Her Billionaires_ Boxed Set(90)

Just when he thought he would burst in an explosion of craven, overwhelming need, Laura broke away from Mike, reached for both of their hands, and gently led them to her bedroom.



This was it. It was time. She’d been thinking about their hands on her all day, her body making little sighs, imagining the flutter of eyelashes against her belly, thinking of Mike’s blonde hair and Dylan’s thick arms. Before, when they’d surprised her at Mike’s cabin, she’d said yes to a pre-ordained situation, one that caught her by surprise and tapped into so many fantasies—dreams she’d never imagined possible but, when suddenly offered to her, she felt compelled to accept.

Right now was different. Right now she was in control, making decisions long before they were pre-destined, assembling her own ideas and thoughts about how the night would go. Before she’d even started cooking she had let her mind wander to where it needed to go, and she’d known that she would invite them into her bed. It was inevitable, but more than that—it was her choice.

Her choice.

Time for them to enjoy her pink.

When did my bed get so small? she thought, staring at the queen-sized mattress. When Mike and Dylan are both on it, her mind answered as Dylan reclined, lazy and expectant, patting the bed beside him. His smile was impish and open. He was ready for anything. Anything.

And she was about to get anything as she slid on the bed, still clothed, and Mike laid down next to her. Captured perfectly between the two, she paused, enjoying this—the few seconds before anyone would touch her, before they would start what would end in release, before her brain shut down and nerve endings went into autonomous control. This frozen speck in time was still pregnant with possibility and as she—

Oh. Dylan’s hands were so warm as he slipped them under her thin cotton jacket and tank top, the fabric pooling nicely on the bed, like little islands of cloth. Her legs twitched as Mike’s hands rested, warm and soft, on her ankles, both riding up her calves, over her knees to the soft, supple flesh of her thighs, her tender clit beginning to pulse already, so wantonly throbbing for them both. She moistened, her wet womanhood ready for what came next.

All three of them.

Four hands slipped her clothes off, her own hands practically useless, the two men knowing what to do and Laura being catered to with an intensity and focus that she found amusingly seductive. They were a well-oiled (and well-hung) machine, these two, serving her right now. As the chill of the air hit her back, her ribcage, her breasts, her nipples pebbled and she reached for the waistband of Mike’s pants, unbuttoning the pants and reaching behind him, hands slipping under to grab fistfulls of ass, his fingers quickly unclasping her bra and making her shudder with the thrill of it all.

By the time she remembered to look at Dylan he had dispensed with his own clothes, his nude body a welcome and delectable sight. She chuckled and her brow furrowed. “Something wrong?” Mike’s hands slid up and teased her labia, giving her just a hint of what she could come to expect and making her swell and blossom.

“Everything’s perfect,” she murmured, Dylan’s mouth descending on hers again as he pressed the length of his body against hers, abs to belly, breasts to chest, rigid rod to pliant pussy. A quick flash of shower memory, her spray and Bob mimicking what Mike and Dylan were now doing in the flesh, in her bed, very real and warm and wanting. How could she have denied herself this? The scent and taste of Dylan filled her as Mike made sounds of disrobing, the bed shifting as he stood, threw off his clothes, then knelt back on the bed, the smattering of hair on his chest tickling her back, his fingers tantalizing with promise. He sighed into her neck and his hot breath made her belly clench, the tightening leading up to her throat, the body readying for both of them, for all of them, for explosion and release and love.

So much flesh. Her own, ample curves, which the moonlight streaming through the window, between the parted pink curtains, illuminated in a muted relief, the same lush handfuls she’d once found embarrassing now something her men luxuriated in, touching and grasping and caressing and marking with their pinches, their strokes, their licks.

Her men.

And they were, as Mike’s finger slipped up to tease her clitoris, giving it a “hello” and then retreating, his mouth dotting her back with small kisses and sighs, his cock pushing against the cleft of her ass as he journeyed across her flesh. Dylan, now, stretched before her, leaning her onto her back and carefully positioning a pillow under her hips, the two men exchanging a glance as Mike moved up the bed to Laura’s side. Dylan moved down and then went down, his tongue catching her not so much by surprise but by relief, swollen desire clustered so neatly in these nerve endings made real by vulnerable, pink flesh, her clit screaming out for him, for Mike, for any attention.