Sadie
It’s been three weeks since we started this arrangement, and it almost feels normal now—if anything about what we’re doing can be called normal.
They’ve never fucked me. Boone is the only one who takes me that way, grounding me, splitting me open until I can’t think straight.
But I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve come on their hands and mouths. Over and over and over again, until I’m boneless, until I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
We’ve found a rhythm, the four of us. Boundaries we’ve drawn, lines we’ve respected. Somehow, it works.
Right now, Gabe and Boone are outside by the grill, the smell of charred fish and smoke drifting in through the open window. Shepard has me straddling him on his sofa, my knees pressed into the cushions, his mouth buried between my thighs. I rock against him, every nerve pulled taut, shivers skating down my back.
His hands grip my ass, squeezing me, holding me exactly where he wants me. My fingers twist into his hair, my head tipping back as the coil in my belly pulls tighter and tighter.
They invited me over to celebrate the finalizing of the mural. Weeks of work, long days in the sun, and it’s done. Bright, bold, a compass that seems to glow even when the light fades.
The town’s obsessed, flocking to see it, snapping photos, tagging every shot. Driftwood’s buzzing, caught up in its own new energy.
But in here, in Shepard’s quiet apartment, I’m caught up in something else entirely.
He groans against me, the vibration punching straight through me, and I gasp his name. My thighs tremble, the pressure unbearable, and then?—
The door swings open.
Two sets of footsteps. Boone and Gabe walk in, beers in hand, smelling like smoke and salt.
“You haven’t come yet?” Boone asks, his voice warm with amusement. He leans down to kiss me, tasting my ragged breath.
“I think Shep’s edging her,” Gabe drawls, setting his beer down. His eyes drag over me, dark and sharp, like he can feel every tremor in my body.
“Assholes,” Shepard mutters against me, his voice muffled by my skin.
Then he slides two fingers inside me without warning, curling them just right, and I break. The orgasm rips through me so hard I scream, my nails digging into his shoulders. My whole body shakes, the release tearing me apart in wave after wave.
“Goddamn,” Boone mutters.
“Goddamn,” Gabe echoes, his voice lower, heavier.
Shepard doesn’t let go until I’m slumped against him, my chest heaving. He finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and calmly slips his glasses back on like he didn’t just destroy me.
“Are you okay?” he smirks, eyes glinting.
“Uh-huh,” I manage, still trembling, reaching for the wineglass I’d abandoned earlier. My hand shakes as I lift it, sipping greedily.
Gabe sits on the arm of the sofa, his expression softening. “I’m so happy for you. Can’t wait to see the finished thing in the daylight.”
“You’ve practically seen the whole thing already,” I tease, still catching my breath.
He shrugs, smiling faintly. “Doesn’t matter. Seeing it finished is different.”
Boone settles onto the cushion beside me, tugging me into his side. His lips brush my temple. “I’m off work tomorrow. How about we all go celebrate?”
I glance at him, amused. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Shepard leans back in the chair, his expression thoughtful. “I was thinking of something different. A change of scenery. Getting a small yacht and taking it out on the water.”
My head snaps toward him, eyes wide. “A yacht?”
“Don’t get too excited.” His lips twitch. “It’s not mine. I’m friends with someone who owns one. He lets me borrow it sometimes.”
