Still, this one goes to Rath, fair and square.
It’s the only reason I interrupt the impassioned dry humping currently happening on our couch. “Come on, Killer.” I give his shoulder a tap, noticing how deep Story’s got her nails embedded in the skin of his neck. “Get her naked, brother.”
Killian’s good at taking instruction—I know that from the last time we fucked her together—but it’s still a relief to see him reach between their bodies and start unbuttoning her shorts. He makes quick work of it, jostling her entire body as he yanks them over her thighs, panties and all. That’s why it has to be Killian. Rath would drag it out, and this is not the fucking time.
He goes for her shirt next, pulling it up her torso and over her head, but the second it clears her ears, he’s already bending to mouth at her nipple, gathering the weight of her tit in a palm to give it a hard suck. She keens, bucking up into him.
I think I like it like this. Her skin all naked and bare as he looms above her, completely clothed. There’s a roughness to it that I bet she can feel. The denim of his jeans against her soft thighs. The texture of his hoodie against her flat belly.
Licking my lips, I reach down to squeeze my cock, ordering, “Flip over. Get under her.”
He lifts her effortlessly, and Rath and I watch appreciatively. Killer has this habit of tossing her around like a doll, but it’s hard to protest when it ends with her settling on top of him, looking flushed and flustered, a little divot appearing between her eyebrows as she rucks up his sweater.
“Off,” she demands, clawing the fabric away, even as he tugs it over his head. Her eyes go to the tattoo and linger there for a dozen heartbeats, her chest heaving as she inspects it. I don’t know how she never realized it was her face. The dark hair, the sad eyes—it’s got everything but her name emblazoned beneath it.
I try to get things back on track. “Get his dick out.”
She licks her lips, holding his gaze as she thumbs his fly, pushing up on her knees to shove them down. Killer’s cock catches on the elastic of his boxers, and then flops hard against his hip when she frees it with a swift yank.
“Easy,” he snaps, reaching down to protect his balls. “Goddamn, fucking impatient, crazy-ass—” His words cut off when she lunges down to kiss him. It’s a pointed kiss, full of teeth, and the second her bare pussy drags against his cock, the grunt in Killer’s throat dissipates. He palms at her thighs like he’s memorizing the softness of the skin there, and fuck. The way they look. I could get off just at the sight of this alone. That slow, visible transition from annoyed to enraptured. The way his inked hands look, curling just below her hips. The quiet, gentle sound she makes when she rocks against his dick.
Rath bends to reach into the bag he’d brought in from the truck. “Hold this,” he says, throwing me something.
I snatch it out of the air, realizing it’s a bottle of baby oil. Right. Preparation prevents poor performance. Dragging in an inhale, I whisper to Rath, “Do you think she could take it?” I give him a significant look. “Both of you?”
He tugs his shirt over his head, eyes glued to her writhing body as he approaches. “Guess we’ll find out.” He starts off with nothing but the sweep of his palm down her spine, but it’s enough to make her arch up, chasing it.
He’s already got his pants unzipped, cock in his hand as he slowly makes a path down her back, which is why it’s easy for her to turn her head and zero in on it. Rath’s other hand is on his cock, his long fingers stroking up and down, toying with the tip. He doesn’t need her mouth right now.
But when she leans in to mouth at the head, he doesn’t exactly say no.
I know all about his edging kink. This fucker can draw it out all night, waiting his turn, holding out until it probably halfway kills him. Christmas night aside, Rath isn’t usually a joiner. When he plays music, it’s just him and the piano, and it’s the same when he fucks—just him and Story holed up in his shitty room, doing god knows what.
But not tonight.
If he wants her, then he has to share her.
20
Rath
I watch Killer stroke her thighs, and I get it.
I’ve never really felt the need to indulge in a girl before. Usually it’s suck, fuck, goodbye, and good luck. Story’s got this skin, though. It’s all creamy and silky. It’s the kind of skin you want to feel up against yours, put your mouth to and make a mark in. So good that I’m still skating my fingertips over her spine as she tongues my cock. Her head game is solid. It’s just that I’m imagining this back beneath me when I push into her. I thumb a spot on her shoulder, thinking to myself, here.