Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1)

by Gail McHugh

  “Jesus, you’re already wet for us.” Brock’s husky whisper moves across my cheek, my pulse hammering through my chest as my G-spot’s found and hooked with skilled precision.

  “So goddamn sweet,” Ryder says, the heat of his mouth blazing a line of urgency down my spine. My back bows, my pussy clenching around a third finger as it works its way inside me. “Do you know which one of us is finger-fucking you?”

  “No,” I pant, my head dizzy with curiosity. My hips rock with my pleasure-inducer’s steady rhythm as I grind against his talented fingers. “I . . . I don’t.”

  “It’s both of us,” Brock offers, his voice encased in a delicious, tempered growl. “Now it’s time to guess which one of us is about to lick this pussy until it aches to be fucked.”

  Before I can say a word, they simultaneously withdraw their fingers, the chilled air rolling across my dampened flesh in their wake. Wasting not a single second, a pair of hands shackles my wrists, gently lifting my arms over my head. A surge of adrenaline floods my listless muscles, my heart thrashing as fear, desire, and excitement create a craving so intense—so brutally intoxicating—I feel as if I’m about to explode.

  Another pair of hands brushes down my collarbone, along the sides of my breasts, the soft silk of a tongue stopping to lick, suck, and lightly bite my nipples before coming to rest where I need it most. I moan, my fingers gripping a shoulder for support as my leg is guided onto an unknown surface.

  Hands still held captive above my head, I shimmy my ass against the hardened cock of whoever’s behind me, each of my senses tested as I hear what I assume are knees hitting the ground, followed by a soft, cool breath over my slickened folds. A hand grips the underside of my thigh, lifting my leg higher, as a tongue laps my clit, sucking on the swollen bud with a long, deep, mind-numbing groan.

  “Oh my God,” I pant, ripping my wrists free from their confines. My fingers seek the hair of the man whose tongue is pleasuring me as I thrust my hips forward, grinding my pussy against his face. “God, yes. Please don’t stop.”

  From behind, a hand comes around the side of my jaw, tugging my head back as soft lips capture mine in a ravenous kiss, a groan on the heels of each greedy swipe of his tongue. Before tonight, if someone had asked me if I could tell the difference between Brock’s and another man’s touch, I would have said without a doubt I could. But once whoever was just devouring me pulls away, I’m left clueless as to who’s where and doing what. All I know is I’m surging with an intense desire to feel these men fill me, take me, use me up until I beg them to stop.

  Almost perfectly timed, the mouth buried between my legs halts its delicious intrusion as I’m swept up—bride-style—into strong, thick arms. Another deep kiss, this one just as intense as all the rest, before I’m gently placed on the bed. My back melts against cool silk sheets as anticipation lights me up, yearning dizzying my head with every nervous breath I try for.

  “Spread your legs.” Brock’s voice threads through the air, his heated command spoken from too far away to determine where he is.

  I obey, no inhibitions or fear hindering my movements. I’ll give them whatever they want, whatever they need, my entire body Brock’s and Ryder’s to keep.

  Large hands wrap around my ankles, spreading my legs wider, opening me up, not an inch of me unexposed to their eyes. I’m pulled to the very edge of the mattress, the reality of what’s about to happen yanking me—in the best way possible—clear out of my weed-induced high.

  Not expecting to feel anything so soon, my breath escapes me in a harsh rush as Ryder and Brock each take a breast in their hand and sweep their tongues over the hardened peaks of my nipples. I lurch forward, tingles screaming across my skin as my heels hit the wood floor, their echo lost amid the increased pounding of my heart.

  They pull away for what feels like an eternity before I feel a touch again on my inner thigh. The bed dips with the weight of a body to my left, a tantalizing groan to my right. A tongue licks a fiery trail up the bend of my calf as fingers trace my swollen lips, the shell of my ear, and the curve of my jaw. A mouth descends upon mine, kissing me soft and slow. Its addictive taste is familiar yet unfamiliar, but delicious all the same as its rhythm picks up, kissing me faster, harder. Another talented set of lips finds the flat of my stomach, moves up the arch of my ribs, the sensitive swell of my breasts, and ultimately lands on my neck, where it sucks with vigor, each teasing bite and masterful flick turning me into a fiend for them, for this, for us.

  Drowning in an ocean of bliss, I let out a shaky whimper. My fingers delve into a thick mane of hair as a glorious tongue dances with mine. Another meets my ankle, its warmth traveling to the back of my knee, the curve of my waist, and the dip of my navel before heading back south, lapping at my clit with urgency.

  My womb jerks in ecstasy, sweat gathering between my breasts as two fingers effortlessly slide inside me. Letting out a guttural groan, my boy licks me slow—ripening me up—his mouth attacking every inch of my pussy as my muscles buckle under the pressure of my approaching orgasm.

  “You taste better than I could’ve ever imagined.” Ryder’s snarl travels across the room, his free hand digging into the back of my thigh. “I could suck on this pussy for days.”

  Curiosity burns across my body, scalding everything in its path, intensifying my need to watch Ryder take me so intimately as I spring up onto my elbows and yank the tie from my eyes. Breathless, the delicious sight of him buried between my legs annihilates the air in my lungs, my already explosive want for him igniting into something dangerous, mentally lethal.

  On instinct, I flit a nervous glance at Brock, scared of what his reaction to all of this is, petrified of how I’ll receive it.

  I gnaw on my lip, guilt edging the deceitful corners of my self-indulgent mind as I touch his jaw. “I love you,” I whisper, praying he believes me, hoping I haven’t killed off his ability in being able to fully trust me after tonight. “I love you so much. I need you to know this, feel it without a speck of uncertainty.”

  “I do, baby girl.” The drowsy cadence of his voice feels like the finest cashmere, its warmth coating my stomach. “I know it more than you’ll ever understand.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and swathes my lips in a kiss, each deep, probing press of his tongue absorbing another piece of my heart into his. In one fluid motion, he drops his mouth to my breast, capturing my nipple between his teeth, gently biting it. A gasp kicks from my throat, my spine arched as the healing caresses of his and Ryder’s tongues send a bolt of electricity through my limbs. Brock pulls back, his heated grin detrimental to my sanity as he juts his chin toward Ryder. “Like the way he’s taking care of you?”

  Slowing his strokes, Ryder pins his eyes to mine, his grip on my waist easing as he swirls his tongue around the rim of my ass, making sure he catches every last drop of my excitement. Taking his time—worshipping me like a peasant would his queen, his mouth making love to my pussy—Ryder kisses my clit as he stretches his hands up my stomach to my breasts. He squeezes them, then groans, the sound so erotic, so insanely intense, I start to fall apart. My muscles lock up as a delicious army of flames spit hot tendrils of pleasure over my sweat-saturated pores, my orgasm milliseconds from exploding into the air.

  However, every heavenly sensation comes to a screeching stop as Ryder stills.

  I moan in disappointment, my body aching in protest. “What are you doing? I was almost there, Ryder. Why’d you stop? Just keep . . .” I pause, suddenly self-conscious. I reach between my legs, making sure my Brazilian wax is still good to go. All clear. I furrow my brows, praying to God I’m cool everywhere else. “Wait. Is something . . . wrong?”

  He slithers up my stomach, his rigid body hovering above mine as a lazy grin fills his face. “No. Nothing’s wrong, momma.” He cushions his mouth to my ear, his words a soft whisper meant only for me to dissolve. “Something as perfect as you are can never
be wrong. It’s fucking impossible.”

  Soft and slow, he kisses me like he’ll never get to experience feeling my lips on his ever again, like someone’s about to steal them away from his possession. The infusion of my unique taste on his tongue, coupled with his, fires me up, my fingers white-knuckling his hair as I buck my hips, seeking his cock. He growls and deepens the kiss, both of us unleashing months of pent-up sexual energy with each deep lick and angry stroke.

  “Christ. Just kissing you fucks me up,” he says with a heavy rasp, sucking on my bottom lip. “I knew you’d become an addiction.”

  I wrap my legs around his waist, despising that his boxers are still separating me from what I so desperately need. I move my hands to his waistband—insistent on remedying the problem—but Ryder snags my wrist.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” he chides playfully. “Not yet. Patience, beautiful one.”

  My pout only fuels the unmistakable amusement swallowing Ryder’s expression as Brock joins in on the taunting, nipping my earlobe.

  I sigh, feeling ganged up on.

  “And you’re correct,” Ryder continues, a smirk catching the corner of his mouth. “I knew you were almost there. That’s why I stopped.” He lifts my hand to his lips and glides his tongue around my fingers, down the center of my palm, brushing it over my wrist before trailing it to the inside crease of my elbow. “I believe we had this conversation before, remember? I get off on the whole prolonging thing. Don’t worry, though. I have every intention of bringing you back to where you were, Pip.”

  “Pip?” I drop my eyes from his as he unbuttons his dress shirt, his rippled muscles—soaked in ink, from his glorious neck to the beautiful V of his waist—flexing as he pitches the material across the room.

  “Yeah . . . Pip,” he answers in a low growl, all playfulness gone as he wets his lips. I watch him carefully, a breath fighting up my throat as he slides down my stomach, shackling my ankles in one hand. He dips his head and stares at me a moment—raw hunger lighting his baby blues—before kissing the contour of my calf, the back of my thigh, and the bend of my hip, each tantalizing movement sucking me into the vortex of beautiful oblivion that makes Ryder who he is.

  On a groan, he spreads me wide, his tongue gracing my inner thigh as he settles on his elbows, tugging my legs over his shoulders. I freeze, the I’m about to tear you up look bolting through his eyes seizing my heart as he blows a cool breath across the slickened pleats of my warmth.

  “It’s short for Pretty”—his finger circles the entrance of my ass, his tongue prowling the edges of my clit—“Italian”—he captures the bundle of nerves between his teeth, groaning as he pulls me flush to his face—“Pussy.”

  “Oh. My. God,” I moan, my body humming hot as he lifts my bottom from the bed, spearing his tongue past the puckered, sensitive flesh of my ass. “Mm, yes. Please don’t stop this time, Ryder. I need to come so bad, it hurts.”

  He and Brock go all out, nothing soft or gentle in the way either takes me. I rock my hips in tandem with the strokes of Ryder’s tongue fucking into me, my back bowed as Brock’s mouth comes down over my nipples, neck, and lips. Devouring me like a hungry animal would its prey, but still in tune with what I mentally need, they shower me with praise, each man telling me how much I mean to them as they continue to go at it. Their confessions sing to me, their words filling the gouged-out wounds scarring my heart.

  With their soft yet rough hands running over my heated skin—their touch wiping out every hideous thing that’s ever harmed me—I crumble, my legs convulsing around Ryder’s shoulders as I let go.

  “I want more than one from you,” Ryder snarls, nipping my clit as his free hand teases my nipples. “I need more than one, peach. You taste too fucking good, and I’ve waited a long time for this. I ain’t stopping until you come for me again.”

  “Oh, she’ll deliver.” Brock slides across the bed and tosses my leg over his shoulder. A grin kicks up the corner of his mouth as he joins in, working two fingers inside me. “Bet on that.”

  My pulse jumps, the delicious pressure of their dual stimulation eating me alive as they ravage my flesh. It doesn’t take long before I’m dangling over the edge of pleasure’s cliff, my heart speeding toward implosion as I hold my breath, feeling another orgasm building.

  “I’m . . . Oh God, I’m about to . . .” Unable to finish my sentence, I sink my hand into Ryder’s hair and pull him against my warmth, the fingers of my other hand clawing Brock’s nape as a second, then a third orgasm rocks through me. “Yes! Oh my God, yes!”

  Before I can take a breath, Brock and Ryder crawl up the bed, laying rows of kisses along my hips, waist, and tummy. Anywhere they can kiss, they do. I bite my lip, my head dizzy, my heart warming with each greedy yet gentle touch against my dampened skin. They roll onto their sides, sandwiching me between them, reverence thick in their eyes as they worship every inch of my body, each man making sure they play with a different part from what the other’s indulging in. Ryder grins and toys with a strand of my hair, his teeth snagging my earlobe in a gentle bite as Brock sweeps a slow hand over my breast, lightly pinching my nipple.

  “Other than coming again,” Brock says against my lips, a smirk shadowing his face, “which will happen—what do you really want?”

  Though I know exactly what I want, a sense of betrayal burns in my chest. I get to my knees, my words a whisper. “I feel . . . weird saying it.”

  “I could be wrong, but I think weird happened three orgasms ago,” Brock deadpans, his reassuring smile settling me some as he, too, sits up on his knees. He drags his fingers down my stomach, circling my navel before sinking them inside my pussy. I moan, my forehead falling listless against his chest, my nails biting into his shoulder as I grind down on his hand. Knowing my body better than he does his own, Brock finds my G-spot faster than I can blink, his free hand fisting the back of my hair as I start riding his fingers like I would his dick.

  Panting, I swing my gaze to Ryder’s. My head instantly splits with the need to be fucked as he frees his cock from his boxers, palming the Prince Albert–pierced piece. Shocked, I take in the circular barbell, an excited edge of fear slicing through me as he strokes it, his eyes locked on mine with every teasingly slow, measured pull. Dear Lord, this man’s as sinfully bad and deliciously good as they get. The best and worst part? He knows it. Working every blessed inch of his irresistible charm, triple-take good looks, and hard slabs of muscle, Ryder Ashcroft’s fully aware he’s a king in his own right.

  The only piercing that I was remotely aware of is in his tongue. Judging by the grin shifting the corner of his mouth and the overly entertained look on his face, I’m more than certain he’s enjoying my embarrassing reaction. Continuing to stroke his cock, Ryder slides his tongue over his lips, the desire in his baby blues scalding my already-heated skin as he watches Brock finger-fuck me. Trying but miserably failing to look away, I drop my eyes from his, moving them down every inch of ink, which tells his story one masterful image at a time, resting them on what I’m positive is going to pleasure me in ways I’ve never been pleasured.

  If there’s such a thing as a beautiful cock, Ryder Ashcroft’s the proud owner of one. Long and thick, an indescribably perfect engorged pierced head, and veins straining beneath at least nine rock-hard inches of delectable, give it to me now male flesh, it’s the epitome of what dampens panties around the globe.

  My lips part, tingling to taste it.

  Brock’s groan breaks me from Ryder’s hidden gem as he removes his fingers from me and brings them to his mouth. “Can never get enough of this,” he whispers, sucking my moisture from them. Eyes glued to mine, Brock dips his head and flicks his tongue over my nipples, giving equal attention to its twin. “Remember, your pleasure’s mine and then some. Nothing’s off-limits. Just say it, Ber. Tell me what you really want.”

  I swallow my nervousness, allowing his needs to let mine run free. “I
—I want to suck Ryder off while you fuck me,” I answer in a timid whisper, still in shock that any of this is happening, that I actually spoke those words to my boyfriend. I pull him to my mouth and kiss him hard, needing to show him how much I love him, how thankful I am that he’s letting me explore this side of myself. I dump my past, present, and future into the kiss, adrenaline expanding my veins as I reach behind me, seeking Ryder. The bed dips with the weight of him rising, his chiseled chest pressed to my back as I continue to kiss Brock.

  “You wanna taste me, peach?” Ryder asks, his lips ravishing my neck, his hands finding my waist. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” I moan, one hand buried in Brock’s hair, the other drifting over Ryder’s balls. “Please. I need to taste it right now.”

  The sound of their heavy breathing explodes through the room as they circle my body, changing positions. From behind, Brock slides his hand up my stomach, trailing fire over my skin as he pulls me back to rest against his chest. Lips cushioned to my ear, he sucks my lobe into his mouth, his tongue undoing me as he drags it down my spine, along the dip of my neck, and back up to my ear. Stuck in a mindless, lustful haze, all thoughts of right and wrong, of yes and no, disappear as the heat of his cock glides down the seam of my ass, lighting me up with every slow stroke.

  “Suck his dick like you do mine.” The dominance in Brock’s low rasp thrills me as he presses a hand to my shoulder. Sneaking the other around to the flat of my stomach, he bends me onto my hands and knees, then pulls in a ragged breath as he teases his cock against the entrance of my pussy. “Wrap those pretty lips around it and suck it real good. Real slow, baby girl. Show him how it’s supposed to be done. What he’s been missing.”

  I look up, desire spinning a deadly web through my head as I meet Ryder’s gaze. The intensity of his stare pierces my skin, its potency demolishing every last ounce of my uncertainty in its destructive path. My hunger for him surges, pitching my thoughts beyond the room filled with the two men I crave more than air, more than life itself. Words vanish, morphing into flashes of mine and Ryder’s past, our undeniable ache for each other flipping through my mind as I watch him watching me.