Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Dylan murmurs, rocking into me, eyes locked on mine. “We all do.”
This feeling is something I can’t get used to.
It’s the pleasure, the desire and the sheer belonging that comes with four men surrounding me like the points of a compass.
And I want more.
Dylan’s movements quicken, his breath catching against my skin. His hand slides under my knee, lifting it higher as he drives in deeper, his rhythm catching fire.
“I’m close,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to mine, voice cracked open with it. “You feel so good. God, Grace, you feel like home.”
I hold his face between my hands, kissing him hard as he shudders against me, hips grinding in a final, deep thrust before he groans into my mouth. His body softens, but he doesn’t pull away. He stays like that, pressing kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, still wrapped around me.
But McCartney’s already there, already beside me, already trailing fingers down my thigh like he’s asking permission before he even says a word.
“You ready for more, darlin’?” His voice is softer than silk, but his eyes burn.
“I want you,” I breathe. “Both of you.”
He glances at Lennon, who’s already stripping out of the last of his clothes. The air shifts, heavier now and less tentative, laced with even more need. But still no rush. Still no urgency that doesn’t start with me.
Dylan eases back, brushing his lips against mine before slipping off the blanket. I feel his weight leave, but then McCartney’s crawling over me, mouth brushing the curve of my breast while Lennon kneels between my thighs, eyes sharp, deliberate.
“She can take us both,” Lennon says, voice like smoke. “You want it, baby?”
I nod. Hell yes, I want it.
McCartney’s mouth covers mine before I can speak, tongue lazy and coaxing, while Lennon presses two fingers between my legs, testing, teasing, stroking Dylan’s release up and over my clit. I writhe beneath them, overwhelmed as sensation crowds in from every angle.
Then McCartney shifts behind me, lifting me with that strong, steady grace that comes so easily to him. I’m on my knees now, straddling his lap, his cock pressed against my slick heat. He slides in achingly slow, both of us moaning at the stretch, the fullness, the feel of finally being together like this.
Before I can even adjust, Lennon steps in close, brushing my face with his fingers, tilting my chin up.
“I want your mouth,” he says, voice thick. “Let me feel you.”
I open willingly.
He slides in, hand cradling the back of my head, but he’s careful, watching every breath, blink, and signal. I take him deep, loving the way he swears under his breath, the way McCartney moans behind me as I rock against him.
And then Harrison’s hands are in my hair. At my waist. On my back.
He doesn’t ask. He knows.
His mouth finds my shoulder, my spine, kisses like the tickle of feathers as I take Lennon deeper, ride McCartney harder, the pressure building to something blinding, unbearable, perfect.
Every sound I make is swallowed by them. Every gasp, cry, and desperate moan. Harrison whispers to me between kisses.
“You’re doing so good, Grace. You’re everything. We’ve got you.”
I don’t know how long it lasts. It could be minutes, hours, eternity. But when I come, it’s like nothing I’ve ever known. My body clenches, back bowing, mouth filled with the taste of Lennon’s skin and the sound of Harrison murmuring my name.
Lennon groans deep and pulls free, stroking himself hard and fast, spilling across my cheek with a shudder. McCartney follows a second later, buried deep inside me, whispering, “Oh fuck, yeah,” tightly, like he didn’t mean for it to come out, but it did.
I collapse into Harrison’s arms, who eases me down with infinite care, like I’m breakable crystal and not a woman who took three cowboys and still wants more.
He presses a kiss on my temple.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “And the most beautiful.”
I’m still catching my breath, limp and burning, when Harrison slips behind me.
His hands are gentle but confident as he touches my hips. My skin’s damp, flushed, and overly sensitive, but when he runs his palms down my sides, I melt all over again.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs into my hair. “Let me.”
I nod, because words feel like smoke in my mouth right now. I’m trembling from the inside out. McCartney’s hands stroke my thighs, his lips finding my knee, my belly, his voice murmuring soft things I can’t even make out.
Lennon lies on his side beside me, fingers drifting lazily across my shoulder, brushing sweat-damp strands of hair off my cheek.
“You look wrecked, baby,” he says with a crooked grin. “In the best goddamn way.”
“Still gorgeous,” Dylan murmurs from behind Harrison. He’s back, hard again, his eyes low and dark with renewed hunger. “You’re gonna make us lose our minds, sweetheart.”