sable

When Ridge presses a third finger past the tight ring of muscles, I gasp as pleasure morphs into pain and back again.

Trystan bites down on my nipple, drawing my attention back upward. He laps away the sting and meets my gaze. “Relax. Push against him a little. It’ll make it easier.”

I do as he says, and Ridge’s fingers slide deeper. They’re all so infinitely patient with me, slowing down every time I tense up and worshiping my body so completely that I feel like I’m balancing on a knife’s-edge of pleasure, ready to slip over into the pure bliss of an orgasm at any moment.

Finally, Ridge...