so much rougher than Miguel; I knew that. But seeing it and being on the receiving end of it as we prepared to have sex felt different. He had to have me, and it made me feel wanted. Needed.

Miguel stretched out next to me while Quentin knelt between my bent legs.

“Guelly is gonna open you up because I’m scared I won’t be able to take my time.”

“Okay.” I nodded. Miguel stretched himself while Quentin and I watched sometimes, so I knew he knew what he was doing.

“I’m gonna stroke your dick while he’s at it. Maybe even put my mouth on you a little because you taste so fucking good, pretty girl.”

My body clenched, my leaky cock making my stomach wet.

“Whatever you do, don’t come,” he warned, wrapping a hand around the base of my cock. That helped, and I nodded again.

Miguel turned my head his way, and I met his kiss. Sweat streamed down my neck, my hairline damp with it, and they hadn’t done anything more than want me desperately yet.