Page 42 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Nate

T

he

second

that

yes

leaves her mouth, everything ends.

The sound isn’t soft or shy.

The word lands with teeth, sharp enough to tear through me and drag every filthy thought I’ve buried right to the surface. That single word sinks in, claws deep, and I swear the impact lives in my bones.

Quinn fucking Thomas, saying yes.

To me.

To us.

I never thought I’d hear those words.

Not in this life.

Not from her mouth, wet and swollen from kissing me, whispering a surrender that’s been years in the making.

It isn’t just a yes.

It’s a fucking gift, handed over like she’s been aching to give it since the first time I threw a cocky line her way.

Seventeen, all mouth and no fucking clue what I was playing with.

A dare. That’s all it was back then. Praying she’d crack, praying she’d break and let me have her.

Let me touch, savor that sweetness. Let me own every inch of her until it consumes her, until it makes breathing impossible without my name in her head.

And now here it is.

That little yes. But the sound is more than a word. The plea comes wrapped in fire. The promise is desperate, proof she’s already halfway undone and waiting for us to finish the job.

My cock’s hard enough to hurt. Pressing against denim, throbbing, demanding to be inside her before I even have the chance to blink. She’s in front of me, a goddamn masterpiece in ruin. Lips kiss-bruised, chest rising too fast, breaths coming shallow and uneven.

And fuck me, if that isn’t the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Theo’s hands are on her first.

Possessive. Greedy. Sliding under her shirt. He peels the fabric up inch by inch, as if he’s unwrapping something sacred, a favorite present he’s waited years to open. Her skin glows under his touch, his fingers dragging over her ribs with the kind of slowness that makes my teeth grind.

He plays dirty. Always has.

He’s patient, loves drawing everything out until they’re fucking begging, their thighs shaking and their voices nothing but broken little sounds they can’t bite back.

He loves the tease, the power in making them squirm, making them ache, holding them at the edge until they’re dripping, grinding, desperate to be filled.

What never stops turning me on is watching him work, seeing that focus, that slow control. The whole thing feels like a goddamn art form, and every time he pulls it off, I get harder. He’s slow, cruel in the best fucking way. Every drag of his fingers is a promise.

And tonight the one caught between us is Quinn.

Our Quinn.

A sweet little mess, ready to be broken in all the right ways.

I can already see her, body bent and begging, that tight little pussy stretched, soaking our cocks while she moans for more.

We’ll take her apart piece by fucking piece, drag her open until she’s trembling and crying our names.

Not just a fuck. Not just a quick get off.

We’re going to own her, every sound, every twitch, every filthy little plea.

Theo meets my eyes over her shoulder, a wicked fucking glint sparking in his gaze. The look tells me this isn’t just sex. This is destruction, worship, taking every fucking inch of her and making her ours.

Her shirt hits the floor, and Theo’s hands are on her tits instantly, squeezing hard enough to draw a gasp. His thumbs roll over her nipples, pulling the sound straight from her throat.

I catch her jaw in my grip, fingers digging in as I tilt her head until those eyes are locked on mine.

“Watch me,” I growl, voice low enough to make her chest stutter. “Keep your eyes right here while he plays with you. While he makes you fucking ache for us.”

She whimpers, the sound shooting straight to my cock. Her lips part, trembling.

Theo squeezes her tits again, leaning close to her ear, whispering something that has her knees threatening to give out.

I keep my grip on her jaw, firm enough that she has no choice but to look at me. My thumb brushes over her bottom lip before I push into her mouth, watching every second as her lips close around my skin.

She sucks, and fuck, I have to shut my eyes for a beat, just to take the rush of heat tearing through me.

That mouth. The same one that’s had teenage me jerking off in the shower, imagining this exact moment. Her lips. Her tongue. The filthy sound she’d make if she ever had me between them for real.

“Good girl,” I rasp, voice rough as her tongue curls over my skin. The heat of her mouth has my cock throbbing so hard it hurts. I force my eyes open again because I can’t miss a second of this. Not when this moment is everything I’ve fucking dreamt of.

Theo grins, the devil dressed in soft touches and slow torture. His fingers drift down her stomach, tracing a lazy path that makes her whole body shiver. He knows exactly how to build the tension, how to stretch the ache until she’s ready to sob for release.

And fuck me, I can’t wait to hear her sob.

That weak, helpless little sound that tears free when pleasure owns every inch of her.

When her voice collapses and her body trembles too hard to tell us to stop even if she wanted to.

We’ll push her past every limit, stretch her until her pussy quivers around nothing, then fill her until sweat slides down her spine and she’s wearing our cum, so far gone she won’t know whose cock she’s begging for.

“Q,” I rasp, my grip tightening on her jaw. My thumb drags over the soft swell of her bottom lip, pressing in again just enough to make her mouth part. “Eyes on me. I want to see every fucking second of what this does to you.”

Her pupils are blown, lips wet and parted, chest rising fast like she can’t catch her breath.

That look fucks me from the inside out.

What I see in her eyes is more than want—it’s need, pure surrender, every filthy, impossible fantasy I’ve ever had of her crashing into one moment.

“Good girl,” I murmur, leaning in, my voice rough against her skin.

I press my lips to her cheek, soft for a second before letting my mouth ghost over the corner of hers. Close enough to taste the heat of her breath but not giving her the kiss she’s desperate for.

She tilts her head, leaning in, chasing the space, already desperate, and we haven’t even started.

“You have no idea what’s coming, baby,” I breathe onto her mouth.

My hand slides to the back of her neck, holding her in place, grounding her in the storm we’re about to pull her into.

“We’re gonna make you feel so fucking good you won’t know if you’re begging for my cock or his by the time we’re through with you,” I add.

Theo growls against her neck, his mouth closing hard, his teeth grazing before he sucks a mark into her skin that’s going to stain her for days.

His lips drag, pulling blood to the surface until it blooms deep under her flesh.

He growls again. The mark is more than a bruise.

That mark is a claim. He wants her to wear us on her skin, every inch of her screaming that she’s been touched and fucked by our hands.

She arches between us, her spine curving in a perfect, desperate bow, head tipping back until her throat is bared, chest thrust forward in an offering.

Her nipples stand hard, begging for my tongue.

Her hips move in small, hungry rolls, every shift screaming that her pussy is already slick, already aching for one of our cocks.

I pop the button on her jeans, my fingers fumbling for a second because my hands won’t fucking stop shaking.

Not nerves—just years of caged-up want breaking loose. I’ve never needed anyone stripped bare this badly.

My chest is tight, my throat raw, my cock pounding so hard I swear I could come from anticipation alone. I need her naked the way I need to breathe. Maybe more.

I drop to my knees, greed crawling under my skin, and peel the denim down her legs.

My knuckles scrape soft skin as I drag them off, my mouth watering with every inch of thigh I uncover.

She’s soft and perfect, begging for teeth, for marks, for my fucking tongue.

Her thighs part slightly, unsteady on her feet, and my hands lock around them, steadying her as I strip away the last barrier between me and everything I’ve craved.

She sways, trembling, as I toss the jeans aside.

“Holy fuck,” I groan, my voice breaking.

Red lace.

High-cut, clinging to the curve of her hips in a way that makes my chest tight.

The fabric is barely holding together, a scrap standing between me and heaven.

It clings to her, soaked through, a dark wet patch spread across the center where her pussy is leaking for us.

My jaw locks, my cock throbs violently against my jeans, and a guttural sound rips out of me.

I drag my fingers up the curve of her thigh, pausing at the edge of that soaked lace, and my hand trembles as I hook a finger under the fabric.

I pull the lace to the side slowly, torturously slow, and when the wet heat of her folds comes into view, the sight rips the fucking air from my lungs.

A thin strip of soft hair at the top her folds bare.

My tongue drags over my bottom lip without a single conscious thought, hunger twisting so deep in my gut it hurts.

Her pussy glistens, every inch swollen and drenched, slick painting her skin in wet, perfect shine.

I wonder if her clit throbs for me, desperate, aching for a mouth to close around her. I want my tongue on her, the pulse hammering against me, sucking until she’s crying and dripping down my face. I want her taste coating my tongue, sweet and filthy as fuck.

The thought slams through me so hard I don’t even register my own hand moving.