Page 130 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Roman kneels behind me and draws me between his legs. His thighs bracket mine. His chest becomes a warm wall at my back. When he slides one hand over my eyes, darkness settles softly.

My breath catches.

His mouth touches the shell of my ear. “Let us make you feel good.”

Wes runs his hands from my ankles to my knees, taking his time now that I can’t see him. The loss of sight makes every touch arrive larger. His thumbs circle the sensitive hollows behind my knees. Roman’s lips move down my neck. Wes pushes my dress higher while Roman opens the first few buttons one-handed and slips his hand beneath the fabric. When Wes draws away, Roman tightens his hold. When Roman pauses, Wes replaces the missing touch. One keeps me suspended while the other finds another way to undo me.

“Spread for me,” Wes says.

I obey.

“That’s it. Open for us.” Roman makes a pleased sound beside my ear. “Let him see you,” Roman murmurs, voice low and rough. “Let him see how ready you are.”

His hand leaves my eyes for a moment, and starlight spills back into the room. Wes is kneeling between my legs, his expression intent enough to send another wave of heat through me.

Roman catches my chin and turns my face toward his. “See what you asked for?”

Wes’s gaze doesn’t leave mine.

“Yes.”

Roman covers my eyes again.

Wes’s mouth finds the inside of my thigh while he spreads me open with his thumbs.

My body jerks.

Roman’s arm locks more firmly around my middle, holding me through the reaction. “Easy,” he says. “Let it come.”

“That sounded suspiciously poetic.”

His lips brush my cheek, his voice low and warm. “I just like hearing you fall apart for us.”

My breath stutters, and a sharp inhale catches in my throat as Wes moves higher. His grip tightens, and the next touch arrives with enough hunger that I arch against Roman.

“That’s it,” Wes says. “Give me every bit of it.” His voice travels over my skin almost as strongly as his mouth.

Roman’s palm cups my breast through the loosened dress. His thumb moves in slow circles while Wes’s tongue works between my legs, alternating patience with brief bursts of intensity that leave me chasing him. Each time I begin to climb, he eases away.

“Wes.”

“What?”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?” His voice against my clit is nearly a laugh.

“The thing where you don’t let me come.”

“I never said I wouldn’t. I just choose when.” He licks one long, deliberate line through my slick. “Beg properly, and I might be generous. I want to hear you say it.”

Roman kisses beneath my ear. “He does love documentation.”

“I want to come.”

Wes hums his approval. “Better.”

Then he gives me exactly enough to send me higher before backing away again. Frustration twists through the pleasure.