The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

The threat of his kiss didn’t last because one of his hands moved down and slid beneath my bottom, and then I was hoisted up into his arms. He turned and lowered me into the empty spot at the edge of the couch, directly between Clay’s spread legs.

As soon as I was seated, Clay put his hands on my waist and eased me toward him, so my back was against his hard chest. It was stunning how quickly everything had flipped. Now he was the one doing the touching and the man was the one watching us. As Clay gathered my hair and swooped it over a shoulder so it would be out of his way, I rested my hands on his knees.

It was nice, being up against him.

He tipped his head down, pressed his mouth to the pulse point just below my ear, and as he spoke, his lips fluttered against my skin. “Tell him to take his dick out. You want to see it.”

It was involuntary how my hands clenched on him, my body’s response to the heat of his order. I repeated his words as a tight, urgent plea to the man. “Get your dick out. I want to see it.”

The corner of his mouth hooked up like he was about to reveal a big secret, and it was sexy as hell. While he undid his belt and the fly of his gray suit pants, Clay shifted behind me. His arm snaked between our bodies as he retrieved something from his jacket pocket.

Then, a foil packet was slipped beneath my palm.

Well . . . if that wasn’t approval of what he wanted to happen, I didn’t know what was. My fingers curled around the condom while I watched the stranger’s methodical fingers work on undressing himself.

His pants were undone, but not down. He left them open and on his hips because his hands were busy pushing the tail of his tie over his shoulder, and then those efficient hands moved to undo the bottom few buttons of his dress shirt. It parted to reveal defined abs and the black waistband of his snug underwear.

I swallowed hard as he pushed a hand inside and dug out his cock—

Oh, he was hiding a big secret.

Warmth spread across my cheeks as I stared at the thick, hard dick in his grasp, his fist stroking ever-so-slowly back and forth. Like me, he wasn’t shy about being naked, and didn’t seem to care who was watching. Maybe he got off on it too, like I had tonight.

“Look at that,” Clay whispered in my ear. “You want him to put all that inside you, don’t you?”

I bit my lip to hold back my moan. Thankfully, his question was rhetorical. He was aware how much I desired the man, and his fingertips traced lines over the back of my palm, reminding me of the condom he’d pressed into my hand.

“Put this on him.”

There was freedom in being under Clay’s direction. I didn’t have a problem taking initiative or making a move, but his guidance meant less guesswork for me. I was still in control and knew I could say no or change my mind at any point. I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. But it also felt like while my boundaries were expanding, the consequences weren’t.

I had to shift forward in my seat to reach the man in the gray suit, and his eyes were brimming with lust as I tore open the wrapper with my unsteady hands. Once I had the condom out, I stared at him in silent question. It seemed silly to ask if I could touch him, but . . .

He understood my hesitation because he nodded and moved his hand out of my way. His dick jutted out from his body, waiting for me.

I couldn’t help but smile when my fingers closed around him and he jerked in response. The muscles in his jaw flexed as I tentatively pumped my fist over him. Not that he needed help getting warmed up—he was already rock hard—but I wanted to touch him before there was anything between us.

He held perfectly still as I fitted the condom over the head of his dick and rolled the ring down, but he let out a tight groan like he was enduring exquisite torture from me. When I finished, he stroked a hand over himself, adjusting the fit so it was how he wanted it.

Cool fingers were set on my shoulder, and Clay urged me to lean back against him once more. At the same time, the man hooked one of my legs over his elbow and pulled my hips closer to him. My ass was barely on the edge of the couch, and I was lying with my head resting on Clay’s chest.

It meant the men could stare down at me, and the moment was intensely powerful. They must have felt it too because both of them drew in a breath and held it. My gaze darted from Clay to the center of my legs and the man who held himself steady but hadn’t advanced on me.

“He won’t without your consent,” Clay said. “So, tell him what we want him to do.”

He’d said we and not you, and knowing Clay wanted this as much as I did made my heart skip and stumble.

I peered up at the man and held his gaze while I lifted a hand toward Clay. I curled it behind his neck to hold on to him, and the words came from me drenched with need. “I want you to fuck me.”

Permission granted, the man inched forward, and the sheathed tip of him brushed against my entrance, the head of his cock sliding back and forth in luxurious, teasing strokes.

Did both men understand the trembles cascading down my legs weren’t anxiety, but anticipation? Excitement flooded my system, overwhelming me and stealing my breath. So when he lined himself up and began to push inside me, my mouth rounded into a perfectly silent,