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Torin finally breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against mine and keeps hold of my gaze while he strokes my clit and Briggs’ fingers stretch me wider.

I moan as they push deeper.

“Like that, yeah fuck, just like that,” Torin croaks.

The sensation and the heat in his words send another tremor through me.

At the edge of my vision, Ashby's hand has hold of his cock. He's already unraveling, pressing against my lower back with drawn out, agonized friction that makes me want to climb right out of my skin.

Between my spread thighs, Briggs’ tongue works me with relentless determination, every movement calculated to make me fall apart. The rough scrape of stubble against my skin creates an entirely different kind of pleasure than the glide of his tongue. When he glances up through his lashes, the sight destroys me all over again. I feel torn apart and remade beneath that look.

I lift my knees and spread wider for him, need turning me into a shameless, hungry plea.

Ashby's hands close over my breasts. His thumbs circle my stiffened nipples until the sensation borders on painful, but I arch into him instinctively. Then I push back against him, rubbing myself against the hard length of his cock, chasing the frantic pulse I can feel there.

Torin murmurs, “You’re doing so good for us, love.”

Ashby drags my hips back against his cock and starts grinding with agonizing purpose, forcing gasps from my throat as I twist between the pull of his need and the relentless pressure of Briggs's tongue and fingers.

Torin cups my face. His thumbs sweep over my cheeks while he presses kisses to my eyelids, treating me as though I might disappear if he loosens his hold.

Briggs works me higher with every relentless movement of his fingers and tongue. The sounds spilling from my throat don't even feel human anymore. They come from a place deeper than language. I want to grab his hair. I want to lock my thighs around his head. I want to drag him impossibly closer.

When I look down at him through slitted lids, he grins wickedly, his mouth shining with the evidence of his work. His tongue flickers over my clit while his eyes stay fixed on my face with such naked devotion, I know I could spend the rest of my life loving him and still never feel it’s enough.

Ashby's voice scrapes against my ear, rough with want. “You want all of us?”

“Please,” I say. The word tears out of me. “I want you. All of you. Now. Harder. Please.”

Part of me cringes at the way my voice cracks. The rest of me doesn't care. The rest of me is greedy and reckless and drunk on the knowledge that they want this just as badly as I do.

All three of them react at once.

Torin captures my mouth in a kiss that steals whatever breath I have left. Ashby's cock jerks hard against my back, and his grip on my breasts tightens. Briggs lets out a groan that almost feels like a physical blow, then sucks at my pussy with such desperate need, I melt all over again.

I want to see them ruin me. Every one of them.

My hand knots in Torin’s thick hair, and I tug him back far enough to catch a breath. “Take your clothes off. All of you.”

The command surprises me with its certainty.

I couldn’t say who moves first. One second they're clothed, the next I'm surrounded by motion. Boots and socks fly in all directions, leather hits the floor with a heavy thud, buckles clink softly, zippers unzip, shirts are dragged over heads, denim shoved downward and kicked away, bodies colliding as they strip. Heat builds, the heady scents of fresh sweat, heated skin, and arousal fill the room.

Torin gets there first.

The sight of him punches the breath from my lungs.

He stands naked before me. He’s beautiful, long dark hair falling free across his face, his lean body all muscle and bone beneath warm skin decorated with unique body art like a gallery. His cock stands out thick and straining with want. He makes no attempt to hide any of it. The only uncertainty in him lives in his eyes as they keep returning to my face, checking again and again that I'm still here, still with him, still looking.

I’m going nowhere.

Ashby’s a loveable disaster. His shirt catches beneath his ribs, half his buttons remain fastened while the rest hang open as he wrestles his clothes off, neat hair tousled, every impatient movement fighting with his instinct to stay in control. I’m going to enjoy seeing him break.

Briggs takes longer. There’s a lot of him to undress, and I’m hungry for all of it.

He tears off his t-shirt, exposing his broad, muscular chest, cursing softly as he briefly fights with his stubborn zipper.

I almost laugh at the intense concentration on his face, until his jeans finally hit the floor.