Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And then it’s just us: me, Hunter, and Lachlan, slipping up the back staircase while the last of the guests are busy with their coats and rideshares, the three of us high on the scent of wax and wisteria and our own damn audacity.
The master suite is already prepared. There’s a chill from the open window, but the fire is going, flickering blue and orange behind its glass. The bed is turned down, the navy silk duvet strewn with white rose petals, as if some overzealous romantic had decided to dump an entire wedding’s worth of cliché in a single room. I love it. Marta, Hunter’s housekeeper, probably arranged it all, and she’s been a blessing since the moment Lachlan and I moved in.
The air inside is candle-warm and dense, the edges of the room fuzzed out by shadow. There’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the sideboard. Lachlan pops it, and the cork ricochets off the mantel. I laugh, almost feral, and Hunter pours us each a glass.
We toast. No words, just the clink and the burn.
I walk to the foot of the bed, every muscle vibrating, and turn to face them. Hunter stands straight, hands behind his back, suit jacket open, eyes all over me. Lachlan’s already lost the jacket, sleeves rolled and shirt half-unbuttoned, bare forearms crossed over his chest. Their eyes strip me before their hands do.
I don’t say anything. I reach behind my neck and find the clasp of my dress—the little hook that’s been itching me all night. It pops open, and the gown slides off my shoulders, catches for a second on my hips, then pools at my feet. I step out, totally nude save for my silver high heels.
Both men go silent. The air is thick, and I can feel their gaze like a force field, prickling every inch of my skin.
I move to the bed, lie back across it, and spread my legs. There’s no ceremony to it—just pure invitation, blunt and honest. I lean up on my elbows and use both hands to part myself: one palm spreading the slick lips of my pussy, the other hand circling back to my asshole, which is already puckered, pink, and ready.
That’s when they see it.
The glint of metal, gold and wet, at the mouth of each hole.
I savor the moment, the twin looks of shock and hunger on their faces.
“The one in my pussy is the third ring you gave me,” I say, my voice half a dare. “But I had the fourth ring made just for tonight. One for each of you. Inside, the way you like it.”
Hunter’s jaw flexes, and he takes a step forward, but Lachlan beats him to it, dropping to his knees at the side of the bed.
“Holy shit,” Hunter says, voice gone ragged.
Lachlan just stares, then looks up at me, his blue eyes dark and nearly black in the candlelight. “When did you insert them—?”
“This morning,” I say. “Slipped them in before the dress. Felt them in my pussy and ass with every step down the aisle. It seemed like the most honest, most sensuous way to walk down the aisle with reminders of both of you inside my body.” I drop my head back and laugh, the sound rippling through my curves, and when I look again, both men are there, one on each side, hands already roaming over my thighs.
Hunter pushes my knees wider. “You’re such a fucking slut, Stella,” he says, reverent. “You love this. You love being marked by us.”
“I do,” I whisper. “I love being yours. Belonging to both of you.”
Hunter puts a hand on my belly, spreads his fingers, and leans in. Lachlan’s mouth goes straight to my breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing the tip until I yelp. I can feel his hand at my hip, holding me in place, while Hunter’s thumb circles my clit with slow, calculated pressure.
“Mmmm,” I moan. “Oh yes.”
I reach down and grab a fistful of Hunter’s hair, tug him up to my mouth, and kiss him, tongue inside, biting his bottom lip until I taste blood. He growls, then pulls away, pinning my arms over my head in a single, practiced move. Lachlan slides lower, mouth hot and wet, then pauses at the entrance of my pussy.
His tongue flicks the ring, the sensation metal and heat and wetness. I buck, but Hunter holds me still, one hand tight around both wrists. Lachlan starts working the ring, tongue swirling and pushing until it starts to slip, then pulls it between his teeth, grinning up at me, his mouth glossy, before pulling it out.
He holds the ring up, and I reach for it, pressing it into my palm. “That’s yours,” he says, voice guttural. “Always was.”
Hunter’s turn. He flips me over, ass in the air, and pulls my cheeks apart. He moans, staring at my tiny pucker.