Page 56 of Wristlocked

She also looks like she belongs in his arms, but instead of jealousy, I feel only longing, slightly appeased by the arm she’s thrown across my chest. Even in sleep, she tries to draw me into their haven, as if something like me might actually belong.

Lyot’s eyes are open, watching me watch her over the spray of scarlet curls tickling his chin. In the early light from the window above us, muted color, bruise-purple and violet, swirls in the depths of his gray eyes. I’m acutely aware of the back of his knuckles brushing my bare hip where his hand rests on Gia’s thigh, inches from my morning wood, and I’m sure he’s as hard as I am, waking up with his cock nestled against Gia’s perfect ass.

Holding his gaze, I bring my hand up, wrapping my fingers around the thin sheet covering my hard-on and giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. Long eyelashes flutter over smoky purple flame, and his hand flexes, the backs of his fingers pressing into my side.

“You’re gonna wake her up,” he whispers, and I can’t tell if it’s an invitation or a warning. The moment hangs suspended, his face unreadable. I give my cock one last squeeze and then tuck both hands behind my head. He exhales in a soft rush as I shift my gaze to the ceiling.

“Thanks again for last night,” I whisper, although it’s not what I want to say. I can hear Jamie snoring on the couch in the other room, where I know from experience he’ll be passed out hard for another few hours. Until the jones starts to dig in its claws and prods him out in search of another fix.

“No problem.” His voice is husky, and I close my eyes.Count it down.

“Ten.”

“On your knees, Lyot.”

Lightning in a pair of blue eyes and the blood rushing to my cock.

“Nine.”

Lyot dropping to his knees.

Her mouth opening under mine, and blood on her tongue.

“Eight.”

“Show him your beautiful cock.”

Her nipples peeking through a white tank top, wet from the shower.

“Seven.”

“Show him.”

Her nails scratching the wall, her tight heat clenching around my fingers for the first time, and my fist tangled in her hair.

“Six.”

“Touch it.”

The cinnamon taste of her sex, with her hands in my hair and my name on her lips like a benediction.

“Five.”

“Stroke it for me.”

Burying myself inside her with her legs wrapped around me, and the bones in her wrists shifting under my hand.

“Four.”

“So good. So fucking beautiful.”

The mark of my teeth on her pale skin, and the straps in a braid around her wrists.

“Three.”

“Enough.”

Her wrecked and drowsy in my arms, pressing his button on the elevator.