Page 133 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

I don’t have the composure left to hide it. Every sound that leaves me is unguarded, raw, and exactly what I’ve been chasing all night.

“Tell him how it feels,” Wes says, his fingers never stopping. “Tell him what he’s doing to you.”

“Roman… So full. Deep. I can feel him everywhere.”

Roman groans against my throat. “Say my name like that again.”

“Roman.”

“Again.”

“Roman, please, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he says, his voice strained and hips rolling deeper with every word, like the sound of his own name from my lips undoes him as much as anything else does.

Wes’s fingers find a rhythm against my clit that matches Roman’s pace exactly, the two of them moving like they’ve spent years learning how to take me apart together.

“You’re going to come again,” Wes says. It isn’t a question. “I want to watch this one too.”

Roman’s hips pick up speed, his control fraying at the edges. “Look at me.”

It almost hurts to see the wonder and openness in his expression.

“That’s it,” he says, voice cracking. “Stay right there with me.”

My next orgasm builds slower than the others, drawn out between Wes’s fingers and Roman’s deepening rhythm, until I’m pleading without caring who hears it.

“Please. Roman, please.”

“I’ve got you.” His thrusts turn sharp and deliberate. He’s chasing his own release now as much as mine. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”

“Roman. I’m so close⁠—”

“I know. I can feel it.” His voice drops, rough at the edges. “Squeezing me like you don’t want to let go.”

“I don’t.”

His hips snap harder and deeper, and Wes’s fingers tighten their circle against my clit in perfect time with him. “Let go anyway. I’ll still be right here.”

I come, shaking, clenching around him hard enough that his rhythm finally breaks. He drives in once more and groans my name against my collarbone as he comes, his body shuddering through it before he stills. He breathes hard against my skin.

For a moment none of us move. Wes’s hand rests low on my stomach, Roman’s mouth is still pressed against my shoulder, and the quiet between the three of us feels as charged as anything that came before it. It’s slower now, softer, the kind of silence that asks nothing and still says everything.

“I have never been this thoroughly undone,” I murmur.

Wes presses his lips to my hair. “Good.”

“That wasn’t a complaint.”

“I know.”

Roman’s hand finds mine where it rests against his chest, and he laces our fingers together without a word, like he needs the contact as much as I do. Wes shifts closer until there is no gap left, three bodies arranged around the same heartbeat. By the time the tremors finally stop moving through all three of us, I’m limp between them. The stars remain visible above the roofline. For several minutes, none of us attempt language. Then my stomach growls.

Roman looks down at me, amused.

“I have been through an ordeal.”

Wes’s thumb circles my ankle. “You created the ordeal.”