Page 118 of The Rival's Obsession
He shifts, moving down the couch until his head is between my thighs, shoulders hooked under them. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me closer, closer still, until his mouth is on me—tongue flicking through my wet pussy before flattening against my clit.
My head tips back.
And when I glance up through hooded eyes—Dante is standing.
Unbuttoning his shirt. Watching. Silent. Hungry.
Watching Grant worship me while his cock strains behind his zipper.
Watching him submit.
Grant’s tongue is relentless.
Soft flicks. Deep licks. Wide, messy strokes that make my thighs shake. I grind against his face, my hands in his hair, riding every gasp he coaxes from me with skill that surprises me. No hesitation. No restraint.
“Just like that,” I murmur, rolling my hips in time with his mouth. “God, you’re so good, baby. That mouth of yours—fuck.”
He groans against me, the vibration deep and rich. I look down and find his eyes locked on mine, hungry and desperate for more praise. I give it to him with a moan, a sharp tug to his hair, letting him know I feel every stroke.
I don’t even hear Dante move at first.
Then—
A slow creak of leather as he rises. Footsteps. Deliberate.
He steps up beside us and sets a dark wooden box on the coffee table. Quiet. Heavy. The kind of box that makes promises.
I glance at it—but it’s Dante who steals my attention.
His pants are next. He undoes them with precision, sliding them off and letting them drop to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. His cock is thick, flushed, heavy in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, lazily, dragging his thumb through the glistening bead of precum at the tip. Then he brings it to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste it.
Grant groans low against my pussy—tongue still moving, licking me like he can’t stop. His hungry eyes are on Dante’s dick, and I’m not sure if he’s starving for it or scared of it.
Dante’s voice is gravel and silk.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says, crouching beside the couch. “You like how he licks your pussy, piccola?”
I nod, breathless. “So good.”
Dante’s eyes darken. “He’s licking you like a good boy, huh?”
“Mhm,” I hum, my head tipping back. “So fucking good.”
Grant moans again, and I feel the tension in his shoulders tighten. His grip on my hips turns bruising.
Dante leans in and kisses me—slow, deep, tongue parting my lips with absolute control. One hand slides into my hair, holding me in place, while the other drags down the curve of my neck to cup one breast.
His mouth leaves mine to kiss down my jaw, my throat.
“Look at you,” he whispers, lips ghosting along my collarbone. “Letting him work that mouth just to please us.”
He finds my breast, lips closing around my nipple as his other hand rolls the opposite one between two fingers, pinching until I gasp. My back arches, caught between the flick of Grant’s tongue and the suck of Dante’s mouth.
Pressure builds.
Pleasure blooms.
“Dante—” I gasp, my whole body shaking.
