Their Christmas Bride (Bridgewater Ménage 5)

With one calloused palm on my leg, he spread my feet apart and brushed the tip of his nose over my nether lips. "Your arousal. I want your scent on me, the taste of you on my tongue."

"Taste?" My voice was breathy and full of confusion and desire. I was afraid of what he was going to do to me, and eager at the same time.

"Taste," he repeated, just before he placed his palms high up on my inner thighs and used his thumbs to spread me open. He licked along the length of my woman's core.

I jolted at the surprise contact and the handcuffs clanged against the iron bar. "Are you supposed to do that?"

Quinn cupped one of my breasts in his palm, his thumb stroking back and forth over the very tight—and very sensitive—tip. "Hell yes, he's supposed to do that."

"She's dripping wet," Porter murmured, his hot breath fanning my very heated, very swollen flesh.

"And we've barely touched her," Quinn commented. "Interesting. So you're not as averse to our touch as you pretend to be."

I couldn't keep my eyes open against their assault on my senses, for that is what it was. They weren't gentle; they weren't wooing and soothing a new bride out of her virginity. My body was being worked in such a way that pleasure was drowning me as if I fell into a fast moving river, the current so swift I could do nothing but let go and be taken away. I was going to give my virginity to them.

Porter flicked his tongue over the bundle of nerves I’d rubbed with the flats of my fingers, circling and swirling until I climaxed.

When Porter slipped a finger into me to accompany the ministrations of his tongue, I couldn't help but clench down on it, wanting to pull it into me, to have it fill me up.

"Her maidenhead's right there," Porter breathed across my overly sensitive pearl.

"Is this how you wanted us to touch you?"

I nodded my head; I couldn't deny them any longer.

"Good girl," Quinn whispered. "Did you touch yourself like this?"

I nodded again.

"Did you make yourself come, angel?" Porter asked, curling his finger within me just right. "Just. Like. This?"

"Yes!" I shouted, because he pushed me over the edge and I was lost, floating, sinking, and swirling from their attentions. My skin flushed hotly, then a sheen of perspiration broke out across my breasts and belly while my arousal slipped down my thighs.

They continued to pluck and coax and pull my pleasure until it ebbed away. Only then did they take their hands from me and I felt bereft. Cold even. Porter stood. Both men's cheeks were ruddy and their eyes dark. Porter's mouth glistened and was slick. I realized it was from me. They were both completely dressed, Quinn still wearing his coat, while I didn't have a stitch on.

"Are you going to let me down?" I asked. I didn't recognize my voice, for it was soft and breathy. My body was sated and relaxed and I was very pliant.

"Are you going to give us the remainder of the answers we desire?" Quinn stripped off his coat and tossed it onto the ground.

"If I don't?" I asked.

"Did you like the pleasure we gave you?" Porter asked.

I licked my lips and nodded, my core pulsing with continued pleasure. "Yes," I admitted. I hadn't been demure or ladylike as I climaxed, so lost to everything, it was ridiculous to lie.

"Then we will deny you the opportunity to do that again," he answered.

I narrowed my eyes, not pleased with his response.

"Don't get all missish on us now," Quinn said. "You're a passionate woman and admitting you like—hell—want your men to touch you is incredible."

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Porter added.

"You're going to leave me hanging like this?" I asked, wiggling my fingers and my hips.

Both men nodded, so I sighed. "Very well."

"Why didn't you come to us with your problems?" Porter asked. "Matthews is a bastard and we could have taken care of him easily enough."