The rush toward climax swells through me, spasming along my inner walls and locking up my lungs. I’m right there, rising, cresting, adrift in the passion of their lips, their tongues, and the erotic resonance of their groans.
Cole circles a finger around my clit and plunges his tongue wickedly, deeply inside me, spiraling me headlong into release. Starry bursts of light scatter my vision as I moan and pant and come undone. Cole grunts with me, the guttural sound vibrating against my pussy and prolonging the orgasm.
When my mouth falls slack against Trace’s lips, he trails a path of kisses across my cheek to my ear. “So damn beautiful.”
How can he say that? I don’t know how he can be kind to me at all after I just came on another man’s mouth.
“We need to talk about this.” I pull on my arms, lethargic and deliciously twitchy as my breathing slows to normal.
Trace releases my wrists, letting me slide off his lap to sit beside him.
“You think too much.” Cole grins, still kneeling on the floor.
At some point, he removed his shirt, and his chest glistens with perspiration. He lowers his gaze to the swollen length trapped behind his zipper, and a pained expression kills his smile.
I steal a peek at Trace’s groin—also hard as a rock.
With a jab of guilt, I shift to the edge of the couch, aggravating the burn on my backside. “It’s my turn to—”
“No,” they say in unison.
I glance down at my naked body. Should I push the issue and try to seduce them? Or should I cover myself and forget about it?
“I can…” I lower my voice, nervous. “I want to pleasure you. I can do it separately. In different rooms.”
With an agonized growl, Cole stands and paces away, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
Trace drops his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes.
“I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” I whisper.
Without opening his eyes, he blindly reaches for my hand. “Your car was delivered while you were taking a nap.”
“I don’t care about the car. You’re changing the subject.”
Cole’s amused huff draws my attention across the room. He faces the windows, bent slightly forward with his hands on the ballet bar, smiling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Yesterday, you cared about the car.”
“Yesterday, I wasn’t staying.” I stand and grab his shirt off the floor.
“Don’t get dressed. I need to rub ointment into your sore backside.” He glances at the outline of his erection. “In a minute.”
“I’ll just put the shirt on.” I pull it over my head, and the hem falls midway down my thighs.
Trace doesn’t move on the couch, his lashes low, expression sleepy, but I feel those heavy-lidded eyes watching me. Cole stares out at the darkening sky, his posture bent and stiff, his hands clenched around the bar. Each of them is battling desire in his own way, and I feel like a greedy tease, standing here half-dressed and glowing with a post-orgasm flush.
“Do you guys feel weird about what just happened?”
“It’s fine, Danni,” Trace murmurs. “Let it go.”
I make an irritated sound. “All that talk about being open and honest—”
“What do you want to know?” Cole straightens and rests his fingertips in his pockets.
“I feel like we’re playing by rules, but I don’t know what the rules are.”
“We’re not playing,” Trace says.
“Maybe you should.”
“What do you mean?” Cole tips his head, brows furrowed.
I walk to the stereo, scroll through the songs, and cue up one. When the soothing guitar chords lead into Lovesong by Adele, I step aimlessly through the room, gently swaying with the husky vocals.
“Music is the soul of life.” I meet Trace’s gaze and turn to Cole. “You sing to it, cry to it, dance, love, laugh… You play it.”
I approach the dance pole and grip it high above my head, circling, humming, and smiling as they follow me with their eyes, seemingly mesmerized.
“Sixty…seventy years from now…” I tilt my face to the rafters, weighing my words. “I want to look back on my life and know that I played it like a song, that I felt it so deeply it gave me chills, and that I savored every vibrating moment—the tragic moments, the blissful moments. I don’t to want miss a second of it. So I say play it in excess, live it up, surfeit yourself on every drop of pleasure. There can never be too many songs or too much dancing. Life should be playful—enjoyed and appreciated to the fullest.” I suddenly realize I’m rocking my hips, subconsciously seduced by the music. With a laugh, I shake my head. “You must think I’m crazy, rattling on and dancing around with a blistered ass.”