She shudders, and wet warmth is covering my fingers as I slide them into her.
“Stay,” she breathes against my ear.
I smile against her skin, shoving my fingers into her, and grinding against her clit. “Be quiet, perfect girl,” I whisper.
Then I twist us, so she is against the side wall. In the darkness, we can both see them.
“Watch,” I murmur, and she shivers, her eyes on our best friends as Scott drops to his knees, shoves Lindsay’s skirt up, and covers her with his lips. Peyton’s whole body shudders, her pussy clenching on my fingers as I lazily finger-fuck her, and I grin. Lindsay is biting her hand, trying to stay quiet as he licks her cunt, but it’s not working. Tiny noises are leaking out, these gasping little whimpers, and his name, and it’s hot as hell.
And Peyton is so fucking wet. I pull my hand out of her pants and she makes a quiet mewl of displeasure, her hips rising and falling restlessly as I work her jeans down to her knees. I glance over at Scott and Peyton. Her head is thrown back, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
I lean into Peyton, and lick her once, feeling her body go tight as she bows off the wall toward me. I grin, and her hands find my hair, pulling me to her. She’s on tiptoes as I go to work, my tongue sliding through her, nipping at her clit, searching for the little friction I’m not giving her, and then I do, pinching her clit lightly as I tongue-fuck her and she’s coming, her pussy clenching in waves around me.
“Like that, baby?” I hear, and I freeze as Peyton shudders, thrusting against me, her orgasm tripping into another. Lindsay answers Scott in a low murmur, and I hear him groan before he kisses her.
Fuck. Peyton isn’t the only one turned on by this shit.
I stand quietly, and lift Peyton just a little.
Lindsay screams as Scott slams into her, her back thudding against the wall, and he groans again, that noise I’ve heard a million times when we shared women. Peyton is gasping as I grab her ass and fuck her slow and silently, her eyes wide and staring at Scott thrusting into Lindsay.
It’s hot as fuck that she’s getting off on this, but she is. She’s clenching and coming, these continuous orgasms that fall into each other, and she’s so wet I can feel it on my balls. I grit my teeth and drop my head into the crook of her neck, biting her shoulder to keep silent.
“Turn me,” Linds demands suddenly and he laughs, slowing. He pulls out and she moans, her voice rising to a shriek when he shoves his fingers into her.
“You’re demanding,” he mutters, and she whimpers, pushing back against him.
He slams into her and she shrieks, a noise he cuts off with a curse and a hand across her mouth, yanking her head back by the hair and hissing, “Quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she mutters.
Peyton makes a little huff of air, and I slide a hand between us, toying with her clit as I fuck her. “You like listening to them, sweetheart? Watching Scott fuck her. You love it.”
Her eyes find mine, and I see guilt there—mixed with the glassy desire is conflicted guilt, and I lean into her, kissing her hard and fast. “I love everything about you, Fish. Even the dirty girl who plays rough and likes her sex dangerous. You want him to watch me fuck you?”
Her body shakes, answering me for her as she shatters into another orgasm, and on the other side of the room, Lindsay whimpers, a long, drawn out noise as Scott hisses her name. I look over at them—we both look—and I come as Peyton pulls me into her, biting my chest hard as she rides out the climax, and we watch them orgasm.
It’s hot and dirty, and for a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of us breathing. Scott moves first, sliding out of Lindsay, and I swallow my groan as he reaches between her legs, cleaning her up with his hand before he brings his fingers to his lips. She watches as he cleans his fingers and Peyton gasps when Lindsay goes up on tiptoes to kiss him.
Scott’s head lifts, and I shift Peyton, shielding her before Scott slaps Lindsay’s ass. “Come on, babe.”
She grumbles but they put themselves back together and she slips out.
Just before he does, his gaze darts to us, too knowing and serious.
Then the door shuts and closes off the noise of the bar. I slip free of Peyton and she redresses quickly and gives me a curious look. “What was that last thing?”
I shrug. “Scott’s a kinky bastard.” She arches an eyebrow, and I grin. “Guess I can’t really point fingers on that account.”
“No,” she says dryly. “Not really.”
I pull her into me and kiss her. Her hands come up to grip my arms, and when I pull back, it’s to lean my forehead against hers. “Are we ok?” I ask softly.
She nods and brushes my lips again. “Always, Jokes.”
Chapter 26 : After
Being with you is never
Easy.
It's
long nights and
Cryptic answers, and Constant challenges.
(Rike’s poems to
Peyton)
Being back at the house is like living someone else’s life. The first few days are awkward as I navigate around Scott and Rike. They’re both busy for the first two days after I arrive, building ramps and supervising the crew moving Scott and Lindsay’s bedroom downstairs. I drift between them, trying to find where I belong. The problem isn’t them. They both are quick to include me in all their conversations, ask me what I want to do and eat and if there’s a movie or a song I want to hear—they’re so quick and eager, it’s almost suffocating.
And when I do snap at them and slap them back into their place, they regard me with wide, hurt eyes. Like I just smacked their puppy instead of their feelings.
That happens four times before I retreat into my loft studio and hide there for most of a day. Rike comes twice to check on me, but it’s a cursory thing. He’s distracted. And I understand. We both get it. I’m here for Lindsay and the family the four of us created, more than I am for him.
Or. That’s what I keep telling myself.
The truth is, I’m here for both. Lindsay is allowing me to come back under a pretense that gives me some dignity instead of me calling and sobbing that I miss him. Because I did. I don’t think I realized how much I missed him until I’m back, and he’s everywhere and nowhere, a constant fucking presence that keeps me grounded and high.
It’s a little disconcerting. And I would never admit this to anyone—except perhaps Lindsay—but I love it.
“Babe?”
I blink as Rike appears at the top of my staircase. I’m sitting in front of an easel, working on a watercolor that hasn’t really taken shape for me yet. I’ve been sketching since I hugged Brody goodbye in Austin. This is the first time since I woke up in the hospital that I’ve touched paints. His eyes go wide as he takes that in, and I see the struggle to not comment. To treat me like I’m just the girl he’s been with forever, and not the mental case we both know I am.
I glance over him—he’s wearing faded jeans with a few rips in them, a tight-fitting t-shirt that bares his tattooed arms. His hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, exposing his bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and infectious smile.
“Are you going with us?”
I nod, and drop my brush into a vase full of water. Wipe my hands dry on my apron and tug it over my head. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Scott is almost vibrating with impatience next to the truck, and he gives me a sick look when we approach. Unexpectedly, for both of us, I give him a quick hug. “Let’s go get your girl.”