The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

He was waiting for me to make my choice.

  I’d already made it, hadn’t I?

  But I was so overloaded with heat, I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. When I propped myself back up on my elbows and stared at the men, I found them waiting with bated breath, both hoping I wasn’t going to thank the man and dismiss him.

  My hand shook with anxious excitement as I reached out and threaded my fingers through the man’s wavy hair.

  It took him a moment to understand I wasn’t pushing him away, and his eyes widened with surprise before lidding with satisfaction. I tugged gently, urging him back to me and to use his mouth again. I wasn’t going to send him away.

  Beyond him, my partner’s lips fell open, and he let out a pleased sigh. The sound of it was the best kind of foreplay. It turned me on even further, not that I needed any help there. The need inside me was dire.

  The man’s tongue whipped at me, causing waves of bliss to crash through my center. I held Clay’s gaze, and his drilled right back into me, and my pulse sped until it felt like my heart was going to explode.

  Jesus. The stranger was like a human Hitachi, and he’d just flipped the setting up to ‘high.’

  “Fuck,” I groaned. My hips moved without thought, rocking against his face. My body was desperate to get off. I’d been existing in a prolonged state of arousal all night, and it had grown to a critical level during the show.

  Time blurred. It mixed and swirled until it no longer had a shape or meaning.

  But the man in the gray suit was relentless. When he paused to catch his breath and give his tongue a few seconds of rest, the pad of his thumb took over, rubbing back and forth on my sensitive clit.

  “I’m going to come,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure which man I was speaking to. No, that wasn’t true. I was letting them both know.

  Clay’s eyes lit up. “Do it.”

  This was a command I had no trouble obeying, not even when I knew some of the people in the room were watching. If anything, that just made it better.

  I clenched a fistful of the man’s hair to hold on, and let the orgasm take me. Pleasure poured through me like lava, igniting every nerve ending. It made my muscles contract and flinch, and a cry of ecstasy rang from deep in the back of my throat. It left no doubt what had happened.

  Dear lord, everything was tingling.

  But the man didn’t slow down. His strong hands clamped around my hips, pinning me to the leather and preventing my escape. He was shameless as he licked and caressed, disregarding the way I bucked and bowed from the acute pleasure.

  It wasn’t until I whined and let go of his hair that he finally released me, and—holy shit—he grinned like the devil. I’d just come, but I nearly did it all over again. His smile, coupled with his sexy hair that I’d disheveled, was lethal.

  I was still recovering when Clay spoke, his words for the man. “She’ll sit in front of me. I want her between us while you fuck her.”

  Oh, my God. Yes.

  Clay watching me with the stranger was hot enough, but being between these men? That would be incendiary.

  In my post-orgasm fog, my limbs were sluggish and shaky, but the man seemed aware. He straightened on his knees, helped me to sit upright, and then his arms circled around me, bringing us chest-to-chest.

  I stared up at him and his breathtaking mouth. We were close enough it’d take no effort for one of us to kiss the other. It was so strange. He’d gone down on me and given me an orgasm, and yet kissing him felt like too much. Too forward.

  Not to mention, it seemed shockingly dangerous.

  The threat of his kiss didn’t last because one of his hands moved down and slid beneath my bottom, and then I was hoisted up into his arms. He turned and lowered me into the empty spot at the edge of the couch, directly between Clay’s spread legs.

  As soon as I was seated, Clay put his hands on my waist and eased me toward him, so my back was against his hard chest. It was stunning how quickly everything had flipped. Now he was the one doing the touching and the man was the one watching us. As Clay gathered my hair and swooped it over a shoulder so it would be out of his way, I rested my hands on his knees.

  It was nice, being up against him.

  He tipped his head down, pressed his mouth to the pulse point just below my ear, and as he spoke, his lips fluttered against my skin. “Tell him to take his dick out. You want to see it.”

  It was involuntary how my hands clenched on him, my body’s response to the heat of his order. I repeated his words as a tight, urgent plea to the man. “Get your dick out. I want to see it.”

  The corner of his mouth hooked up like he was about to reveal a big secret, and it was sexy as hell. While he undid his belt and the fly of his gray suit pants, Clay shifted behind me. His arm snaked between our bodies as he retrieved something from his jacket pocket.

  Then, a foil packet was slipped beneath my palm.

  Well . . . if that wasn’t approval of what he wanted to happen, I didn’t know what was. My fingers curled around the condom while I watched the stranger’s methodical fingers work on undressing himself.

  His pants were undone, but not down. He left them open and on his hips because his hands were busy pushing the tail of his tie over his shoulder, and then those efficient hands moved to undo the bottom few buttons of his dress shirt. It parted to reveal defined abs and the black waistband of his snug underwear.

  I swallowed hard as he pushed a hand inside and dug out his cock—

  Oh, he was hiding a big secret.

  Warmth spread across my cheeks as I stared at the thick, hard dick in his grasp, his fist stroking ever-so-slowly back and forth. Like me, he wasn’t shy about being naked, and didn’t seem to care who was watching. Maybe he got off on it too, like I had tonight.

  “Look at that,” Clay whispered in my ear. “You want him to put all that inside you, don’t you?”

  I bit my lip to hold back my moan. Thankfully, his question was rhetorical. He was aware how much I desired the man, and his fingertips traced lines over the back of my palm, reminding me of the condom he’d pressed into my hand.

  “Put this on him.”

  There was freedom in being under Clay’s direction. I didn’t have a problem taking initiative or making a move, but his guidance meant less guesswork for me. I was still in control and knew I could say no or change my mind at any point. I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. But it also felt like while my boundaries were expanding, the consequences weren’t.

  I had to shift forward in my seat to reach the man in the gray suit, and his eyes were brimming with lust as I tore open the wrapper with my unsteady hands. Once I had the condom out, I stared at him in silent question. It seemed silly to ask if I could touch him, but . . .

  He understood my hesitation because he nodded and moved his hand out of my way. His dick jutted out from his body, waiting for me.

  I couldn’t help but smile when my fingers closed around him and he jerked in response. The muscles in his jaw flexed as I tentatively pumped my fist over him. Not that he needed help getting warmed up—he was already rock hard—but I wanted to touch him before there was anything between us.

  He held perfectly still as I fitted the condom over the head of his dick and rolled the ring down, but he let out a tight groan like he was enduring exquisite torture from me. When I finished, he stroked a hand over himself, adjusting the fit so it was how he wanted it.

  Cool fingers were set on my shoulder, and Clay urged me to lean back against him once more. At the same time, the man hooked one of my legs over his elbow and pulled my hips closer to him. My ass was barely on the edge of the couch, and I was lying with my head resting on Clay’s chest.

  It meant the men could stare down at me, and the moment was intensely powerful. They must have felt it too because both of them drew in a breath and held it. My gaze darted from Clay to the center of my legs and the man who held himself steady but
hadn’t advanced on me.

  “He won’t without your consent,” Clay said. “So, tell him what we want him to do.”

  He’d said we and not you, and knowing Clay wanted this as much as I did made my heart skip and stumble.

  I peered up at the man and held his gaze while I lifted a hand toward Clay. I curled it behind his neck to hold on to him, and the words came from me drenched with need. “I want you to fuck me.”

  Permission granted, the man inched forward, and the sheathed tip of him brushed against my entrance, the head of his cock sliding back and forth in luxurious, teasing strokes.

  Did both men understand the trembles cascading down my legs weren’t anxiety, but anticipation? Excitement flooded my system, overwhelming me and stealing my breath. So when he lined himself up and began to push inside me, my mouth rounded into a perfectly silent, “Oh.”

  He was thick and long and a lot to take, but he moved slowly, and the sensation of fitting my body around him had my toes curling into points inside my shoes. Sheer concentration was etched in his expression as he eased deeper, like he was struggling mightily to keep control.

  Inch by inch, he slid inside . . . all the way until I put a hand on his bare stomach, signaling for him to stop. That was as far as he could go. He might have been the biggest guy I’d ever had, and I was going to have to work up to being able to take more.

  “Shit,” I groaned when he withdrew his hips and then pressed forward again at a painstakingly slow pace. Pleasure swamped my brain, graying out the rest of the room so only these two men I was trapped between remained.

  “You like it?” Clay’s tone was provocative. “Tell him.”

  The man’s tempo picked up to a steady, perfect pace. Fast and deep enough to drive into the right spot, but just slow enough so I could feel every movement—even the subtle flex of him when I gasped with satisfaction.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “It feels so fucking good.”

  The man’s jaw tightened. He liked hearing that, and maybe he wanted to reply, but it looked like he was holding it back. Perhaps he worried how that would go over with his friend, the one who was in charge of this scene and could end it at any moment.

  “Yeah?” I didn’t have to see Clay’s corrupt smile to know it was there. I heard it in his question. “Is he stretching you out?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  I sank further into the couch and back against his chest as the man clamped a hand on my hip, leaned closer, and held me in place so he could fuck me better. It was madness being sandwiched between these two men, and there was hardly any space between us. The man was inside me, and Clay was wrapped around me, so it felt like we were all connected. One unit, rather than three separate people.

  It was indescribable how much I liked the concept.

  Since he still had his suit on, a bead of sweat formed at the man’s temple and trickled down. I understood. I was sweating as well beneath the boning of my corset. Did Clay somehow know? His hands went around me and slid up the front of my top . . . stopping when they reached the top slide-clasp.

  He undid the first one, then another.

  It wasn’t enough to expose my breasts to the man or anyone else in the room. He’d only done it to make room for himself, so he could slip a hand inside and cup one of my breasts. I moaned when his fingers found my nipple and began to pinch.

  “Everyone’s watching you,” he said, squeezing harder. “Just like you wanted. You look so fucking sexy, they all wish they were him right now.”

  I tried to picture what they saw. How the man’s thrusts were pushing deeper inside me, little by little. The way my legs were wrapped around his hips, one hand splayed out on his chest and my other still bent behind me to hold on to Clay. He had one hand down the top of my undone corset, and the other at my waist where my skirt was bunched.

  And while my gaze was locked on to the man in front of me, my attention was split equally with the one at my back. The man was physically inside me, but Clay was inside my mind, stoking my wicked thoughts.

  The pinch on my nipple grew in intensity right along with the man’s hurried tempo, and Clay’s grip was no longer pleasant. It turned achy and white-hot as it went on. Even when I whimpered and my breath went ragged, he didn’t back down. His unrelenting pinch rode the rise and fall of my chest, never losing tension.

  It hurt.

  And yet . . .

  Like his ruler, I liked the pain. It focused me into the moment and made me experience both men physically at the same time. One was pleasure, and one was pain, and my body had no idea which one it liked more.

  Clay shifted beneath me, and I could feel he was aroused. The man’s thrusts were hard enough they reverberated through me, making me rock against the erection at my back. Did the man realize as he was fucking me, he wasn’t just giving Clay pleasure through the visual—he was causing it as well?

  “Fuck,” I whined. The pain in my nipple was agony and would have scrambled my thoughts—if I’d had any left. I didn’t because the man drove into me at a mind-numbing pace. All I could do was experience.

  Since my mind was voided out, Clay moved in and took over the space.

  “I’m the one who made this possible.” His hand on my waist drifted up, and for a split second I panicked that he was going to put his other hand inside my corset. I wouldn’t be able to take it if he decided to pinch me on the other side too. But his hand continued to travel upward. “Everything you feel right now is because of me. All this pain, all this pleasure. His big cock filling you up? That’s me.”

  I heard Clay’s words while I stared at the handsome stranger, and it only further blurred the two men together into one.

  My body was desperate and aching for relief. An orgasm had been a distant dream but suddenly closed in as a very possible reality, and heat built in my center. My soft moans swelled into gasping, urgent cries. When I grew shamefully loud, Clay’s hand went over my mouth, his fingers catching and muffling my needy groans.

  I dangled right on the cusp for a second and an eternity, the moment suspending between wanting it to be over and begging for it to never end.

  The man’s hips beat furiously into me, and Clay dropped his head into the crook of my neck. In my heightened state, everything was more sensitive. His whiskers were sharp, scraping against my skin as his lips parted, and then he sank his teeth into my neck—right where my pulse pounded.

  His bite wasn’t any worse than his merciless fingers twisting my nipple, but the new source of pain crossed more wires inside me and caused exquisite chaos. The final push I needed came just after, when the man adjusted my leg draped over his arm. The change in the angle was delicious, but it was where he had put a hand down to brace himself that detonated the pleasure in my body.

  He gripped Clay’s thigh, and both men seemed comfortable with the placement.

  “I’m coming,” I cried.

  “Yes,” the men said at the same time. Or maybe they had a singular voice now, speaking as one.

  Fireworks blasted up my spine and shimmered through my limbs. My breath cut off as my lungs shut down and my heart jerked to a sudden halt. It was like every function in my body had to power down to weather the storm of my orgasm.

  Which was shockingly intense. So fucking powerful, tears welled in my eyes.

  Pain shifted onto its side, morphing into something else. Clay’s pinch was gone, but the burning ache became pins and needles as blood rushed back to my skin. The harshness of his bite on my neck softened into a kiss.

  I was left quaking when the most intense orgasm of my life began to recede, and it left me only vaguely aware the man was close to coming. It wasn’t until his brow furrowed and his expression twisted with a carnal hunger that I realized what was about to happen. The muscles rippling beneath my palm tightened, and a huge gasp of breath burst from his lips.

  His thrusts fell out of rhythm, turning jerky and erratic before slowing nearly to a stop
. “Fuck.”

  His face left no doubt he was orgasming, but there were also the pulses inside me to signal how much pleasure was rolling through him. Wave after wave, diminishing until there was only his uneven breath left in the aftermath.

  God, he was beautiful like this. His eyes were clear but unfocused, and he looked at me like I held all the secrets he’d been searching for his whole life. Didn’t he know that wasn’t possible? He knew more about Clay’s world than I did.

  I suspected I was staring back at him in exactly the same way.

  “Thank you,” a cool male voice interrupted.

  It broke the spell between us, and the man blinked, turning his gaze toward the person who’d just spoken. Irritation flitted through his eyes as he peered at Clay, but it vanished a heartbeat later.

  Once again, the men conducted a wordless conversation as they exchanged a look, and the result of it did not make the man happy. He withdrew from me and slid his hand away from Clay’s leg, until he was no longer touching either of us.

  We were silent while he pulled up his pants and clenched them closed with a fist. What had happened? The mood had turned cold as soon as Clay had thanked him—

  Ecstasy and agony no longer lingered in my system, but my brain was slow to restart. What was it Clay had said earlier? How if I told the man thank you—it meant it was over and he was supposed to go downstairs?

  Oh.

  He’d just told his friend to leave.

  The man climbed to his feet and cast his gaze down on me. It looked like he wanted me to say something, to ask Clay if he could stay, and I opened my mouth . . . but nothing came out. I was out of sorts and hadn’t a clue how to put what I was feeling into words.

  So, the man turned and walked away, but rather than head for the stairs, he went the other way and disappeared into the restroom.

  Clay extracted his hand from my top and refastened the clasps of my corset as I remained leaning against him, too stunned to move. Once my corset was closed, he pushed down the sides of my skirt so I was decent again, then shifted me in his arms so I was seated sideways. I stared at my legs draped over one of his, my heels on the couch.