Picture Perfect - Page 175

I groan around Saint’s length, making him tense and reach out for me before stopping himself. And, then Dre’s fingers are there, sliding through the slick heat between my thighs. It’s as if he’s unlocking something within me, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure that light fires throughout my body.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for us,” Dre murmurs, his breath hot on my ear. The sensation of his fingers delving deeper pulls a cry from my lips, one that vibrates against Saint’s length still held in my mouth.

Dre presses closer, his chest to my back, molding his body to mine. In a move that’s part playful, part possessive, he leans over my shoulder and his tongue flicks out, grazing Saint where my lips meet flesh. Saint’s reaction is immediate, a guttural sound that’s half laugh, half reprimand.

“Behave, Dre,” he says, the laughter winning out despite the attempt at sternness. There’s no real bite to his words; it’s the camaraderie of shared desire, an understanding that boundaries are being pushed in the name of love and lust intertwined.

“Couldn’t resist,” Dre replies cheekily, pulling back slightly but still nestled against me, his fingers continuing their relentless dance inside me. Each movement is deliberate, designed to bring me closer to the edge, to show me that I am loved, cherished, and wanted in every conceivable way.

I’ve been here before, in situations where my body wasn’t my own, but this—this is different. This time, the surge of power is mine, driven by pleasure and not pain. With William, I was a thing to be used; with Preston, I was performing a role. But with Saint and Dre, I am the center of their world, cherished and adored.

The realization hits me like a revelation—I like this. No, I love this. It’s not just the act; it’s them, it’s us. The way Saint groans beneath my tongue, the way Dre fills me up completely—it’s empowering. I savor the taste of Saint, the heady feel of him pulsing against my palate, the sounds of pleasure I draw from deep within his chest.

I just need Chess.

“Fuck, Princess,” Saint breathes out, his voice laced with raw emotion. Saint’s groans grow more guttural, more primal, and I know he’s close. The knowledge spurs me on, makes me want to draw every last drop of pleasure from him for us to share.

I wrap my lips tighter around Saint, drawing him deeper, surprised by the surge of power that thrums through me. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady blend that is uniquely his, and I savor it, committing the essence of my husband to memory. His hands find my hair, gently urging me away, but there’s a tremble in his voice as he warns, “Princess, I’m close.”

The words are meant to give me a chance to pull back, but instead they ignite something within me. I refuse to relinquish this moment of reclaiming what was once taken from me. Doubling down, I press on, swallowing him whole. He groans, a sound so deep and raw it vibrates into my very core as he releases. I take everything he has to offer, swallowing with a sense of triumph and connection that tightens my chest with emotion.

“Fuck, Princess…” Saint gasps, breathless and awed. His fingers stroke my hair now, a tender contrast to the fervor of moments ago. “You’re incredible,”

Saint manages between labored breaths, his hands twitching as if he’s fighting the urge to touch me, to claim me in the way we all want.

And I believe him because in this tangled web of limbs and whispered affections, I feel invincible. I love the way they look at me, the way they make me feel: desired, powerful, loved. It’s a stark contrast to the shadows of my past, a bright light that obliterates the darkness that once threatened to consume me.

Dre’s voice, laced with authority, slices through the haze of passion. “Chess, get on the bed.”

Without hesitation, Chess complies, his hazel eyes dark with lust as he settles onto the mattress. Dre’s strong hands then slip under my arms, lifting me as though I weigh nothing. In one fluid motion, I’m moved, hovering above Chess who looks up at me with a mischievous grin that promises both pleasure and chaos.

“Ready, hermosa?” Chess teases, his voice a low rumble.

“Always,” I reply, meeting his gaze with a boldness that feels like a new part of me—one forged in the trust and love of these men.

Dre lowers me down, guiding me onto Chess, and I sink slowly, taking him in inch by exquisite inch. The stretch and fill send shivers racing across my skin, and I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips. Chess’ hands grip my hips, steadying me, anchoring me as I adjust to the sensation of being so intimately connected to him.

“Perfect, just like that,” Dre praises from behind me, his voice a warm breath against my neck. And for a moment, we all pause, suspended in the realization of what we’ve become to each other—a unit of hearts and bodies entwined.

The world narrows down to the sensation of Chess filling me, his hands possessive on my hips, when Dre’s fingertips brush against my skin, sending a shiver up my spine. I tilt my head back, catching the glint of mischief in his ice-blue eyes.

“Got something for you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise that sends arousal coiling tighter within me.

I watch, breath hitched, as Dre reaches into the nightstand drawer and pulls out the lube. The slick sound of the bottle opening is strangely loud in the hush that has fallen over us. His touch is gentle but unyielding as he coats his fingers, preparing me with a patience that belies his eager gaze.

“Can’t wait to see you come undone,” he whispers, each word dripping with filth and desire. “With Chess deep inside you, and me… taking all of you.”

His words are like fuel to the fire that rages within me, stoked by the heat of their bodies and the depth of our connection. A connection made not just of flesh, but of souls bared and hearts entwined.

“Please,” I gasp, lost in the anticipation, in the need for him to fill me completely.

“Please what?” Dre teases, even as his slick finger circles the rim before pressing in, stretching me slowly, deliberately. “Tell me what you want, Snowflake.”

“More,” I plead, my voice barely a whisper. “I want you, Dre. All of you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Positioning himself behind me, Dre aligns himself, and with one smooth motion, he sinks into me. It’s overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of being sandwiched between them. Dre fills me in ways I didn’t know were empty, touching parts of me that had been locked away, guarded.

I cry out, the pleasure sharp and sweet, threatening to swallow me whole.