My mouth drops open. “Wh-what?” I stutter.
Jack shrugs. Cyrus smiles, then lays his head on my shoulder. His hot breath steams against the curve of my throat. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he murmurs.
My head is spinning. “Right now?”
“Are you more of a third-date kiss kind of girl?” He strokes a finger under the strap of my dress. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“But I—”
I snap my mouth shut. Why am I protesting? I want to do this. Cyrus looks at me, his eyes crinkling, light from the electric candles shimmering over his face.
Shutting down the little voice niggling in the back of my brain, I lean forward and kiss him.
He kisses me back immediately. His lips are hot and soft, and they taste like the sweet wine he’s been drinking. The flavour is intoxicating. I twist my fingers into his collar, pulling him closer, and he groans into my open mouth. His tongue flickers against mine, slipping between my lips. What started as a gentle peck soon devolves into a slow, fiery makeout session, our bodies pressing together.
When I pull back, I’m gasping, like I’ve just been dragged out from underwater. My skin is hot and shivery. Blood is pounding almost painfully between my legs. I’m gripping the front of Cy’s shirt like it’s a life-ring keeping me afloat.
I lean back slowly and turn to Jack. He’s frozen, holding his wine glass half-way to his lips. His blue eyes are dark, his pupils blown. Our gazes meet, and he licks his lips, setting down his glass and shifting uncomfortably. My eyes flick down to his crotch, widening at the very notable bulge in his pants.
He really wasn’t kidding. This gets him off. Holy shit.
Without thinking, I crawl forward and press my lips to his, kissing him hard. He tenses against me, his arms automatically coming to draw me into his lap. We kiss deeply, passionately, our tongues swirling hotly against each other.
Behind me, I feel Cyrus’s hands stroking my hips. Sliding up my arms. Tracing the thin straps of my dress. My breasts feel full and swollen and achy, and I sigh with relief as Cyrus tugs the neckline of my dress down, letting them spill out over the top. His thumbs pinch my scrunching nipples, rolling them and tugging them away from my body, and it feels so good I moan, my hips jerking against Jack’s rock-hard erection. Heat pools in my core, and I pull away gasping, clamping my thighs together under my lace dress. I’m so turned on I can’t even sit still.
Jack smiles at me, his cheeks pink. I stare back at him. I don’t know what to do next.
“You want more, honey?” Cyrus asks by my cheek, his voice deepened to a low rasp. His fingers trail gently over my skin, tugging my dress back into place.
You shouldn’t, a voice whispers in the back of my head. This is going too far.
But why, though? I want to do this. And I am so sick of being the good girl. Always worried about being liked. Always being polite.
“Yes,” I whisper, honestly. I think I’m going to spontaneously combust if someone doesn’t touch me soon.
Apparently, that’s all Cyrus was waiting for. Without another word, he slips his arms around me and stands, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all. “Are you a gymnast, or something?” I ask, clinging to his neck as he carries me into the hallway, kicking open the door to Jack’s room.
He laughs. “What?”
“How the Hell did you pick me up and stand without losing your balance? That’s some Olympic-level stuff.”
He doesn’t say anything, laying me carefully on the bed.
“Oh, Cy has a lot of experience chucking women around,” Jack says cheerfully.
Cyrus glares at him, then opens a bedside cabinet and pulls out a strip of gold, shiny squares, ripping one off and tossing it to Jack. “Quit talking and help me undress her,” he orders, climbing onto the bed behind me and pulling me into his muscled arms. His fingers find the zip at the nape of my neck and tug. Jack quickly obliges, crawling onto the mattress and slipping his fingers under the hem of the dress. Cy unzips me, and together they peel away the white lace clinging to my skin, until I’m lying sprawled on Jack’s sheets in just my underwear. Jack sits back on his haunches, staring at my pale pink bra and thong.
“Christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Beth. You are—” he reaches out to touch my thigh. “You’re perfect.”
On my other side, Cyrus slips a hand under my arse, running it between my legs. I twitch against him. He groans. “Honey, you are soaked,” he purrs. “You really need this, huh?”
I nod and squirm on top of his fingers as he slowly teases my panties down. Jack reaches forward, and his breath touches my cheek as he reaches behind me, deftly unclipping my bra. It falls away, and I sit up and tug at the blonde’s t-shirt. That goes first, and then his jeans, then his boxers, until he’s sitting in front of me, completely nude.
I stare at his cock. He’s already hard, his thick length swollen and rigid. And he’s huge. “You were hiding that under your jeans?” I say incredulously.
Jack looks down, smiling bashfully as he rips open the shiny condom wrapper.
“Can I?” I ask, holding out my hand.
His jaw stiffens. He nods, passing it over, and I reach for him, running my fingers lightly down his length. His lips part, and his eyes fall closed as I palm him, slowly. When I wrap my hand fully around him, squeezing, his dick jerks hard.
Cyrus laughs, tugging his own pants down. “You’d better stop teasing him, Bethie. The poor guy hasn’t had sex in ages. He won’t be able to handle it.”
Jack’s face flushes. I smile and roll the rubber on, and Cyrus pulls me back against his chest, so I’m sitting between his legs. He’s undressed too; I can feel his balls crushing against my ass. I grind backwards experimentally, and he groans.
Jack slides off the bed and stands between my legs, wrapping my thighs around his hips. His hard tip rubs gently between my folds, the rubbery condom sticking to my wet skin.
“Ready?” He asks.
