Page 78 of My Crazy Killers
Sly pulls out, then, as he pushes back in, Jagger pulls out. They alternate their thrusts, and it feels incredible, my mind not knowing where they end and I begin, as if we are all one in this moment.
My core clenches the more they move, and I’m a moaning mess within a few minutes. Jagger slides his hand down to my clit, rubbing it in firm circles, and I cry out, pulling my mouth from him so I can pull in more air. It feels like I’m running a marathon; my entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat, as if I’m the one doing all the work, not them.
Sly surprises me by biting down on my neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to shock my system and unleash my orgasm. I scream as wave after wave of pleasure roll through my body from my core all the way up to where he’s latched onto my neck. I can feel his tongue stroking my skin between his teeth, and it’s the strangest thing I’ve ever felt.
There’s a small amount of pain where his teeth are, but the way he moves his tongue and sucks on my skin is adding to my release as I cry out, my hand reaching back to sink my fingers into his leg, to hold him to me.
That action helps him find his own release as hegrunts, his hips jerking and his teeth biting down a tad harder. I press my lips back to Jagger and help him find his own release. It doesn’t take him more than a few thrusts before he’s there, pumping his cum into me and adding to his first load that we never cleaned up from.
I feel both their bodies relax, along with mine, as we seem to melt into the mattress, just the sound of our heavy breathing filling the room. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, only interrupted when Pete’s loud voice calls out, “Alright, lovebirds, come and get it! Breakfast is ready!”
“Oh no,” Sly groans into my neck. “I hope he wasn’t the one cooking.” I giggle, knowing that Pete might be the worst cook of the lot of them. But at least he was trying to learn.
So what if the pancakes are a bit too black? And the eggs are slightly too runny? I’ll eat them all anyway because I appreciate the effort, even if I do spend the next hour in the bathroom vomiting from eating undercooked eggs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WREN
“Anything new?” Dex asks as he sits down beside me on the couch. I pull off the headphones and pause the recording I was listening to.
“No, nothing yet. But it feels like we’re so close to figuring this out.”
“That’s because we are,” Elias says from my other side. “You already figured out that Black Heat is a weapon, and now we know where he was keeping it.”
I nod, pulling up the footage he and Harry had recorded of the inside of the warehouse. We were lucky, as it appeared to be a single giant space, except for one small room in the corner that we decided had to be a washroom.
It also showed us there were about a dozen guards inside. We didn’t know if that was the case all the time, but it gave us something to work with. Now we know how many to roughly expect to come running out if our ambush doesn’t go unnoticed on the outside as Ivan gets close.
“You’ve been working on that all morning,” Sly says. “You need to take a break. Do you want some lunch?”
My gaze inadvertently flicks to Pete, who looks incredibly guilty. “Wren, I?—”
“Peter,” I say with a grin. “Don’t feel bad. I didn’t have to eat them.”
“But you did, though. Because you’re too nice,” he says with a frown.
“New rule,” Sly says, pulling back the conversation to him. “Ifanyonedoesn’t like something, they don’t have to eat it.”
“So I don’t have to eat broccoli?” Dex asks immediately, gaining him Sly’s glare.
“Or cauliflower?” I ask, thinking of my least favorite vegetable. Sly was always telling us to eat our veggies. I didn’t mind when I cooked them, cause I knew how to make them tasty, but sometimes when we got them from takeout, they weren't as enjoyable.
“If Wren cooks the broccoli, you need to eat it,” he tells Dex, who nods.
“Deal.”
“And you,” he says, looking back at me. “You’ll eat your vegetables if I tell you to. Understand?”
Pete snorts in amusement. “Sly, your dom is showing.”
Gripping the sides of the laptop, I rub my thighs together as a sudden pulse of arousal shoots through me. After my history, growing up with a controlling brother, you’d think I’d hate being told what to do. But it’s so different when it’s Sly, or any of these five.
It’s not just about wanting to please him, either. It’s because I know that Sly is always looking out for me. If he tells me to do something, it’s not because he wants me to do it; it’s because he’s trying to take care of me. He wants me to eat vegetables to be healthy, he tells me to go to sleep so I’mnot tired the next day, and he won’t let me have sex because I’m injured.
It’s for those reasons that I nod, agreeing to listen to him.
“No cauliflower, though,” Elias says, and when I turn my head to look at him, I see him staring at Sly as if daring him to argue.
