Page 44

Rilee

I don’t remember climbing into his lap.

One second, I was watching the movie—and the next, I’m here.

On him.

Breathless.

His hands grip my waist like he’s not entirely sure I’m real. Like if he squeezes too hard, I’ll vanish.

“God, Ri,” he breathes, eyes dragging over my face, my mouth, my chest. “You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

He just kisses me.

And I feel worshipped .

He pulls back just enough to tug at the hem of my sweater, but it’s stuck—because of course it is—and suddenly there are hands at my sides, helping.

Caleb’s voice is a low tease in my ear. “Need some backup?”

“I’ve got it,” I mumble, but I’m laughing, flushed and tangled, as the sweater finally peels up and off.

His hands are reverent, sliding up my ribs, over the curve of my breasts, until I’m arching into him like I need to.

Because I do.

Desperately.

“I’ve wanted you,” he says, voice hoarse, “for so long it doesn’t even feel real.”

My hands shake as I reach between us, sliding down the front of his sweats, finding him already hot and hard and perfect .

“Hunter,” I whisper, bracing my hands on his shoulders as I rise up on my knees.

His hands hold my hips, steady and careful, like he’d never let me fall.

I unbutton my jeans and then stand to peel them off. Grayson and Caleb both reach out to tug them down my legs, and then I’m back in Hunter’s lap.

He’s peeled off his own pants and boxers too, and holy perfect cock. It’s thick, with a vein running down the impressive length of it.

Hunter grips the back of his T-shirt with one hand and yanks it over his head in a single motion, the muscles in his bicep flexing hard enough to make my brain short-circuit.

And then I lower back into his lap; it’s fire. I grind my wet pussy against his rock-hard shaft, and Hunter grunts, his hot breath against my lips.

“So perfect. So beautiful, Ri,” he says, admiring me with a look of wonder.

“Condom?” Gray asks Hunter, tone flat but not unkind.

Hunter meets my eyes, searching. “Can I fuck you, princess?”

My insides go molten.

“Yes,” I whimper.

Hunter nods once, not looking away from me.

Caleb disappears and reappears like magic, foil packet in hand.

I should be embarrassed.

But I’m not.

Because Hunter is looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. And the moment he touches me again, the rest of the world disappears.

He tears open the foil packet and readies himself; then his hands are on my hips again.

And when I start to sink down—when we’re finally, finally joined—it’s like something inside me unlocks.

His head falls back, jaw tight, eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he groans, like he’s feeling me everywhere.

And I am.

Everywhere.

He cups my jaw, pulls me down to kiss him again, softer now, slower, like we have all the time in the world.

Like he wants it to last.

And even as I move, even as I lose myself in him completely, I know—this isn’t just sex.

This is something that’s been waiting years to happen.

I shift in Hunter’s lap, pace increasing, and feel Grayson’s hand on my waist, guiding me, lifting me, helping me keep my rhythm, like it’s instinct.

Grayson’s warm hand is steadying, guiding, but it’s Hunter I’m clinging to—his fingers digging into my hips like he doesn’t trust himself to move.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

I do.

Our eyes lock as I move, breath caught somewhere in my throat.

Hunter’s jaw flexes. “You okay?”

“I’m perfect,” I whisper, and I mean it.

He exhales like he’s been punched in the gut, then adds, “You feel so good, baby.”

Hunter’s hands tighten on my waist, his mouth hot against my throat as I move—slow, deliberate, trying not to fall apart too fast.

Then I look to my left.

And freeze.

Because Caleb is next to us, pants pushed down and one fist around his hard shaft, and he’s stroking himself without an ounce of shame. Like this is just what you do on a Thursday night when your girl’s riding your best friend.

Our eyes lock.

He winks. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, voice low and lazy. “But damn , Rilee.”

Heat slams through me. Equal parts embarrassment and thrill.

“Caleb,” I murmur, warmly. I brush my hand along his cheek, and he kisses the inside of my wrist.

Grayson, beside me, just hums under his breath like this is all very predictable. Like he saw this coming a mile away.

“Should I stop?” Caleb asks, not sounding remotely like he intends to.

Hunter growls beneath me, his voice wrecked. “Don’t care what he does. Just keep looking at me.”

And I do.

Because as wild and unhinged as this is— I want it .

All of it.

My rhythm falters as pleasure builds, deep and consuming, curling hot at the base of my spine.

Hunter’s eyes are locked on mine, his hands guiding me, grounding me.

“Rilee,” he pants, voice thick with restraint. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t hold back.”

And that’s all it takes.

The next thrust hits perfectly—deep, slow, and so full I swear I see stars.

Pleasure tears through me in a blinding wave. I cry out, my whole body locking tight as I break apart in his arms.

He follows a second later.

With a rough groan and a helpless jerk of his hips, he buries himself deep, holding me like he never wants to let go as he falls apart too—his mouth pressed against my shoulder, breath ragged against my skin.

I collapse into him, boneless and buzzing, his arms the only thing keeping me from floating off the planet.

Somewhere in the haze, I feel movement.

Grayson’s voice, low and gentle: “Hey. Just gonna clean you up, sweetheart.”

I blink as he appears beside us with a warm washcloth, moving with quiet efficiency—wiping between my thighs with a kind of care that makes my throat tighten.

Hunter’s still holding me, one hand stroking my spine like he can’t bear to let go.

And Caleb?

Still half-hard, still smirking. But quiet now, with a mess of sticky come on his abs. Watching like he’s memorizing every second.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

And I am.

Stretched, ruined, exhausted.

But safe.

And so, so wanted.