Chapter 195: Reid
She crooks a finger. That’s all. The room tilts toward her like gravity’s been clarified.
I cross the carpet to her first, Jake a heat-shadow at my shoulder. Honey light, the hum of the heater, curtains pulled tight to a line of navy. She’s on the edge of the bed, knees together like a dare, blue shirt hugging the soft lines I’ve been pretending not to stare at for hours.
“You lead,” I remind, stopping within reach. “Where first.”
Her eyes lift to mine, steady. “Kiss me.”
I do. Slow, deliberate, feeling the soft lips that drive me fucking crazy. I take her mouth like it’s something entrusted, not stolen—thumb under her jaw to tip her chin, the other hand bracing beside her thigh so I don’t crowd. She makes that small sound I’ve learned—the one that means yes—and opens for me, sweet and certain. Heat licks up my spine; control catches like a match and I cage it with breath.
Jake’s fingers ghost her waist from the other side, not taking, just letting her feel how close he is. She turns her head; I let her go for him and use the beat to tug the curtains tighter and lock the chain because I'll be fucking damned if anyone sees her like this. By the time I’m back she’s kissing him like a vow and the curve of her mouth is wrecked perfect.
“Next,” I murmur against her cheek.
She swallows. “Hands.”
“Where?” Jake asks, voice gone smoke.
She takes my wrist and brings my palm to her waist, fits me into the dip like she’s known me for years. Then she takes Jake’s and sets him at the other side, mirror-image. The ownership in it undoes me.
“Good girl,” slips out before I can catch it. She shivers. I feel it under my hand and have to breathe once through my teeth.
We keep it measured. I map her like coast—thumb finding the hem of her shirt, sliding just under, palm spreading flat to learn the warmth there. Jake mirrors me, knuckles skimming the notch of her ribs. She bites her lip; her breath jumps; her knees fall apart a fraction, invitation and instinct in one.
“Words,” I remind softly, because rules are the only leash I trust.
“Kiss my jaw,” she says, cheeks flushing. “My throat. Here—” she taps where shoulder meets neck “—but no marks where anyone can see. At least until we're done at the institute."
“Anything you want,” I promise, and duck. I give her exactly what she asked for: the hinge of her jaw first, a slow close-mouthed drag that makes her fingers curl in my hair; then the long line of her throat, a claim drawn with nothing but heat and pressure. Below the collarbone, safe territory—there I let my teeth whisper a mark and feel her whole body answer. Jake does the same on the other side, and she tips her head back like she’s giving us sky.
“More,” she says, voice thin and wrecked. “Please.”
I kneel. The carpet bites my knees. From here she is everything—hips under my palms, the tremor when my thumbs sweep the inside seam of her shorts. I press a kiss just above her waistband, then another lower, then stop, because she hasn’t told me yes to more and I will not take it without her word.
“Tell me,” I say, forehead to her stomach for a beat, letting her feel how hard I’m holding the line. “How far.”
She tangles a hand in my hair and the other in Jake’s shirt like she’s anchoring us both. “Touch me,” she whispers. “Everywhere you want. Slow.”
It knocks through me. I look up to meet Jake’s eyes; he nods once, mean and proud.
“Say ‘enough’ and I stop,” I remind, because I have to. She nods, quick.
I keep it slow like she ordered. My hands leave her hips, dragging down her shorts with them. She's wearing lacy black underwear underneath, and a groan that sounds nothing like me escapes my chest.
Once her delicate feet are out of the shorts, I work my way up. I kiss her ankle, her calf. Then the sweet curve below her knee where my thumb can circle until she’s breathing uneven. When I reached her inner thighs, the sweet scent of her hits me to the point of making me shake. So fucking innocent, so fucking perfect. I kiss her, again and again, slowly, until her fingers in my hair beg me to get closer to where she really wants me.
I chuckle against her panties. "Impatient little thing."
“I’m leading,” she says, the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Christ,” I mutter when she rolls her hips small and helpless, and she laughs—guilty, gorgeous. Jake takes her mouth again and doesn’t rush it; his other hand spans her ribs, draws patient, steady lines that make her arch into us like tide.
I press my lips to her sex on top of the lace, then slightly to one side, before doing the other. Only when her fingers feel like they will rip my hair off my skull do I push the fabric aside and let my tongue run up and down her cunt, tasting just how fucking sweet she is. Keep it together. The desire to fuck her, right there and then, is so strong I have to count to ten.
“You’re killing us,” Jake tells her against her lips as she moans. I flatten my tongue again and go over the same little hard spot until I hear that moan again, and file the information for later: that's where she likes it most.
She grinds her hips onto my mouth, chasing the feeling, more friction. I give her a little more, sucking on her clit, bitting her lips gently, here and there. But I don't want her to cum. Not yet. Not when I plan on getting her there multiple times tonight.
“Be patient, Trouble,” I say, rising from my knees to stand between hers again. I frame her face in both hands and make sure she sees me, nothing held back. “Tell us what you want next.”
Her eyes are dark and certain now. “Shut the lights,” she says, voice so soft it’s almost a secret. “Then don’t be gentle.”
Noted. Agreed. The lamp clicks. The room goes to amber shadow and shared breath. We’re still careful. We’re still hers. But when I come back to the bed and lay her down into the cool white duvet, when Jake leads her hand to his cock and I guide my own to her mouth, we let the heat we’ve been leashing all night show its teeth—slow, relentless, reverent—exactly as far as she asks us to go.