The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

“Oh,” I murmured as the tip of his cock brushed over my entrance and began to push inside.

As he eased deeper inside me, all the tension in the room began to fade. I groaned with pleasure when his warm skin flattened to mine, but he only stayed long enough to latch his mouth onto mine and bite my bottom lip. I loved his mean, calculated kiss. It fanned the fire between us.

But then he straightened so we were only touching where we were joined, and he began to fuck me just as cruel as his kiss had been. It was hard, and fast, and premeditated. This wasn’t for my pleasure—it was for his.

But if this was supposed to be a punishment fuck, it wasn’t working. Clay’s brutal thrusts sent sparks glittering across my nerve endings and made me want to roll my eyes back into my head. The ice had numbed me, so now his cock felt like a hot branding iron.

God, it felt good.

He locked his hands on my hips, pinning me against the cushioned tabletop that was wet from the melted ice, and heaved his body into mine. Within seconds we were both panting, and grunts of satisfaction rolled from his lips. His fingers dug painfully into my skin, driving me wild.

“Yes,” I moaned.

I kept my gaze on Clay, but I was acutely aware we weren’t alone. Travis had taken a subtle step toward the table, maybe to get a closer view, or perhaps he hoped he’d get to participate. It allowed me to see him in my peripheral vision, and although I couldn’t make out the exact expression he wore, I sensed both his desire and his envy.

He’d said he wanted Clay to make me come, but then the thought clicked in my head. Clay’s evil smile had been a warning. Travis wasn’t his submissive and he didn’t care what the other man wanted tonight. Plus, Travis valued pleasure over pain. Not bringing me to orgasm could punish us both.

And I’d failed the ‘no orgasm’ test last night. It stood to reason Clay would want to try again.

His breathing was ragged, and his pulse pounded in his neck, and as his moans began to swell, all the telltale signs were there. My body whined with need. I was close—but not as close as he was, and Clay was determined to get across that finish line before me.

The muscles in his chest flexed and tensed.

His tempo went erratic before jerking to a stop, and a huge gasp rang out like it’d been punched from his chest.

His cock wasn’t that deep inside me when he came, but I could still feel the subtle pulses and warmth before he slipped out and retreated. He sat back, admiring the result of his work, and the same smug smile from before lurked on his lips.

His underwear was pulled up as I lay on the table, my body physically cooling but the heat he’d created inside me stubbornly lingered. I bit down on my bottom lip to stay quiet. I’d made it through the scene without begging. No need to start now.

He got down off the table, rescued the ice from the puddle that had formed around it, and strode toward the garbage can. He had to walk past Travis to get there, but pulled to a stop when the man stepped into his path.

Travis’s expression was dark. “You didn’t make her come.”

“No.” Clay turned to glance over his shoulder, still wearing the same enigmatic smile. “You are.”

NINETEEN

Surprise flashed through Travis and was quickly followed with excitement. I liked this plan as much as he seemed to, but when he took an enthusiastic step toward me, Clay’s hand came up and flattened to the center of Travis’s chest to stop him.

Everything around the men slowed to a crawl.

Clay’s hand was pressed against the front of Travis’s t-shirt, and neither man looked prepared for the contact. The touch probably wasn’t meant to be sexual, but Clay’s fingers splayed out, as if eager to feel more of the hardened muscles beneath them.

Travis’s eyes were wide, and he drew in a heavy breath. Clay didn’t seem to be breathing at all. This was absolutely not part of his plan, and he looked utterly lost. As if he wanted to draw his hand away, but couldn’t.

The moment between them was so shockingly intimate, I felt as if I were intruding simply by being in the same room.

Clay’s voice was low and uneven. “Make her come . . . and you can only use your mouth to do it.”

Oh, my God.

Travis jolted, breaking his gaze with the man to look at me as I lay motionless, still tied down to the table. Clay had come inside me, and I could feel it slowly dripping out between my legs.

“You want to share her with me?” Clay found his confidence again, and it built with each word. “Then, let’s share everything.”