Eric fucked her mouth, thrusting in and out, gently forcing her to take him to the root. Kellan kept up his tender assault on her pussy, owning her with his mouth while Tate showed his continued fascination with her breasts. She held her breath, on the edge, never sure if she would get pure pleasure or the burning erotic pain that only seemed to take her higher.
Eric groaned above her, his thrusts losing their smooth rhythm as his cock pulsed in her mouth. "I'm going to come, baby. Your mouth is too sweet. Take me. Take all of me."
She sucked hard as he began to coat her tongue. Lovingly, she laved the head and worried the little ridge just underneath that made him shudder. He held her hair in his grip and groaned, spilling even more. Knowing she could affect him so deeply sent a thrill through her.
Just as she swallowed down the last of his release, Kellan rewarded her with a long kiss of her clit and she went soaring over the edge. Her body twisted, bucked. The ecstasy mixed with that sensual torture ate through her, grinding her resistance and chewing up her composure. Pure pleasure screamed through her system. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She existed only in that moment.
Finally as the wracking pulses began to trail off, she lay back, panting, her body surfeit with sensation.
"Don't scream, baby," Tate said.
Just as Belle wondered what he meant, he released the first clamp.
The blood flowed back to her nipple, and she slammed back against the bed with a yelp. As he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her cry turned to a scream. Then tapered off to a gentle lick, his tongue easing her pain.
Eric dropped to his knees and worked the other nipple, laving her with affection. Sensations churned, meshed, growing exponentially. Then Kellan released the final clamp.
Her whole body clenched. His mouth covered her clit, drawing it in with a soft suckling. After a sharp spike of tingles and another high racing through her blood, Belle sank into the comforter, all of her men surrounding her, wishing this could last forever.
Chapter Fifteen
Belle sighed deeply as she dried the last dish and put it away. Dinner had been another awkward affair, full of stilted conversation where everyone avoided talking about the future. Instead, they'd discussed the tile she'd chosen for the downstairs bathroom and the removal of the hideous vomit yellow floral wallpaper in the master bath, but she knew they'd been half listening, more frustrated that she wasn't budging about returning to Chicago.
How long could they remain in this limbo? They no longer mentioned their work to her, even though she'd told them she was interested. In fact, Belle was beginning to think they weren't talking much at all. They definitely weren't communicating.
The sound of her grandmother's old television filtered in from the living room. Ah, the news. At this time of the evening, the broadcast was local, the usual fare that attempted to be hard-hitting while forcing in odd banter now and then.
After she'd painted the living room, the men had moved their office there. The space was far larger and contained more work surfaces, so they could spread out. Unfortunately, it also meant she couldn't walk in and see them five times a day. She didn't have a logical excuse, as she had in the kitchen. None of them were gullible enough to believe that she'd come into the living room for a drink of water or a nibble to tide her over until dinner. The formal space was in a corner of the house, so she couldn't just happen by. When Belle did gather up the courage to enter their new "office," she didn't know what to say. So she'd stopped going. Other than meals, she barely saw them during the day. But she missed those men so much.
It had been over a week since she'd discovered them on her doorstep. She'd grown accustomed to finding them all over the house-maybe talking on the phone in front of the refrigerator or huddled in her favorite chair in the parlor with a laptop and coffee. But since she told them she didn't see the relationship lasting, something had shifted. They'd relegated themselves to a room far out of her way and rarely left there unless they retreated to their own bedrooms. If she worked up the courage to ask for their help with a task, they graciously agreed to do it, but they no longer sought her out for a morning flirtation or an afternoon chat. They didn't try to make her laugh or steal an afternoon kiss. They didn't crowd her or watch her with hungry stares. Some days she wondered if they really even looked at her anymore.
After the work day, the men had fallen into patterns. They all had their assigned chores and performed them with the politeness of good roommates. They gave her every distant courtesy. She couldn't fault them in any way-except the emotional chasm they seemed to be digging between her and them.