Page 35 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys (Forbidden Fantasies #18)
GREY
T he sweat cools faster than I expect. The second the wave passes, the air in the room shifts from fever-hot to a clammy chill that makes every inch of exposed skin prickle and tighten.
We’re still tangled together—Sage, collapsed half in my lap, Finn sprawled boneless beneath her, both of them breathing like they’ve run a marathon—but the lull doesn’t last. It never does.
Hunger is a renewable resource, and I feel the next surge coming.
Sage is first to move. She lifts her head from my chest, hair plastered wet to her face, eyes gone soft and out of focus.
She wipes a streak of sweat from her brow, then looks up at me, a slow grin curving across her lips.
“Still standing?” she says, and the double meaning makes my cock twitch in anticipation.
I laugh, or try to, but the noise comes out strangled.
“Barely,” I say, and she rewards me by wrapping her hand around my shaft, slow and deliberate.
Her grip is practiced, obscene, her thumb tracing circles under the head as she strokes.
I can’t look away, can’t do anything but watch her and let the sensation build.
Finn’s hands wander up her back, tracing lazy patterns over her spine, but his eyes are on me, on my face, on the way my body responds to her touch.
She shifts, straddling Finn’s hips again, but this time she leans forward, her mouth hovering just above my cock.
She licks the head, slow and teasing, then takes me in, all the way to the root in one smooth glide.
The heat of her mouth is overwhelming, the slick pressure so intense it blots out every other sense.
I brace a hand on her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and let her set the pace: slow, then fast, then slow again, never the same for more than a few strokes.
She moans around me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core.
Finn is still inside her, still hard, and every time Sage bobs her head on my cock, her hips grind back onto his.
The motion is perfect: a piston, a feedback loop, a perpetual motion machine of want.
I look down and see Finn’s face twisted in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight the veins stand out in his neck.
He thrusts up, slow and controlled, matching the rhythm of Sage’s mouth on me.
Every time she slides down, she impales herself a little deeper on Finn’s cock, and the friction—wet, obscene, perfect—makes her moan louder, sending another jolt straight through me.
I try to hold back, try to pace myself, but it’s impossible.
The sight of Sage, mouth stretched wide around me, ass grinding on Finn, sweat shining on every inch of her skin—it’s too much.
I grip her hair tighter, guiding her, not out of dominance but desperation, the need to make the moment last just a little longer.
She looks up at me, eyes glazed and hungry, and I know she’s feeling the same thing: the urge to keep going, to never let the pleasure end.
Finn’s hands move up, cupping Sage’s breasts from behind, squeezing and kneading them in time with her motions.
She arches her back, pushing into his grip, and the angle shifts so that her mouth slides even deeper onto my cock.
She gags, just a little, then pulls back, saliva trailing from her lips to the head of my dick.
She laughs, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and says, “Fuck, you taste good.” The words go straight to my head, dizzying and raw.
She dives back in, even more enthusiastic, and this time she brings one hand up to stroke me as she sucks, her other hand reaching back to rub her own clit.
The multitasking is obscene, but so fucking beautiful I almost lose it on the spot.
Finn must sense that she’s getting close, because he matches her pace, thrusting up into her with more urgency, his hands digging into her hips to anchor her in place.
The room is filled with noise: the slap of skin, the wet sounds of Sage’s mouth, the ragged breathing of three people chasing the same high.
I look down, see the sweat dripping off my chest onto Sage’s hair, see the way her body flexes and trembles with every motion.
I want to remember this forever: the taste of her, the sound of Finn losing control beneath her, the feeling of being so wanted it borders on violence.
It’s Sage who pulls away first, gasping for air, her lips swollen and shiny with spit. She looks up at me, then back at Finn, then back at me. “Carpet,” she says, breathless. “I want more space.”
None of us argues. We collapse onto the floor in a mess of limbs, rolling off the couch and onto the threadbare rug that smells of old beer and something greener, earthier.
Finn ends up on his back, Sage on top of him, and I kneel behind her, hands on her waist, lining myself up with the slick, swollen opening already stretched around Finn’s cock.
The double penetration is something I’ve only ever imagined, but the reality is even better: tight and wet and so intense it feels like my entire body is melting into theirs.
I push in, slow at first, letting her adjust, feeling the way Finn’s cock presses against mine through the thin wall of her body.
Sage moans, loud and unashamed, and pushes back onto me, taking more, wanting it all.
Finn’s hands grip her thighs, holding her open, and together we fuck her in a rhythm that is less coordinated than chaotic, but somehow perfect.
Every thrust sends shudders through all three of us, the sensation amplified by the knowledge that there is nothing separating us, no boundary left unbroken.
Sage loses herself in it, her body jerking and twitching as she comes again, this time so hard she screams, the sound echoing off the walls.
I feel her clamp down around both of us, the pulsing squeeze pushing me right to the edge.
Finn is groaning, his face a mask of agony and bliss, and I know he’s close too.
I reach around, fingers finding Sage’s clit, and rub her hard, wanting to wring one more orgasm from her before I let myself finish.
She bucks, writhes, and then explodes, her whole body shaking, her nails raking down Finn’s chest and leaving angry red lines.
That’s all it takes: Finn lets go, hips bucking up, his cock twitching inside her as he comes, the feeling so intense it triggers my own orgasm.
I pull out just in time, hot ropes splattering across Sage’s back, her ass, Finn’s stomach. The mess is glorious, primal, a testament to the ferocity of our need. We collapse, exhausted, tangled together on the filthy carpet, breathing in sync, hearts pounding like war drums.
There are no words, just the gentle touch of hands tracing skin, the slow return to something like reality. I feel Sage’s breath on my neck, Finn’s hand on my shoulder, the shared warmth of bodies pressed together in the aftermath of destruction.
I have never felt more alive.
The carpet is rough under my back, old beer stains and dust ground into the fibers, but I don’t care.
The ache in my arms, the raw burn at the base of my spine, the taste of sweat and saliva drying on my lips—it’s all just background noise.
What matters is the heat of Sage’s body pressed between me and Finn, her head pillowed on my chest, her legs tangled with his.
The rise and fall of her breathing, the occasional shiver as aftershocks ripple through her muscles, the way her hand wanders up to trace lazy circles over my ribs.
What matters is that for once, I don’t want to get up and run.
For once, I want to stay exactly where I am.
Finn is on his side, facing us, one arm draped over Sage’s waist. He’s still catching his breath, eyes half closed, but every so often he looks at me and there’s no accusation, no challenge, just the quiet acknowledgment that we survived something together.
That we made it through and came out the other side, if not whole, then at least less broken.
Sage is the anchor, always the anchor. She keeps her hand on my chest like she’s checking to make sure I’m real, that I haven’t ghosted out on her.
I don’t blame her. If our places were reversed, I’d be doing the same.
She’s not afraid of the mess—of the sweat, the stickiness, the weird intimacy of three bodies sharing a single space.
She’s never been afraid of it, and I think maybe that’s what I’ve always wanted, what I’ve never been able to ask for: someone to see the worst in me and not turn away.
We lie like that for a long time, letting the world drift by outside.
The sun goes down, or maybe it was never up to begin with—the blinds are closed, and the only light is the blue glow of a streetlamp leaking through a crack in the window.
The air grows cold, but the heat from our bodies is enough to keep the chill at bay.
We breathe in sync, three heartbeats thudding in the same slow rhythm.
Eventually, Finn stirs. He lifts his head, rubs the back of his neck, and looks at Sage. “You good?” he asks, voice hoarse.
She hums, content, and nods against my chest. “Better than good.” She lifts her head, kisses me, then turns and does the same to Finn. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just the easy, practiced affection of people who know what they are to each other.
Finn leans in and brushes Sage’s hair out of her face, then looks at me. “You gonna pass out right here?” he asks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Probably,” I say, and he laughs, low and genuine. It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound truly happy in months.
We untangle, slow and careful, and pull ourselves up onto the couch, Sage in the middle, me on one side, Finn on the other. We drape a blanket over the three of us, sticky limbs pressed together, feet poking out the ends. No one says anything for a while. There’s nothing left to say.
I close my eyes and let the exhaustion wash over me, the hum of contentment settling deep in my bones. For once, I’m not thinking about what comes next, not planning my escape, not waiting for the other shoe to drop. For once, I am here, in this hidden room, with these two people, and it is enough.
I drift, warm and weightless, as Sage’s breathing slows, as Finn’s arm slips around my shoulder, as the city outside fades to a dull, forgettable murmur.
For once, I am not alone. And maybe that’s all I ever really wanted.