by Nikki Sloane
Oh.
I finally understood when E squatted, unlatched the side, and opened the piece. It uncovered the dark-stained wood legs that were inside, and I realized I was looking at the underside of a folding table. As he locked the tabletop in place and worked to unfold the legs, I pushed myself upright. With my hands tied and my body still recovering from the spectacular orgasm, I couldn’t help him set it up, but he didn’t need my help, anyway. Instead, I used the time to brush whatever dust I could off my chest.
Once E had everything done, he grabbed a leg, tilted the table on its side, then lifted and set it on its legs.
Of course the table was sexy and beautiful, but it couldn’t compete with the man standing beside it. His gaze landed on the phone before drifting to me, and then he sauntered my direction, looking far more confident than I’d seen him before. Right before he reached me, he veered to the stand that was holding my phone and moved it to the edge of the table. He bent slightly, making sure the newly set up table was in frame, then straightened and grabbed the ropes at my wrists.
Both men were silent as he tugged me to the edge of the table, so the only sound was our shuffling footsteps. E’s hands slid up the ropes, all the way to my throat, then parted to smooth over my shoulders. He leaned in, setting his mouth against my neck, just above the place where the rope was wrapped.
Any recovery I’d made was instantly wiped out by his soft kiss. My knees went soft again, and I tried not to sag into his arms while his damp, warm mouth created wonderful shivers. His hands continued to move, sliding down over my chest, and cupped my breasts. As he brushed his thumbs over my hardened nipples, my gaze was on the screen of the phone.
Clay studied me as I studied him. E’s mouth followed his hands, his head dipping down so his lips could capture one of my nipples, and heat snapped through my body.
“Have you,” I said between gulps of air, “ever done anything like this before?”
E hesitated, like he wanted to answer, but knew he shouldn’t. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other, so my question was supposed to be for Clay.
“No,” Clay said. “The night at the club was a first for me.” He was still stroking himself, but his movements had slowed, and his tone was uneven. Unsure. “I’ve never shared a partner before.”
E steadied my other breast in his hand and focused his mouth on it. The sharp edge of his teeth bit, just hard enough to feel amazing, and my heart beat in double-time. “Do you like it?”
“Yes. I do.” One corner of Clay’s mouth turned up in a smile. “What about you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
It was getting difficult to stand, but E had an arm around my back for support, holding me upright while he feasted on my flesh. My eyes were heavy with desire, but I fought to keep them open and my gaze on Clay. Since my question had echoed his when we’d been in his study, the first time we’d played together, I also echoed his response.
“I’m glad I get to be your first.”
E’s teeth latched down, even harder this time, and I squeaked with surprise. My wide-eyed stare dropped to the man whose tongue spun a circle on my nipple while he watched me. It felt like he wanted my attention, to remind me he was here too. I expected punishment from Clay, but not E, and it was both dangerous and thrilling. Clay was in charge, but that didn’t mean E was submissive.
And perhaps to prove it, he picked me up in his arms, and put one knee, then the other up on the padded top, climbing onto the table. My legs went around his waist, and he lowered me onto my back on the leather, dropping me so quickly I landed with a thud and my head bounced.
He was perched over me on his hands and knees, and because I was under him, there was nowhere else to look but at his victorious smile. Oh, he liked having my full attention. My bound hands were in front of me, so he grabbed them and flung them up over my head, out of his way. I had to turn my head to the side so the rope connecting them to my throat wasn’t stretched across my face.
The table wasn’t all that wide, but it was long, and E had more than enough room to maneuver. He kissed and bit a line down my body, pausing over my breasts before moving on, working lower. The table beneath us didn’t shake or make a sound as he shifted on his knees and backed down off it. Then he hooked a finger under the lace trim, pulled my panties to the side, and set his mouth on me.
It punched a moan of satisfaction from my center, and my back arched off the tabletop. His mouth—oh, my God—it made me quiver. It poured fire over my body, injected it into my bloodstream, heating me like an inferno.
Nearby, my phone sat on the table, its camera catching it all for Clay to enjoy. He watched how I writhed and bucked, heard how I gasped and whimpered. He saw E straighten, grasp the sides of my underwear, and jerk my panties off. I had to put my legs together and lift them straight into the air, but as soon as the fabric was free, E slapped my ankles apart and lunged down between my spread thighs.
It was feral, the way he attacked me with his tongue. Aggressive and rough, as if having to remove my underwear was an interruption he couldn’t afford to have. An unfair obstacle thrown in his way.
Clay had told me he hoped I wasn’t fragile, and since I had proved to them both that I wasn’t, E didn’t treat me that way either. He nuzzled into me, his head moving side to side as his tongue lashed and flicked and fucked.
I had to heave air in and out of my lungs.
Sweat coated my skin. I could feel it on the back of my neck, trapped beneath the rope. I could barely make us out in the small box in the corner of the screen, but I saw what I wanted to. Me naked except for the black rope. E’s head between my legs—although one of them blocked his face. He had his arms under my thighs and his hands on my stomach, his fingers laced together.
It was fucking erotic.
Live-streaming porn for Clay, and he gazed at us with so much lust, it filled every pixel of the screen.
He didn’t speak, though. There were no questions for me or directions for E. Clay was an observer now, not an active participant, and the thought materialized in my head. This was why E had looked so confident when he’d brought me to the table.
What he was doing right now? This wasn’t scripted. It was his time.
And he was efficient with it. As he fucked me with his skilled tongue, he started to work on undressing himself. He toed off his shoes, then jerked off his socks, one after the other. When that was done, his hands went to his waist and worked to undo his jeans.
He moved with urgency. It wasn’t like he was under a time limit—at least, I didn’t think—his hurried hands seemed to be propelled simply with need. Did he feel like I had earlier? Was he gripped with the same irrational thought that there was a bomb ticking inside him, and if he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d die?
Dark gray underwear was all that was left to be removed, but he didn’t take it off. Instead, he went to his bag and retrieved something from one of the pockets before walking over to the end of the table where my hands rested.
The condom was dropped to the leather beside me, left within reach for when he’d need it. But right now, he was focused on turning me so I was on my stomach. As I rolled over, he urged me backward on the table, forcing me up onto my hands and knees. It was so there was space for him to climb up on the padded tabletop and join me.
E was on his spread knees, but upright, and there was nothing submissive about his posture. If I had any doubts about what he wanted, he cleared those up by pushing his underwear down until it stretched across his thighs, set his impressive erection free, and canted his hips toward my face.
Since my hands were tied and I needed my arms for support, the only thing I could do was open my mouth and let him push his cock inside. His strong hands gathered up my loose hair, keeping it out of my way, but also using his grip to hold me in place.
You want to be used.
It was what I’d said I wanted, and E was happy to oblige. His grip was firm on the b
ack of my head as he sawed his cock in and out, fucking my mouth like he didn’t care if I enjoyed it. I was there for his pleasure. He was so freaking big and hard, it was a lot to take. His hips pumped furiously, pushing deep enough that I choked and gagged. He eased off but didn’t retreat entirely, and his shallow, slower thrusts gave me just enough time to recover before picking up the pace again.
It was messy. Saliva dripped from my lips, dangling in a thread onto the leather, but it was ignored. I wondered what Clay thought. From his angle and with my hair held back, surely he could see everything. My jaw began to ache from how rough and big E was, but . . . shit.
It was so freaking hot.
I gasped for air as he abruptly pulled back and released his grip on my hair, and my head hung down while I tried to catch my breath. The condom was snatched up as he got down off the table and shed his underwear.
“Turn around,” Clay ordered. “I’m going to fuck you now.”
A shift went through the room. E’s time was over, and we were back under Clay’s direction. It was awkward following the order since I was tied up, but I managed it, and once I was on my hands and knees facing the other way, E climbed up behind me and rolled on the condom.
A gasp burst from my lips when he buried himself inside me.
“Shit,” I groaned at the abrupt intrusion. Like last time, he pushed deep enough it was right at the edge of discomfort. How the fuck did girls take a big dick in porn like it was easy?
I attempted to watch us on the screen, but the last thing I saw was E tangle a hand in the hair at the crown of my head before he jerked me back, forcing my gaze up toward the ceiling. Was this how Clay intended to fuck me? Rough and urgent?
As E tugged my head back, it made the rope between my neck and my wrists go taut. The cords wrapped tighter around my throat, and my back arched, allowing him to drive deeper inside me.
My moan was a mixture of dissatisfaction and pleasure, and my brain was in total conflict. How did something that was uncomfortable also feel good? Like, really good?
Careless hips slammed against my ass, creating hot, stinging slaps on my irritated skin. His hand fisting my hair was harsh, inadvertently twisting and pulling strands with each thrust he gave, and my scalp ached, but the gasps and moans he twisted and pulled from me were more deliberate. His other hand was locked on my waist, tight and merciless, steadying me so he could maintain his punishing rhythm.
As his intensity built, so did the aching need inside me. I’d already had one orgasm, but my body was greedy and begged for another. E’s hand on my waist came off, only so he could pause his tempo for a split second and crack his palm against my ass. It sent heat up my spine like lightning.
And then he had both hands in my hair, pulling me back farther as he sat back on his heels. I’d been up on my straight arms with just my fingertips planted on the table for support, but I sank back into his lap, my back against his chest. In this new position, he couldn’t thrust quite the same, but he let go of my hair and put his arms around me.
Now that his hands were free, he used them to touch. One cupped my breast, and the other gripped the rope stretching down the center of my body. I turned my head toward the phone, wanting to see what we looked like, but also . . . What did Clay think about this?
Did he like watching another man fuck me on the furniture he’d built?
The answer was a resounding yes.
Clay’s shoulders moved violently as he jerked off, his face coated with desire, and it was so sexy, the muscles inside me clamped down. It brought me oh-so-close to coming.
It was beyond strange my partner was so far away, yet it also felt like he was right here. He wasn’t physically in this room, and yet he flooded every inch of it with his dominance. Even as the man at my back moved inside my body and his warm, ragged breath filled my ear, I saw Clay. All this pain and pleasure I’d been given, it came from him. He was fucking me just as much at E was.
There were short, hurried swallows of air that mixed with moans of satisfaction from both men, but E’s were louder and more urgent. His muscle-bound body flexed and contracted as he pushed me to rock my hips on him, then wedged a hand between my thighs, urging them apart. It was so he could smack his fingertips against my clit.
“Oh,” I moaned. His slap wasn’t hard or cruel. Its intent was to bring pleasure, which it absolutely did.
Clay was breathless as he growled his order. “Harder.”
E didn’t hesitate. He next slap was more aggressive, and I jolted, both from the sting of it and the acute bliss as the sensation dulled away. His strikes against my swollen clit, in combination with his deep thrusts, were going to send me over the edge, and both men sensed it.
“I’m gonna fucking come,” Clay warned.
A single breath later, pleasure twisted on his face and his eyes slammed shut. It looked like he was enduring exquisite torture as the orgasm took him. It was violent and beautiful, and I gasped with enjoyment. Sometimes pleasure was like a gift—better to give than receive, and some of the ecstasy coursing through him ran through me as well. He’d gotten off not just watching, but having his plans carried out on me.
The fingers buried in between my legs changed tactics. The biting slaps became erotic caresses, and within mere seconds, E’s strokes set off a charge in my body.
“Oh, God,” I cried. “Fuck, I’m coming.”
Arms locked around me to hold me in place. There were grunts and strained moans from behind as I rode out my orgasm on him, my whole body trembling. It sounded like he was holding back, but then gave in. I was still coming when he shoved me forward, face-down onto the tabletop. I caught myself on my forearms, but my cheek pressed to the soft leather.
Since everyone else was coming, E must have decided to join in.
His hands captured my hips, and he rutted into me, ruthless and primal. As if he were a man driven to the edge of madness and he no longer cared what he was supposed to do. There was no right or wrong, no desire anymore to stay within the rules. He pumped furiously, and his thrusts wracked my body.
God, I loved it. He’d given me so much pleasure, he earned the right to take some of his own. To use me however he needed. A few more powerful thrusts, and then he pulled out. Onscreen, I saw how he moved to yank the condom off and hurl it to the ground, then lifted on his knees so he was perched over me, his fist sliding back and forth over his dick.
He came in sputtering bursts, and the hot liquid flicked onto my back and my ass. It dripped from his tip as his hand slowed, wringing the last of his orgasm from his body while his chest heaved for air.
The way he looked at me when he came? So undeniably sexy, it rivaled watching Clay.
In the aftermath of our joint climax, no one moved.
One breath at a time, I came down from my high and began to return to reality. My back was wet, my legs were sore, and it was uncomfortable with my hands pinned beneath my body, but I stayed still. I expected a command from Clay at any moment, but he just gazed at me with a dreamy stare.
It was so nice, the floaty feeling from earlier returned and a shy smile warmed my lips. What we’d done was wild, and I was in awe of him. How willing he was to share and trust. That he’d given me a fantasy and gotten off on it just like I had.
E’s hands were damp, and when something cold wiped over me, I flinched. I’d been so out of it, I hadn’t realized he’d climbed down, cleaned up in the bathroom nearby, and returned with a damp hand towel. It glided over my skin in soothing strokes, and he took extra care on the lower half of my body.
I’d only heard E speak a handful of times, but his voice was deeper than before. “Are you all right?”
Clay cleared his throat, the sound loud and angry. It was his reminder to E about the rules, and E shot him the briefest of irritated looks before bending over to retrieve his underwear and pull it on.
“How are you feeling?” Clay asked.
I rolled onto my side to f
ace the camera. “I’m good, but . . .” I lifted my bound hands.
He nodded. E understood, too, how I wanted to be untied, because he moved to the side of the table, took hold of my shoulders, and helped me sit up. Luckily, as long as I didn’t move and my skin stayed as it was on the leather, it didn’t hurt. His broad back blocked my view of the screen, so there was nothing to look at except the bead of sweat erratically trailing down his toned chest as he began to work on the knots at my wrists.
It had been sexy and provocative when he’d tied me up, but I wasn’t prepared for how sensual the process would be as he undid his work. Skilled and methodical, his fingers loosened the knots and unwound the rope, and since he was focused on that, it gave me a chance to really look at him.
His deep-set eyes were sharp and inquisitive, hinting at his intelligence. What did he do for a living? His hands were gentle now, but he’d been rough with me earlier. His smile could be brilliant, or his expression contemplative, like he could be whatever he wanted. Maybe he was an entertainer. A lot of folks in Nashville were in the music industry—the woman who lived next door to Dr. Lowe was some bigwig agent.
When E began to unwrap the rope from around my neck, his gaze met mine, and I swallowed a breath. He looked at me like I was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and it was incredibly powerful.
Like last time, he leaned in close, and it was unstoppable the way I craved the heat of him. I lifted my chin, jutted out my chest, making my nipples brush against his warm skin. It caused him to let out the softest sigh of contentment, and it made me even bolder. I didn’t know what was allowed, but since I couldn’t see Clay, it meant he couldn’t see me, so I flattened my hands to E’s chest.
He stiffened, but I got the feeling it wasn’t from my touch . . . like me, he wasn’t sure if this was allowed. But it was clear he wanted this. His eyes went hazy as I dragged my hands down, trailing fingertips over the ridges of his defined abdomen.
