He caught my earlobe between his teeth, and tugged before pulling away to look me in the eye. “No. But if I had, I couldn’t have hoped for better.”
“What if I kick you out right now, with a terse thank you, and that’s that?” I wasn’t going to do that. They were delicious and there was nothing wrong with a physical, no-strings outlet to relieve stress, if that was where this was going. It didn’t even matter that they were my rivals. It wasn’t like I had to look them in the eye on a daily basis.
Kingston turned me toward him. “Then you kick us out. It was still a good day.” Damn him for saying the right thing. “Are you telling us to leave?”
“No.”
He was close enough I could see a faint dusting of flour in the dark stubble on his jaw. He fiddled with the top button on my blouse, tugging the fabric aside.
“Good. Because I can’t help but wonder, what you’d look like in just this apron.” He was making it difficult to remember why I didn’t care to have them in my life. He scraped my skin with a fingernail, stealing my breath.
I took the apron off. Was that better, or worse? “You’re not finding out today.” I kept my tone playful.
“What if”— He trailed a finger along my chest, following the curve of my shirt, dipping into my cleavage —“I want to see what you look like with nothing on at all? I’ve been fantasizing about unwrapping you since last night.” He dipped his head next to my ear, hot breath caressing my cheek. “If I drag my tongue over your bare skin, do you taste like salted caramel?”
Absolutely not. That was ridiculous. “Only one way to find out.” My response came out breathy. My pulse hammered in my ears at my own challenge—this kitchen was public. A lot of people got off to the idea of getting caught, but it was one of my top fears. Was there a phobia based on that?
Focus. Two gorgeous men were showering me with compliments and kisses, this was my place, even if it was in the business part of the building, and no one else was here now.
Kingston undid one button and then another, until my blouse hung open.
And there was another surge of insecurity; in this brightly lit room, my less-than stunning body would be on display.
He tugged the fabric open, exposing bare skin and breasts straining against pale satin. The way he raked his gaze over me, I suddenly felt like a goddess.
“Fucking gorgeous.” Kingston slid his hands up my sides and his lips down my neck. He kissed along my collarbone and down to the top of my breasts, teasing his thumbs over the cups.
Owen trailed his fingers lightly up my spine, almost enough to tickle, but the sensation was too tantalizing to pull away. He unclasped my bra with a deft twist. The tension that fell away was nothing compared to the anticipation that replaced it.
With double the attention, it was easy for me to fall into the physical. Owen kneading one breast while he nibbled on my neck and shoulder. Kingston drawing a nipple into his mouth to suck and lick.
The attention drew on, building the desire that raced over me and wrapping me up in the illusion of being wanted. Needed. I didn’t care that they’d done this before with anyone else. It meant they knew where to touch to make me moan and squirm. Their touches were a delicate ballet of hands and mouths, and my body was the stage.
Kingston ran a hand down my back, over the curve of my ass, to my leg, and pulled my leg to his thigh. He slid a knee between my legs.
Without Owen there, chest and erection pressed into my side and hip, I wouldn’t have the balance for this.
Kingston pressed his leg higher, against my mound, and I ground into him. A new point of contact drew another sigh from me. The way he groaned into my skin, still worshipping one nipple then the other with his mouth, cranked my need higher.
I had to feel more. As much as I could. Everything. I dragged my nails down Owen’s chest, to his hard length. When I cupped him through his trousers, he jerked into my touch with a dangerously delicious moan. He was hard and thick, pressing into my palm as I stroked him.
Kingston let my leg down, and raised his head as he knotted his fingers in my hair. His dark eyes sparkled with promises of mischief.
I could drown in that look.
He brushed his mouth over mine. “Better than salted caramel.” He nipped my bottom lip. “Better than anything salty or sweet.” He tightened his grip in my hair, tugging hard enough to draw a gasp from me. “Better than anything.” He kissed me hard.
My mind sang and whimpered and begged for more.
Kingston undid my slacks, and slid his hand under the waistband, over my panties, teasing me through fabric.
I gripped Owen tighter, and he bit my shoulder.
The sting of pleasure and pain was new to me, and incredible.
Kingston kissed along my jaw up to my opposite ear. “I fell asleep last night dreaming of fucking you. You were incredible then. You’re better in real life.” His whispered words, the flattery, were more effective than poetry.
“Do you have condoms?” I wasn’t so far lost as to skip important steps, but I was getting close.
Kingston pulled back to meet my gaze again. He wore a dangerously hungry smirk as he extracted a condom from his wallet and held it up between two fingers like a prize.
In a disruption of hands, and my nervous giggle when my pants got stuck on my shoes, my clothes were shoved to the ground and kicked aside.
I unzipped Kingston’s trousers, reveling in his throaty gasp when I wrapped my hand around his shaft. He bit his bottom lip, looking like it took immense effort to pull away and roll on the condom.
Kingston’s hands on my hips, he guided me to a nearby stool, and nudged me to sit. I didn’t like the absence of Owen’s touch. I was greedy to have both of them embracing me again.
And then he was there again, half-supporting me, turning my head to face him so he could claim my lips.
Kingston slid between my legs, which parted eagerly, and dragged the head of his cock along my slit, teasing until I whimpered against Owen’s kisses.
When Kingston pushed inside me, spreading me open and stretching me out, I let out a muffled gasp. He worked to a steady pace, thrusting enough to build my pleasure, and bring it to a heady ledge. He dropped his head to my breasts again, to suck on a nipple.
Owen worked a hand between us, down my stomach, to find my clit. He circled the swollen button, faster, harder.
Climax surged through me without warning, splashing around me. Consuming me. I clenched around Kingston, lost in orgasm, my body shuddering away when Owen’s touch became too much.
More. The insistence was louder now, rather than being sated. I fumbled my way through unzipping Owen’s slacks, and freed him. The noises they made, the attention they gave me, the scents of sugar and sex, were better than the finest liquor, going straight to my head.
Kingston increased the pace and intensity, slamming against me, inside me, striking the right spot and breathing new fire into a fading orgasm.
I stroked Owen in rhythm with the pump of Kingston’s hips. Gripping tighter as another wave of pressure built inside me.
Owen covered my hand, setting the pace, not letting up even as I came again, tumbling into the sea of sparkles that danced behind my eyelids.
Twin grunts, staccato and wrapped in climaxes of their own, filtered into the haze I floated in. Fingers dug into my hips. Warm sticky fluid covered my hand.