“F-Fuck—your mouth—” His groan vibrates deep, his thumb brushing my cheek, his voice dipping into something softer, something wrecked. “S-So f-fucking perfect—God—”

I can feel him throbbing against my tongue, can hear the low, shattered breaths he lets out, can see the way his thighs tense, the way his muscles flex, he’s barely hanging on, barely able to hold back, barely able to stop himself from finishing right here, down my throat.

He glances at Carter, jaw tight, eyes dark, voice strained as he forces the words out through gritted teeth. “G-Get a…a towel. C-Clean her up.”

Carter jerks his head up, his brown eyes still glazed, his face still flushed, his body still recovering from the orgasm he just gave me, from the way he filled me, from the way I’m trembling around him. He moves, stumbling slightly as he gets up, still breathless, trying to keep up with everything happening.

I hear the drawer open, the sound of fabric rustling, the warm weight of a towel pressing between my legs as Carter carefully, gently, starts cleaning me up, his touch soft, delicate, as if he’s trying to make up for everything they just did to me.

ate lets out another broken groan, his cock twitching, his breath shuddering as he thrusts deep into my mouth one last time.

The second Carter finishes cleaning me up, the warm towel brushing over my swollen, aching pussy with the softest, most careful touch, Tate pulls out of my mouth with a low groan, his cock slipping free, glossy with my spit, twitching, desperate, but he doesn’t let himself finish.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open again, and his mouth is on me. Hot, wet, filthy, devouring me with a hunger that makes my entire body jolt, makes my back arch, makes my thighs tremble.

“Tate—fuck—” My fingers sink into his dark hair, tugging, trying to ground myself, trying to process the way his tongue flicks against my clit, the way his lips wrap around it, the way he moans as he eats me like he’s starving for it, like he needs to make me fall apart again before he lets himself have what he wants.

He’s stroking himself as he does it, his fist tight around his cock, his body tensing, his breath hot against my drenched, overstimulated pussy as he pushes me closer—closer—closer.

Carter is kissing me. His lips brush against mine, his hands sliding up my sides, over my ribs, into my hair, holding me there, keeping me grounded even as Tate devours me, even as another orgasm coils in my stomach, tight and devastating.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Carter whispers between kisses, his voice gentle, so fucking sweet, so fucking different from Tate’s brutal desperation. “I love watching you like this. I love feeling you like this, you’re so good for us.”