“So now what?” I murmured, catching Grey’s gaze.
“We crawl back into my bed and snuggle the hell out of you so you can sleep since we denied you that post-fucking blissed state you enjoy so much.”
“A Lily sandwich?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in question, butterflies erupting in my belly.
Blaine groaned against my skin, his large hands palming my breasts, lifting them.
Grey thumbed over my aching tips his friend held toward to him, and I shuddered, my breath catching as Grey’s gaze lifted to the man behind me.
Or would he prefer a Blaine sandwich?
Goddamnit, I thought I’d been dead set against any male-on-male action. Feared to see it unfold, agonized over being set aside again.
But…why didn’t my throat tighten? Why wasn’t my chest squeezing the oxygen from my lungs?
“Do you two ever…touch each other when you’re with other women?” I asked in a rush—my usual word vomit before I thought the question through.
Their gazes clashed, and Grey’s eyes shuttered. “No,” he answered quietly for both of them, once more giving me his attention.
I expected a question in return—like did I want them to, but Grey kept quiet.
He turned off the water, and I shuffled over the thoughts and feelings flitting through me as they gave me their undivided attention, using a couple towels to dry me.
Perhaps I wouldn’t be averse to the idea of them interacting if an equal sharing remained between the threesome. Two guys together were always hot as hell in books and in the porn videos I was definitely drawn to.
Would Blaine allow Grey’s touch?
Would Grey lose himself in the man he obviously loved?
Would I be set aside if that barrier lay in wreckage beneath masculine racing hearts and hungry hands?
I imagined sitting back and enjoying the show, watching Blaine enjoy Grey’s gorgeous body. Or perhaps my tall, dark, and handsome would offer himself to his best friend who’d been by his side for over nine years.
The idea of both men giving and receiving created a deep ache inside me, and not from fear.
I wanted to watch Grey unleash all that passion he held back when looking at his best friend.
I lusted—bit back a moan—over the thought of Blaine offering himself up like a Sunday dinner to be worshiped. Devoured.
I am so going to hell.
© Lynn Burke 2022
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