“Paul wants to take us to breakfast,” she said conversationally. Silent laughter bowed Paul’s back beneath her body. She released her hold only long enough for him to catch his breath and dive back in. He returned to that deep, deep swallow. “What do you say, Dima? You up for something naughty this morning?”
“Yes,” he gritted. She saw why, as Paul used his construction worker’s hands to separate Dima’s firm ass cheeks. Such a defenseless position for a man to be in, spread that way, knees fanned out to either side. Only the sure two-handed grip Dima maintained at the base of Paul’s skull proved he wasn’t entirely a passive performer in this bit of erotic theater.
Lizzie crawled up Paul’s body, her breasts flush against his arched back. She worked her hands down his chest and flat, rock-hard tummy until she reached his fly. Opened it. Slipped her fingers inside to free his straining, throbbing dick.
“You could fuck him, you know,” she whispered. “Dima would love to be your first. He’d take it as a compliment.”
Paul made a soft humming sound in his throat, but it was truncated as he took Dima deep once again. He was picking up speed, face-fucking by his own design. He didn’t have much farther to go, if Dima’s straining neck was any indication. Both of them fought to set the pace.
“I have a bottle of lube right here in my nightstand,” she continued. “Or I could lick that fresh-washed asshole until he was slippery and open for you.”
“Little one?”
“Yes, Dima?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Hmmm…nope. Don’t think I will. Paul likes this too much. Don’t you, Paul?”
She wrapped around his body to catch a side view as he smiled around Dima’s cock. That he enjoyed teasing Dima as much as she did made her relax. She had an ally in loosening him up.
“Don’t worry, Dima mine. I think Paul here wants to finish what he started. Yes, Paul?”
He groaned around another smile. Dima started in on a stream of Russian curses, his hips pulsing under unyielding hands. As if by instinct, Paul loosened his hold to give Dima more freedom to maneuver. She knew what a stickler for control her partner was. Bound in any way, physically or mentally, he was more likely to get frustrated or lose his hot, tightly reined temper than get off.
She kissed her thanks between Paul’s shoulder blades, licked away the sweat and began to stroke him in time with his attention to Dima. “I want you to fuck me. As soon as he comes, Paul, I want you inside of me. You kiss will still taste like Dima when you drive this beautiful cock home.”
To emphasize the point, while the boys kicked up the pace, she tugged Paul’s jeans down even farther. She unwrapped a condom and rolled it up to sheath his heavy erection. His hips were grinding the air. She bit the flesh at the top of his buttocks and held on as his mouth bounced over Dima.
Paul breathed heavily through his nose. Sloppy wet noises filled her bedroom, and the air was laced with sweat and sex and the need for an explosion. Dima’s explosion.
“Little one,” he growled. “Here. Now.”
As much as she enjoyed nibbling Paul’s ass, she was Dima’s to command. How long had that been the case? She crawled up the bed, ready to resume the same cuddled-up position.
Dima had other ideas.
Ideas he hadn’t shared. She might’ve thought to get more upset if his dominance in bed wasn’t such a damn turn-on.
“On your back.”
His voice was a low, heavily accented rasp that sent shivers of nervous anticipation up the backs of her thighs. Dima never hurt her—hell, never intentionally—but he expected things of her that could push her limits. Throughout their partnership, she had been the public face while, behind the scenes, always testing her resolve, he matched his daring to her ambition. They urged each other to greatness.
If only…
No, she didn’t want to stray toward useless daydreams when a very real, very incredible fantasy stretched out on her bed.
Lizzie shut off her brain and obeyed. It was easy. The brief moment of control she’d had, watching the men in their sexy contest, teasing them both, was over. She settled into her submission with the ease of returning home. Dima led and she followed. Another shiver played across her skin but landed nearer her heart than her slick pussy.
Dima relinquished his hold on Paul’s nape. “Arms overhead,” he said.
Lizzie barely reached them up before Dima revealed his intentions. He looped his forearm to encircle the insides of her elbow. Hauling her slightly sideways, he angled her head to rest in the crook of his shoulder. Her upraised hands dangled uselessly just out of sight. She arched, stretching her breasts in that long, voluptuous pose.
“This is your reward, Paul,” Dima said softly. “This girl. Those tits are for your mouth, which has to be tingling.”
Lizzie couldn’t see Dima’s face from her position, but she had a clear view of how his sexy taunts affected Paul. He looked as submerged in the strong aura of Dima’s pleasure as she was.
“Don’t forget her ass. The hot little ass you love so much. You can clasp her sweet flesh just like you’re doing mine, but she won’t fight you. She’ll take every stroke because she wants it that hard from you.” He paused. “Even if she can’t say so.”
“Dima…?”
His free hand closed over her mouth, holding fast. Completely restrained. She struggled once, but his arm tightened across her elbows and kept her immobilized.
“I told you to shut the fuck up, little one. Now we’ll only hear your teases and your screams if I want us to.”
After the tiniest flash of panic, she relaxed on a damp rush of
oh, holy fuck
. She found Paul’s eyes, where he had slowed—but never stopped—to watch the new development. A silent question waited there, as well as concern she needed to alleviate.
I do my best for you, Lizzie.
Christ, he always did. No matter what happened, Dima would not intentionally allow her to be hurt. She knew that like she knew how to breathe.
She blinked at Paul, nodded as much as she could.
Dima relaxed too. The granite-solid muscle beneath her head eased as he accepted her permission too. “Make me come, Paul.”
The blue-eyed man with a body built to fuck like a piston returned to his sexy task. He pulsed Dima’s prick in and out, jerking them both back to full salutes. The two sturdy tendons along his buzzed nape stood out like ropes. Sweat lined his forehead and upper lip, which was taut around Dima’s thick shaft.
Lizzie couldn’t look away, couldn’t say a word. Breath from her nose moistened Dima’s hand where he clasped her so firmly. She wanted to touch between her legs, but all she managed was an impatient wiggle, thighs clenching and releasing.
“Close, Paul. So close for us. Make me come so you can do the same for our Lizzie. She’s here waiting for you.” Dima pushed his mouth against her ear. “Open your legs,” he rasped. “Let him see his reward.”
She complied, which only made Dima’s hips twitch faster, up into Paul’s mouth. She moaned against the hand holding her silent. A tingle invaded her forearms and fingertips where Dima held her arms completely still.
A low rumble gathered in his throat. He gripped her bottom jaw as his orgasm seemed to build from somewhere in the middle of all three sweaty bodies.
“Swallow me, Paul.” His words were feral. His hips worked a hard counter to Paul’s steady mouth. “Show me how much you love sucking me. Your first cock. Your first mouthful of fuck juice—”
He jerked and shoved, unloading on a low, deep growl. Lizzie caught the quickest flash of Paul’s expression—pure satisfaction—before the man pounced. Never as lithe as Dima, but so goddamn powerful. He lay over her and attacked with one swift movement, filling her so fast that she screamed against Dima’s hand. She arched, but two sets of implacable hands held her still. Paul pinned her lower body with his legs and grinding pelvis.
Just as Dima had teased, Paul grabbed her ass and used her cheeks for leverage. Every thrust hit her like a rocket firing into space. Dima had removed his hand from her mouth. The crown of her head pushed against Dima’s shoulder. He padded her with his muscles, urging her on with dark words that wove between English and Russian. She heard them even as Paul fucked her, even as Paul kissed her—his tongue tasting of Dima. He was everywhere.
“Race him, little one. He’s ready to blow, but you can beat him to it. Better than anyone else who ever tried. My superstar. Come for him, Lizzie. God, come for
me
.”
Her orgasm hit her like slamming into a wall at a dead run. Motion and feeling and momentum suddenly stopped, suspended, as pleasure too hot, too frantic, burst across every nerve. She was pulling out of her own skin. And
screaming
. Her hoarse, raw-throated bellow filled the tight bedroom. She was completely unmoored, despite two strong men who held her captive, one with his relentless pumping cock, the other with his lovely filthy mind.
Dima grabbed the back of Paul’s head and pulled him down, forehead to forehead. “Have you ever been so perfect at anything? At any moment? Make this perfect.”
“Aw, fuck.”
Paul’s tight, scraping fingers stung Lizzie’s ass. His cock was as hard as being fucked with a pipe. She shrieked again as another climax swept over the last. She twisted against Dima, fought against Paul, as pulses of light fused to white behind her eyes. One last thrust and Paul joined her, his groaned curse animalistic. She opened her eyes just in time to see the men kiss, roughly, as Paul shuddered the last of his pleasure.
He collapsed between them, half sprawled on her and Dima, with an exhausted laugh chugging out of his chest.
“What’s funny?” Dima asked quietly as he stroked damp hair back from Lizzie’s temple. He had yet to release her hands. Not so firmly, but still…holding.
“I think there was an agreement in there somewhere. Don’t you, Liz?”
She stretched down to her toes. “Sure do.”
“Agreement to what?” Dima’s accent was so thick. He’d gone to some primal place. A default mode. He really did have the most delicious voice.
“You accepted Paul’s invitation to breakfast,” she said on a giddy exhale. “Time to go do something really naughty.”
Chapter Sixteen
Not much compared to spring in New York, unless it was walking with a view of Lizzie’s ass. Hands slung in his pockets, Dima followed her and Paul underneath a stretching canopy of trees that shaded a residential sidewalk. Together, the fair couple ducked a group of wise-mouth tweens tumbling off a stoop.
At the corner, they stopped. Lizzie looked over her shoulder. Her arm was looped through Paul’s. Late-morning sunshine draped over the pair like gold cloth, emphasizing their brilliance. Lizzie’s grin glowed and she wore a tiny jeans skirt with a wide-necked T-shirt. It draped off her shoulder with a tank top underneath, showing off the creamy skin he’d tasted less than an hour ago. Paul wore the same jeans, but he’d borrowed a shirt from Dima. Slightly too snug, it clung to thick biceps.
In an instant Dima knew that image would shine forever in his mind. No matter what happened.
The two of them looked like they belonged together. So perfectly gleaming, they were painful to watch, as if their combined warmth could melt the world.
Still, he told himself he had no worries. Though he walked behind, there was no such thing as left out. Not when Lizzie held out her hand and smiled at him.
What a picture they must make as a trio. Lizzie’s lush breasts rubbed against Paul as she walked, yet she twined her fingers through Dima’s in an intimate hold. He couldn’t bring himself to care. They were happy together, and for the love of the Virgin, they were in New York City. In Chelsea even. There was no better place for them to slide by without notice.
Paul and Lizzie kept up a steady stream of chatter as all three crossed the street against the light. If anything, she was playing tour guide in that way of hers. Always she attached a personal story to whatever she pointed out. She kept them both amused the entire way—although Dima had heard most of the stories already and had been there for the rest.
Only two streets down from Club Devant and a block away from the dive where Paul intended they pretend to eat, they came to Chelsea Park. They cut through diagonally, as leafy patterns dappled Lizzie with artful patterns. In the heart of the park they found a makeshift dance hall. An overly muscled vato rapped along surprisingly well to a Latin-flavored background track. Also with him was a skinny-armed buddy who beat a rhythm on an upside-down paint can. A baseball cap on the ground sparkled with a few coins and few bills. A loose semicircle of people ringed the musicians.
Paul stopped, his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “This is like what you dance to, right?”
“Some.” Dima traced a pattern across Lizzie’s palm. “This is meatier. We dance to prescribed music, without so much flair.”
“You mean on the dance circuit, Dima mine.” Lizzie slanted him a sly look. Her toes were already tapping along to the beat. “I remember rehearsals yesterday being quite a bit…what was it? Meatier? I like that. You could dance to this on stage if you wanted.”
“In the club, you could as well,” he said quietly.
“So, what, it’s not your thing?” Paul asked Lizzie. “I assumed that’s why you’re not dancing together.”
She made a face. “I was injured. Only recently starting to feel better.”