Page 106 of Shadow Waltz
Ayan slid the first jacket off with a slow, careful touch, his fingers ghosting along my skin, not shying away from my arousal, not pretending he couldn’t feel the heat beneath the surface. He helped me into the next one, this time stepping closer, his chest nearly pressing against my back as he smoothed the shoulders, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin beneath my arms.
“Looks good,” he said, but his voice was thick, and his hands never quite left me.
Antoni’s eyes glittered, lips curved with satisfaction. “What do you think, Ash?” he asked, voice lazy and knowing. “Do you like being dressed up for us?”
I swallowed hard, my skin electric, pulse pounding everywhere Ayan touched. “I do,” I managed, unable to keep the hunger from my voice.
Ayan’s breath ghosted over the back of my neck. “You look incredible. Anyone would want you in this. Or out of it.”
The air thickened. Antoni stepped forward, his presence magnetic and assured. Without a word, he turned to Ayan, eyes glinting with authority. He reached for the buttons of Ayan’s jacket, working them open with a slow, deliberate confidence. The jacket slid from Ayan’s broad shoulders and was draped over a nearby chair.
Ayan stood motionless, letting himself be undressed. Antoni’s hands moved with precision, unfastening Ayan’s shirt next, exposing a dense, dark mat of hair across a powerful chest and stomach. His body was all muscle and heat—bigger even than I’d realized, every inch carved and formidable. The crispshirt fell away, and Antoni ran his hands appreciatively over Ayan’s pecs, down his arms, then to his waistband.
Antoni stayed crouched for a moment, taking in the sight of Ayan’s body, the thick hair curling over muscle, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. Then he rose, turning his focus to me.
“I need to see how you move in that jacket, Ash,” he said, voice silk over something sharper. “Go to Ayan. Touch him. Let’s see if the fit allows for everything you might want to do.”
My breath caught, but I didn’t hesitate. I stepped closer to Ayan, my bare skin prickling beneath the brush of fine wool, the collar tight at my throat. Ayan’s eyes never left mine as I reached out, my hands exploring his chest, fingers combing through the dark hair, mapping out the solid heat of him. His cock jumped, thick and leaking in his underwear, straining for contact.
Antoni circled us, his attention fixed on every angle, every shiver that ran through me as I slid my palms over Ayan’s shoulders and down his arms. The jacket pulled ever so slightly across my back, but Antoni’s tailoring was flawless—I could touch, grab, embrace, move exactly as I wanted.
The air was dense with lust and anticipation. When I glanced over my shoulder, I caught the gleam of wetness spreading across the front of Antoni’s suit pants, darkening the fabric where his cock pressed against the zipper. He was as hard as either of us, and the sight sent another pulse of hunger through me.
“Good,” Antoni said softly, voice a command and a promise. “You can move. You can reach for what you want.”
Ayan leaned down, his breath hot on my cheek. “And what do you want, Ash?” he murmured, voice rough, chest rising beneath my hands.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I let my lips brush the hollow of his throat, tasting salt and heat, my hands gliding over muscle and hair, the world narrowing to the weight of the jacket on my skinand the eyes of two men who wanted nothing more than to see me lose control.
Ayan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for me, either. He stood tall and proud, every line of his body carved from power, allowing my worship but never inviting it. His head tipped back slightly, exposing the long line of his neck, the thick cords of muscle running from shoulder to jaw. I licked a slow path up, tasting the sweat and cologne on his skin, my lips parting as I dragged my mouth over the heavy stubble at his jaw. His chest rose and fell beneath my palms, the hair dense and soft, curling under my fingers as I mapped the breadth of him.
He didn’t touch me. That was the first rule. He let himself be admired, let me run my hands over his body, but he never softened, never gave up his control. His eyes were unreadable, focused somewhere above my head, his lips parted just enough to let out a slow, measured breath.
Behind me, Antoni watched. I could feel the heat of his gaze on my bare skin, the weight of his hunger as he stepped closer, the rustle of expensive wool as he circled me like a predator studying his prize. He let me continue, didn’t interfere, letting the tension build, my hands worshipping Ayan’s body with slow, reverent care.
I let my palms slide down over Ayan’s pecs, fingers combing through the dark hair, nails scraping lightly over the nipples hidden in the thicket of fur. He grunted—just once—a sound of approval or warning, I couldn’t tell. His body was massive, his chest wide and thick, the kind of power that made me feel small and exposed even though I was the one doing the touching.
I dropped to my knees before him, the suit jacket brushing my skin, my thighs trembling from a mixture of nerves and excitement. Ayan’s cock strained against his underwear, the outline fat and heavy, a wet patch growing at the tip. My mouth watered at the sight, and I looked up at him, searching hisface for permission. He nodded once, an almost imperceptible movement, then looked away, jaw flexing as he fought to maintain his composure.
I pressed my lips to the bulge, nuzzling the damp cotton, inhaling the scent of musk and sweat. I mouthed at the length of him, feeling the heat and hardness beneath the thin fabric, my tongue tracing the line from base to tip. I hooked my fingers in the waistband, pausing to glance up again.
Ayan didn’t move, his hands clenching at his sides, jaw tight as he stared straight ahead. His control was ironclad, but the way his knuckles whitened and his cock jerked beneath the fabric gave him away. I let my tongue circle the thick outline, teasing, soaking the already-wet cotton until it clung to every ridge and vein.
I dragged my teeth up the length, just enough pressure to make him flinch, then pressed a kiss to the leaking head through the fabric. My tongue lapped at the wet spot, tasting him, salt and heat and raw masculinity. I took my time, letting him feel how much I wanted to please, how much I craved the taste of his pleasure and the approval in his silence.
Behind me, Antoni’s presence grew electric, a crackling pulse at my back. I heard the slow slide of a zipper, the quiet intake of his breath. He stepped closer, the front of his suit pants grazing my bare hip, hot and solid, the rough pressure of his cock pushing against the open fabric. He didn’t bother to undress—didn’t need to. Power radiated from him, a man used to being obeyed, to watching his will become reality with a word or a glance.
“Good,” Antoni murmured, voice low and satisfied, like a sculptor admiring his masterpiece. “Don’t rush. He deserves every second.”
I took the command to heart. My fingers dug into Ayan’s thighs, nails tracing through the thick, dark hair, then slidingup to the waistband again. I mouthed at his balls through the cotton, feeling the weight and heat, nuzzling deeper, breathing in the scent that lingered there—clean sweat, a hint of cologne, primal and intoxicating. My lips found the seam where fabric met skin, tongue slipping under, tasting flesh just beyond the barrier.
Ayan’s hips flexed, a shallow thrust, his body’s need betraying the flat calm of his face. I could see his chest heaving now, sweat beading at his collarbones, every muscle tensed to keep from moving, from taking what he wanted. That resistance only made it hotter—the sense that he allowed himself to be worshipped, but never submitted, never softened.
Antoni moved in behind me, his breath hot at my ear, the heat of his body molding to mine. He knelt beside me, his hand sliding over my back before joining mine at Ayan’s thigh. Together, we mapped the landscape of muscle and hair, Antoni’s fingers tangling with mine as we traced the bulge in Ayan’s underwear, feeling the heat, the pulse, the evidence of just how much Ayan wanted this—no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
Antoni pressed his lips to Ayan’s hipbone, just above the band of cotton, his mouth lingering there, tongue flicking out to taste sweat and skin. I watched, mesmerized, as Antoni mouthed along the line where hair met fabric, his hands parting Ayan’s thighs, encouraging him to widen his stance, to give us more.
For a moment, the room narrowed to three points of contact—my mouth, Antoni’s tongue, Ayan’s body flexing under the weight of our attention. I nuzzled against the thick bulge, mouthing and licking at the damp spot that had formed, while Antoni’s hands slid up, caressing the hard planes of Ayan’s stomach and then lower, cupping him through the cotton, squeezing just hard enough to make Ayan grunt.