Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,71

loved having your cock in my mouth.” I grabbed my breasts, pushing them together, my skin warming at the searing force of his stare, his full attention on every move, every word. “I loved having your mouth on my tits. I loved—”

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” Aaron panted out the words, moving closer, his dick pointed at me as if it was a sword. I opened my mouth, sticking out my tongue, my body and breasts bouncing from Easton’s thrusts.

“Please,” I begged. “I want it so badly.”

He groaned, his face pinching, and I jumped when the first shot landed on my cheek. The second, my mouth. The third hit somewhere over my head. I grabbed him and sat up, burying him down my throat, my eyes tearing at the depth. His hand palmed my head, a guttural sound ripping from him as he thrust into my mouth.

I gagged and Easton gripped my hips tightly. “Fuck, Elle. Do that again.”

I came off his cock, took a deep breath and then went down again, the taste of his come slightly bitter, my throat slick with spit and juice, and gagged again, harder this time.

“I’m coming.” Easton rammed into me with short rapid strokes, jack-hammer fast. Aaron’s hands closing on my breasts, squeezing them, and my own orgasm chased Easton’s down.

“Don’t stop!” I cried wildly, feeling his release and desperate for my own. “Don’t stop!”

He didn’t, and my hand and mouth fell away from his shaft as I flopped back against the bed, my body binding and tightening into one exquisite ball of pleasure.

“Elle….” Easton warned, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because I was rolling, my body flexing underneath his cock, the spasms of pleasure so pure, so intense, that it felt like a drug. A painful, beautiful, piercingly exquisite drug.

When it finally stopped, I went limp and Aaron’s hands softened, then released. Easton stayed inside of me, but rolled forward, bringing me onto his body, and laying me across his chest. His leg wrapped protectively around me, and I heard the soft sound of the door opening, then closing as Aaron left.

“Wow,” Easton said quietly, his heart thudding beneath me.

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and sagged against his chest, my body cooling as our heartbeats gradually slowed to normal.

Wow.

30

Thirty minutes later, my heartbeat had recovered, Aaron’s side of the house was quiet, and my fears of an awkward post-threesome fight had dissolved. I’d expected repercussions. Guilt. Regret. Instead, I felt even closer to Easton. It reminded me of those weeks after Wakulla Springs, when I was so emotionally fragile, and he was so protective, and our dynamic shuddered into a new sort of form where we clung to each other and blocked out everything and everyone in order to heal over something we hadn’t even known we had.

That intimacy had been born out of pain—this one out of pleasure. I watched as Easton flipped off the bathroom light. His hair was wet, a towel hanging around his neck. He was shirtless, plaid pajama pants low on his hips. He rubbed the towel over his head, then hung it on the hook by the bathroom door.

We’d showered together after the event, his rough hands suddenly soft, his touch tender as he’d run a soapy washcloth over my body. He’d kissed me under the spray, then turned off the water and dried me off before the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror, devouring the view. My skin had been pink from the hot water, alive from his touch, still tingling from what had just happened.

I scooted over to make room for him on the bed and reached for the glass of forgotten champagne. “The next time we have a threesome,” I swallowed the last swig, then put the empty glass on the bedside table. “Let’s make sure the guy doesn’t live with us. Because I really want to stretch out on the couch with you right now, but feel like that might be a little awkward.”

Easton chuckled, then sat on the bed beside me. “Yeah, the couch does sound really good right now.”

“But awkward.”

“Potentially awkward,” he agreed. He pulled the blanket higher atop me. “How about I make us a fort, instead?”

“A fort?”

“Yeah. I’m actually really good at it. Not to brag or anything but in fourth grade, some people called me a king.”

“A fort king?”

“It was a high honor at Presley Elementary.”

“Fine.” I rested my head back on the pillow. “Wow me with your fort skills. I give you…” I