Page 13 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys (Forbidden Fantasies #18)

GREY

S he’s shaking, soaked, flushed and wet and glowing, her legs barely holding her up, but her eyes are steady.

They lock on me like she’s seeing right through all the restraint I’ve clung to all night.

Her lips are parted, still shining from Beau’s kisses, and her thighs are glossy with slick and cum and sweat. She is wrecked and perfect. Mine.

I take her from Beau like she belongs to me. Because she does.

She sinks into my lap with a sigh that turns into a gasp as my cock brushes against her, thick and aching and so ready it hurts.

I don’t rush it. I press the head to her entrance, feel her twitch against me, still so fucking wet I glide in with one long, slow thrust. Her body parts around me like it was waiting—no resistance, just molten, fucked-out heat and the sweetest, tightest grip I’ve ever felt.

Her head falls back, mouth open, and she whispers my name like it’s the only thing left she can remember.

I bottom out, fully seated inside her, and hold still, her body fluttering around me, adjusting, trying to pull me deeper even though there’s nowhere else to go. My hands slide up her sides, then down, cupping her ass, spreading her wide in my lap as I roll my hips once, deep and slow.

She chokes out a moan, barely a sound, but it lights me up.

“You’re not done yet,” I murmur, one hand bracing her spine, the other guiding her hips. “You’re going to take every inch. Every drop. And you’re going to come again.”

Her body is tight and molten around me, wet and drenched and trembling from everything she’s already taken, but still she wants more.

She’s in my lap, riding my cock with a broken rhythm, her thighs barely holding her weight, her chest heaving against my mouth as I kiss up her throat, her jaw, her cheekbone.

She gasps like it’s oxygen she’s chasing, not pleasure, but I know the truth.

She doesn’t want to breathe. She wants to drown in this, in us, in the thick, heady rhythm of three cocks and one willing, ruined, aching body that won’t quit.

And I haven’t even given her the full weight of what I’m holding back.

Slowly, I guide her up and to her bed. I lie down first and guide her on top, positioning her until her cunt is full of my cock and her ass is spread out just enough.

Finn steps forward and to the side of the bed, his cock still flushed, still hard, slick with precum.

He hasn’t finished. His eyes burn as they flick from her face to her tits to her cunt stretched around me, still leaking Beau’s cum as she clenches around my cock.

He doesn’t say a word, just curls his fingers in her hair and guides her forward, slow but firm, until her mouth opens without question and he slips into it.

She moans, the sound choked and thick around the head of his cock as he sinks deeper, her lips stretching wide, eyes watering, saliva already dripping to her chin.

He fucks her mouth slowly, watching her gag, watching her throat bulge and twitch around him, and her body squeezes me even tighter at the same time.

She’s getting off on it. On all of it. On being used, on being the center of everything, every hand, every cock, every breath aimed at her.

Beau is back. He doesn’t ask. He kneels behind her, his hands sliding down the curve of her spine as she sucks Finn like a good, filthy girl, her mouth stretched full, drool sliding down between her tits.

He spreads her ass again, wide and gleaming, and I feel the shift in her breath when he presses the head of his cock to her other hole.

He spits on it once, rubbing the slick in, and then he pushes inside, slow and thick, stretching her open all over again.

She cries out around Finn’s cock, the sound swallowed, her whole body locking up as she’s filled completely—my cock in her cunt, Beau’s in her ass, Finn in her throat.

Every inch of her taken. Claimed. Owned.

Her moans become frantic, high and broken, saliva foaming at the corners of her lips as Finn thrusts deeper, holding her head with both hands now, guiding her up and down on his cock like she was made for it.

She chokes and splutters, but keeps going, eyes rolled back, cheeks hollowing with every pull, body trembling violently as she takes everything we give her.

I grip her hips harder and start to fuck her in earnest, fast and deep, her slick walls sucking me in, soaking me, her clit grinding against the hard line of my lower stomach with every thrust. Beau matches me, moving in counter rhythm, both of us driving into her from opposite sides, and the pressure is maddening.

She starts to sob—real tears, real sounds, raw and cracked and filled with overwhelming pleasure.

Her body tenses and shakes like it’s already breaking, but we don’t stop.

We drive her harder. I lean in, biting at her shoulder, telling her how fucking perfect she is, how she’s taking us so well, how I’m never going to get this image out of my head.

Finn’s breath is ragged now, sharp and wild, and then I see it—his hand tightening in her hair, his jaw clenching.

He groans, low and broken, and spills into her mouth, his hips jerking as she takes every drop, swallowing around him like she needs it.

That’s the final crack in her composure.

Her scream is muffled, but her whole body convulses, legs kicking, hands clawing at anything she can reach.

She squirts again, full force, hot liquid gushing around my cock, down my thighs, and her cunt clamps so tight around me I see stars.

I curse, grabbing her ass and slamming into her one final time before I come, thick and deep, emptying myself into her, my own voice ripped from my throat as the release tears through me like fire.

Beau groans against her back, his pace erratic, and then he’s coming too, hips stuttering, cock buried to the root as he floods her ass with a grunt and a curse.

The room is filled with the sound of breath, the slap of skin, the wet mess of our release sliding from her.

She sags in our arms, barely conscious, twitching and sobbing, but smiling through it all, glowing and gasping, her body full and dripping and completely, utterly claimed.

We hold her there, between us, still joined, still shaking, until the only sound left is the soft rise and fall of her breath and the aftershock of silence. Her eyes flutter open, dazed and wet, and she looks at all three of us with something wild and holy in her gaze.

She’s limp in our arms, spent beyond anything I’ve ever seen, her body a trembling weight between us, her breath coming in short, high pulls like she’s still falling through the aftershocks.

We don’t speak for a long , long while. There’s no rush.

The room is thick with heat and sweat and the sharp scent of sex, our release still dripping from her thighs, our bodies still pressed close to hers.

Beau’s head rests against her back, his arms around her waist like he doesn’t want to let go.

Finn is still on the edge of the bed, one hand stroking her calf, the other resting lightly on her ankle like she might float away if he lets it go.

I ease out of her slowly, careful not to hurt her, my cock softening but still sensitive, still coated in the evidence of what we did.

She flinches, just a little, and I kiss the back of her neck in apology.

She doesn’t speak, but she nods, her face pressed against my shoulder.

I scoop her up, cradling her against my chest. She’s light in my arms but not fragile, not really.

She’s just hollowed out. Emptied. Her skin is flushed, her body slick and marked, our fingerprints visible on her thighs, her hips, her breasts.

We clean her together. Beau brings a warm, damp towel, his fingers gentler than I’ve ever seen them.

He wipes the insides of her thighs, careful around the swollen, sensitive places.

Finn steadies her head in his lap, brushing her hair away from her face, whispering soft things in a language I don’t recognize.

I run the cloth over her stomach, across her ribs, down the inside of one trembling arm.

She breathes slow and quiet, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, not asleep but somewhere close.

We wrap her in a big woolen blanket, thick and warm, and she sinks into it without protest, curling on her side like something protected.

The tension in her shoulders fades for a moment, her fingers twitching as if trying to hold on to something she doesn’t quite understand.

I sit behind her, rubbing slow circles into her back.

Beau settles in front of her, knees tucked close, his hand lightly stroking her cheek.

Finn stands, watching from above, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her in this moment.

No one speaks for a long time.

The quiet is full but not uncomfortable. It is soft. Safe.

Until it isn’t.

I feel the shift first. The way her body stills beneath my palm.

The way her breathing evens out, not in peace, but in effort.

Like she’s bracing. Her hand curls into the blanket at her chest, and when I look over her shoulder, I see her eyes are open now.

Wide. Clear. Awake in a way that has nothing to do with recovery and everything to do with retreat.

“Sage,” I murmur, just to ground her, but she doesn’t answer.

She sits up slowly, carefully, the blanket clutched around her like armor.

She doesn’t look at any of us at first. Her eyes drift around the room, taking in the mess, the scattered clothes, the towels, the soaked chair, the faint, humid fog of what we just did.

Her lips press into a thin line. Her shoulders tighten.

I sit up straighter behind her and say her name again, softer this time.

She turns then, meets my eyes, then Beau’s, then Finn’s.

Her voice is quiet. Not cold, not angry. Just quiet in the way storms often are.

“This can’t happen again.”

The words land with a strange, muffled thud. Not loud, not dramatic, but like a dropped weight in the center of a glass table. Beau’s head tips slightly. Finn doesn’t move at all. I blink once, trying to understand if I heard her right. She pulls the blanket tighter around her chest.

“I mean it,” she says, voice a little louder now, more certain, like she’s gathering herself as she speaks. “I can’t do this again.”

“Do what?” Beau asks gently. No flirt in his voice now, just confusion and the first curl of something tender.

“This,” she says, and gestures vaguely, not at the three of us, but at the space between us, the air, the aftermath, everything hanging heavy in the room. “I—I lost myself. For a minute it felt…amazing. All of it. But now I feel…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

Her hand lifts to her mouth, fingers brushing her lips like she’s trying to erase what just happened, even as her body still aches with it. Her voice trembles as she adds, “I can’t be this person. Not with you. Not with all of you.”

There is silence again, but it isn’t soft this time. It’s thick with the weight of things unsaid.

Beau moves to reach for her hand, but she flinches just slightly and he stops.

“I’m sorry,” she says. And she means it.

There are no words left, so, with dread sinking deep into my chest, I put my clothes back on.

Beau and Finn follow suit, all the while Sage maintains that deathly calm on her face, like this, none of this ever happened.

I nod at the boys and head out the door.

It’s mercifully empty out in the hallway. Minutes later, both of them join me.

“What do you think?” asks Beau as we make for our rooms.

I shrug. “Best not to think at all.” Beside me, Finn grunts in agreement.