They frowned at each other.

Ilya kissed me, his lips still warm from Bron’s kiss. It felt…like retribution. Was he trying to use me to make Bron jealous? I doubted that would work for him, but I wasn’t against the idea.

He’d gotten more confident in his technique, and the warm buzz of liquor in my veins made me melt into him as though he were a guy I was into, and not someone who was paying for my company. The truth was, now that I knew them and was marginally less afraid—at least of Ilya—I’d have done almost anything they wanted for free. The way his tongue teased mine made me sigh and rub against him like a contented cat.

Behind us somewhere, Bron clapped his hands with impatience. “Enough of that. Put her on the table.”

I put my arms around Ilya’s neck and hopped up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“Eager little slut,” Bron accused.

“I love the way he kisses,” I shot back. “I can only imagine what else he can do with this mouth.”

Bron grumbled something in Russian, and Ilya smiled against my lips as he resumed our kiss. As soon as Bron had cleared away our glasses, Ilya laid me carefully across the kitchen table. Even though the room was warm, the wood was cold against my back. Ilya straightened and looked to Bron for direction.

Instead, Bron pressed his lips to mine.

He wanted to kiss me?

Okay…

I relaxed into it, and he spat cognac into my mouth. I choked, coughed, and Bron’s level of satisfaction led me to believe he’d gladly drown me in cognac right then.

Ilya leaned over me and kissed my navel, making my belly tremble. He nuzzled lower, shy, and I put my hand to his hair to encourage him.

“Hands to yourself, woman. He doesn’t need the distraction.” We had a war of gazes, and I let my hands fall to my sides. “Spread her legs.”

Ilya kissed the tops of my thighs and used his hands to coax me to part them.

I felt very…inspected as the two of them looked me over.

“Pull her ass closer to the edge of the table. It’ll be easier.” Bron set up two chairs at the end—one between my legs and the other beside it, like he planned to micromanage.

Ilya pulled me closer to the edge, and Bron bent my legs and propped my feet on either corner of the table, leaving me spread wide.

“Did you do this with your wives?” Ilya demanded.

“No. My wives were nice girls.”

“Delilah is a nice girl,” Ilya objected.

“Delilah is an incorrigible slut. She doesn’t complain when a man shoves his dick up her pretty arse. She deserves to be treated like a whore.”

“Do I deserve to be treated like a whore, too?”

“If you didn’t, I wouldn’t need to beat you every night for your disrespect.” He shoved Ilya down to sit in the chair between my legs, and he took the chair next to him.

“He never did these things with his wives because he didn’t want to admit what kind of pervert he was,” I told Ilya. “With us, he can be himself.”

The man shot me an inscrutable look, and I stuck out my tongue at him.

Bron turned his attention to Ilya and gestured between my legs. “This is a pussy.”

I couldn’t hold back a small laugh.

“Thank you. I had no idea,” Ilya replied dryly.

“Shut up and look closely at it.” Bron reached past my leg and parted my labia with his finger and thumb. “This hole you already know.” He tapped my entrance.

Were we really doing an anatomy class on the kitchen table in the middle of a game of drunken Truth or Dare?

“Everything down here is sensitive, and you can play with whatever you want, but the thing that will please most women is here. You don’t always need to be rough with it.” He stroked my clit hood, and I stiffened at the jolt of pleasure that shot through me. My cold-tightened nipples only got harder.

I felt like an on-the-job training prop, and damn, it was hot. The psychology behind it was baffling.

Ilya leaned closer, and I could feel his breath caressing me. He bit my inner thigh, making me yelp, then bit me again, then again, like he meant to devour me. Why was the man so intuitively sexy?

When he reached my pussy, he bit my mons, making me gasp. A sheen of sweat broke out along my skin. He looked up at me, his smile cocky rather than his usual anxious one. Considering how good he was at blowjobs, he probably felt more confident in this than he did at sex.

I could already feel how wet I was. His tongue dipped, tasting me, and he savored my taste for a moment, as though it were a luxury rather than a chore.

Fuuuck.

Why did I feel like I was in trouble?

He teased me, exploring me with his mouth, his tongue, his curious fingers—tasting and prodding, cataloguing my responses. He eased a thick finger into me and turned it, feeling me. I could almost see the information processing, getting sorted, stored for later.

When he decided to learn about my clit, I had to wrap my hands around the edges of the table to stop myself from writhing. I whimpered, his tongue investigating so gently that it tickled. I panted, trying to distract myself from the velvet feel of his lips. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered going down on me, and his mouth was making me feel like I might levitate off the table.

Bron was watching and giving intermittent direction, but mostly staying silent and sipping at his cognac.

“Suck that little bud into your mouth and fuck her slow with your fingers,” Bron suggested.

Ilya ignored him for a moment, but then his pretty mouth fastened onto my clit. My toes curled. His mouth was heavenly torture, and I gasped so loud the sound echoed in the room.

“Not like that with your finger,” Bron said, pressing closer to him, whispering directions in his ear.

Ilya turned his hand a little, making me grit my teeth at the angle he was trying.

Tags: Sorcha Black Crime
Source: readsnovelonline.net