by Kit Rocha
Now she knew they'd give her anything she asked for. Her shaking was the good kind of nerves, all mixed up with anticipation and growing arousal. And when they got her burning hot enough, all those dirty words would spill effortlessly from her tongue.
That was always when Ace knew they had her.
Cruz slipped his hands under her shirt to guide it up. Ace released her and tore his own shirt over his head, barely having the presence of mind to toss it away from the candles. Cruz was more methodical, setting her shirt aside before smoothing her disheveled hair back into place. “Stand up, sweetheart.”
She was trembling when she rose. The candlelight cast her face into dark shadow even as it gleamed off her skin and glinted off the jeweled piercings in both of her nipples. Cruz began unlacing her boots, still the methodical man on a mission. But for a moment Ace could only stare, committing the moment to memory with feverish desperation. Because this was art, too. Her curves and dips, the way light and shadow played with each one. She was rising out of darkness and disappearing into it, as ethereal and otherworldly as the angel he'd tattooed on her skin.
Ace lifted his fingers, followed the outlines of the angel's fluttering dress and silvery wings, and remembered—how she'd writhed, screamed, how she had come for them. He'd had to finish the tattoo another day, because when Rachel got hot and trembly and needy, he'd would dive out of a moving car if it meant getting to her, getting in her.
“That was the first time,” Cruz murmured, his fingers brushing Ace's before moving to Rachel's zipper. “The first time we were both inside you.”
“I remember.” Her voice was shaking now too, the finest quiver of lust and longing. “It still didn't seem real, that I could reach for either of you and touch you instead of grabbing on to nothing.”
Ace kissed her side, tracing the tattoo with his tongue before rocking up to his knees. Her piercings beckoned, glittering in the candlelight, and he licked the tip of one nipple. “Grab on to us, angel.”
Cruz urged her pants down her legs, and she braced her hands on Ace's shoulders as she stepped free of the denim. Her head fell back as Cruz slid his hands back up her legs, and she was biting her lip by the time he hooked his fingers in her panties and peeled them off.
When she was naked, gloriously naked, Cruz rose and circled her, his fingertips dragging up her arm to linger on her elbow. That was all the prompting it took. Still breathing unsteadily, Rachel folded her arms behind her back, eagerly obedient to Cruz's smallest gesture.
Not that Ace blamed her.
Cruz tugged Rachel back against his body, trapping her there with one big hand splayed across her abdomen. He stroked the other hand up her body and stared at Ace over her shoulder. “Pants, Ace. Now.”
Ace had his belt unbuckled before the last word faded.
Rachel made a soft noise—of need, of pleasure, of supplication—as Cruz kissed her neck and teased her nipples. He tugged and twisted the metal rings that pierced the taut tips, toying with her until goosebumps rose on her bare flesh.
Ace fumbled his boots off as Cruz's voice twined around both of them. “Look at him. He wants to touch you so badly, he's shaking.”
“I know the feeling.” Rachel inhaled sharply. “Let me?”
“Soon,” Cruz promised, tilting her head up so he could kiss her.
Oh, that was distracting as hell, too. Another work of art, the sheer perfection of them melding together. The contrast of hard muscles against soft curves, the way Rachel's neck stretched into a vulnerable arc as Cruz held her chin and bent to kiss her. It would take Ace weeks to get the shape of his fingers just right, to capture the essence of Cruz—strong, firm, demanding. Tender, gentle, protective.
Ace kicked free of his jeans, his cock so hard it ached, his heart captivated.
Cruz broke the kiss with a groan and turned all that strong, firm demand toward him. “Lie down.”
Ace stretched out on the blankets, and he knew exactly where they were going now. He'd helped shape the filthier twists and turns of Cruz's mind, after all. He'd coaxed him down all those dark alleys, convinced him to embrace his desires. And it was fucking fun to sprawl back on the mattress and let it play out—
“Go,” Cruz murmured, urging Rachel down to her knees. “You can take him as deep as you want, just don't let him come.”
—especially when letting it play out meant Rachel crawling across the floor, her lips parted, her eyes sparking with mischief. “Jeez, Cruz. A Monet and a blowjob. Was I a very good boy?”
Cruz tried not to laugh, but Ace knew that growling sound meant victory. “Almost never.”
“You're something better.” Rachel edged slowly toward him. “You're Ace.” Her palms brushed his upper thighs. “You're ours.”
Two more words he'd never get over. He had scars on his side, proof of how close he'd come to being no one's. Nothing. But even before his brush with death, he'd still been too stupid to see what was standing in front of him. Two people—two—who loved him too much to let him go.
A hundred Monets had nothing on that.
Ace let himself reach for Rachel. Her hair was silk beneath his fingers, golden honey in the candlelight and so familiar curled around his fist. He loved the way she sucked in a quick breath when he tightened his grip. “I'm yours, angel. What are you going to do with me?”
“That's easy.” She wrapped her fingers around his cock, a gentle caress that turned into a firm squeeze as she reached the base. “I'm going to love you.”
“Cheater,” he whispered, tugging on her hair. “How am I supposed to chide you for not being filthy when you're saying shit like that?”
She dipped her head to hide a smile, then kept going until her lips grazed the head of his dick. “You're not,” she whispered, her warm breath feathering over him. “You just...take me the way that I am.”
The same way she took him, metaphorically and literally, deliciously, engulfing the first few inches of his cock in wetness and warmth. He let his head drop back to the cushions, only vaguely aware of Cruz as he moved around them, readying the next stages of a plan Ace couldn't bring himself to think too much about with Rachel sucking his dick.
Then she cried out around him, the sound vibrating through him as she squirmed and sucked harder.
He forced his eyes open and found Cruz kneeling behind Rachel, gripping her hip with one hand. Ace knew where the other was—inside her, those big, strong fingers working her into a frenzy. She'd be slick already, wet, but that wouldn't be enough for Cruz. Not tonight. He'd make sure his fingers were slippery with whatever lube he'd brought—probably their favorite, the kind that made everything warm and tingly and always left Rachel begging for it, even when she already had a cock in her ass and three fingers in her pussy.
Gripping the base of his dick, Ace dragged Rachel up until her lips could barely reach the head. “How do you want it tonight, Rae? Give or take?”
She arched with a moan, struggling against the grip they both had on her—but only in search of more. “Take it,” she pleaded. “Fuck my face, whatever you want. I need—” Her voice hitched, broke. “I need to make you feel this good.”
“Shh.” He tugged at her hair again, hard enough to trigger a moan. “You make me feel good just like this, baby. Desperate and begging, squirming on Cruz's fingers. Willing to take anything or nothing.” On any other night, he'd test them both, stretching his own patience to the breaking point because she meant it—whatever he wanted—and sometimes he wanted to be mean to them both so that nice tasted that much sweeter.
But not tonight. Tonight, he had no patience—and nothing would get her hotter than a taste of helplessness. So he forced her head down, just a few inches, easy enough to let her brace herself.
Then he thrust up into her mouth.
She took him readily, swallowing when she might have gagged or choked. She didn't pull back, and she didn't lunge for more. Not because she didn't want it—she touched his hand, silently encouraging—but because this
was her gift to him.
Control.
Ace ground his teeth together and reminded himself not to come.
Challenge enough, and it got even harder when Cruz flexed his arm and twisted his fingers, sending a shock through Rachel's whole body. Ace thrust up again, deeper, shuddering as she swallowed him, and held her there until her fingers trembled over his.
Overwhelmed, that's how she'd feel. That's how they needed her to feel. He met Cruz's eyes and caught his rhythm, hauling Rachel's head up so she could gasp in a breath just as Cruz thrust his fingers forward again.
She bit off a sharp cry, her eyes shut tight against the pleasure that rocked her. It was always this way on the nights when she came the hardest—a sudden, clenching orgasm followed by hours and hours of sensitivity, the kind where she could come again in a heartbeat if you breathed on her just right.
Oh yeah, Cruz was methodical. And fucking brilliant.
Rachel was still shaking, and Ace gave her hair one last tug as he urged her up his body. Cruz helped, maneuvering her smoothly as Ace coaxed her to rest her cheek against his chest.
She ended up with her knees on either side of his hips and her ass in the air, giving Ace a breathtaking view of Cruz. He'd discarded his shirt at some point, and the candlelight loved him. Bronzed skin, vivid ink, endless flexing muscles for the shadows to flirt with—he was a fucking god. Vengeful with everyone else, but never with them.
He retrieved the bottle of lube and spilled more of it on his fingers while Ace stroked a soothing path down Rachel's spine. “Hold on to me, angel, because he's gonna make you fly.”
She was still panting, and her fingers bit into his arms a second before her teeth scored his chest. “It's never enough. Twenty-four fucking hours a day, and it wouldn't be enough.”
Truer fucking words.
Cruz held Rachel's hip as his fingers pressed against her again—three this time. “If it's too much, you tell us you need to slow down, all right?”
“Don't,” she begged.
Ace caught her hand and twined their fingers together. “He won't, Rae, not unless you ask him to. But if you want him to keep going, you have to promise him this.”
“I know.” She took a shuddering breath. “I promise.”
“Good girl,” Ace murmured, stroking her spine again. She had flowers there, tattoos he'd designed and etched into her skin and had traced with his mouth and fingertips so many times he could do it without looking.
He calmed her as Cruz resumed his slow, purposeful thrusts, and when that wasn't enough, he wrapped both arms around her to hold her still as she came again. Hot, fast, hard. Even if she hadn't been bucking against him, Ace would have known it from the way Cruz hissed, from the way his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.
When Cruz worked a fourth finger into her, Rachel went tense and lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure, and her perfect, swollen lips formed a word she couldn't quite manage to voice.
Please.
Ace framed her face with her hands. She was ready, but Cruz would take no chances. “Stay with me, angel. Look at me. You're so close.”
She focused on him, but only for a moment before another wave swept her away. Her choked noise was one of ecstasy shot through with pure, absolute submission, a wordless cry that meant they'd pushed her beyond all her limits...and she still craved whatever they'd give her next.
“Cruz—”
“I know.”
Cruz reached for Ace's dick, his slick fingers stroking up the shaft until it was his turn choke on a groan. Just as quickly, the delicious caress vanished, and Ace pressed a thumb to Rachel's parted lips as Cruz moved her hips into place. “Come on, sweetheart.”
She rocked down before the words had all left his mouth. Seeking and desperate and wet, so wet that she took him in one endless, driving jolt.
“Fuck—” It was all Ace could do to stay still, not to meet her thrust, fuck up into her until the pleasure already blazing through him ignited. And she sure as hell wasn't waiting. Her hips twisted over his, fighting Cruz's grip.
Ace grabbed her ass and pinned her in place, her hips snug against his, his cock as deep as it could go. “Steady, angel. Almost there.”
She stilled against him. Ace kept murmuring to her, soothing, encouraging, promises he could barely remember because he knew what was coming.
It was heaven when it did. And hell. Cruz positioned the head of his cock as Ace lifted Rachel's hips. She whimpered when Cruz pressed forward, and Ace shut his eyes and told himself to be a rock, to be firm and in control, to ignore how fucking hot it was to feel Cruz's cock rubbing against his as he worked deeper—
And he definitely couldn't imagine how it looked. How Rachel looked, sprawled out in blissful pleasure, her ass in the air, her skin flushed, her pussy eagerly taking both of them because there was no fucking way they didn't fit together.
If he imagined that, he'd come before Cruz got all the way inside her.
Her nails raked Ace's shoulders as she tried to brace herself, not against Cruz's careful, gentle movements, but against ravenous sensation. “Oh, God. God—”
Fucking hell. She was coming again, coming around both of them, and Ace slammed his head back, as if even a goddamn concussion could delay the inevitable at this point. “Christ, Rae, you feel—”
Words failed him. The filthy ones always did when he needed them most. But Cruz curled his fingers around Rachel's shoulder, lifting and steadying her as he began his slow, rocking thrusts, and he said the only word that mattered. “Perfect.”
She whimpered, trapped by the position, by Cruz's control—and set free by the care he took with her.
With both of them.
The muscles in Cruz's arm flexed, making the inked dragons writhe in the candlelight, and Ace would have laughed with the joy of it if only he could have stopped moaning. A dragon to keep us safe—and fuck our everloving brains out.
It couldn't last forever. Rachel was swaying above him and even Cruz's stamina wasn't limitless. But if there was ever a moment to wallow in forever it was right now, when they were so close that every shift, every squirm, every breath shuddered through all three of them.
Then Rachel's pussy clenched again, and Ace didn't care about moments. He cared about tight, irresistible heat and the slide of Cruz's dick against his, and getting Rachel off one last time so they could join her. “Come on, angel. Come all over us.”
She cried out. Nothing as piercing as a scream, but something lower. More visceral. Her body quaked above his, around his, and Ace had mere seconds to gloat that Cruz lost it first. He shuddered and drove into her with a growl hot enough to bring a weaker man to his knees.
Ace was already flat on his back. So he clutched Rachel close and lost himself in her.
It was good. Teeth-grinding, toe-curling, knees-don't-fucking-work-anymore good. But the pleasure wasn't the part that had him groaning into her hair as he came inside her with a shudder.
As they both came inside her.
It would happen, and soon. Ace didn't care which of them knocked Rachel up because the baby would be theirs, their own personal fucking miracle. The three of them were good at miracles. They were the rock stars of miracles. Crashing together, staying together, loving hard enough to make it work even when life sucked.
But as they panted together, Rachel a sweet, boneless weight against his chest and Cruz leaning over them both, Ace thought it had to be tonight.
It felt like a night for miracles.
Rachel pushed against his chest. “We'll crush you.”
Ace laughed hoarsely. “Sounds good to me. I'm not moving anyway.”
“Lazy,” Cruz grumbled, but he was already easing back. They all hissed as he slipped away, and Ace knew Rachel had to be sore—or would be when the endorphins faded.
When Cruz was gone, Ace rolled to his side and settled Rachel in the nest of blankets. “Doing okay?”
“Mmm.” She smiled slowly, then opened her eyes the same
way. “Do you have to ask?”
“Always,” he answered solemnly. And he did, for the same reason Cruz was making one last check of the doors before returning to their bed with a gun to set within reach. Because they took of each other in the ways they knew best.
Rachel's smile widened. “I feel...like I could stay right here forever.”
Cruz settled in on her other side and dragged a blanket over them. “Careful what you wish for, darling. Ace hasn't made it to the gift shop yet. Once he does, he may never leave.”
“Wait a minute.” Ace propped himself up on his elbow and frowned. “What's in the gift shop?”
“See?” Cruz murmured, curling closer to her.
“Cruz, what the hell. What's in the fucking gift shop?”
Cruz reached over Rachel to tug him back down. “Art supplies. Starter kits full of paint and brushes, some sketch pads and pencils. Lots of stuff no one bothered to loot and everyone else forgot about.”
If his knees had been a little steadier, he'd already be crawling out from under the covers. Paint, real pre-Flare paint, was hard as shit to come by and cost a ton to import. The factories in Eight made paint, but it wasn't the same. The colors were off, muted and lacking in range, like the end of the world had narrowed the acceptable palette.
Cruz laughed softly. “Settle down, Ace. That's why I brought a car with a big trunk. We'll loot tomorrow.”
Rachel threaded her fingers through Cruz's and pulled his hand to her lips for a soft kiss. “Is there anything you won't give us?”
He smiled. “Not so far.”
And it was true. Ace relaxed against them, high on satisfaction, anticipation, and the sheer fucking impossibility of mattering so much to Cruz that he'd planned this. All of this—lost artwork and looting and the kind of sweetly obscene sex no one wrote poetry about because when it was that fucking good, you didn't want to share it.
They'd filled his world with shades of emotion he'd never seen. With colors that shouldn't exist. He'd been like his pilfered Monet, all angry oranges and reds burning fast and hot, burning out. Life had run him down until those were the only colors he could even see anymore.