Muscular thighs slap against skin, chests heave, and cocks thrust—Loren’s into Mr. Bordeaux’s fist as his master seeks pleasure from behind.

“I need more,” Loren rasps, grunting a rhythmic song of agony laced with pleasure. Anytime he gets close to climaxing, Mr. Bordeaux squeezes the tip of his shaft.

That’s when I realize he’s using the maneuver to keep him from reaching orgasm.

“Do you want inside her mouth?”

“Yes, Master Bordeaux,” he groans.

“Then make her open for you.” The two tilt forward, and Loren holds onto the back of the lounge, his arms extended, muscles bulging from exertion as he thrusts the tip toward my lips.

“Do you want this?” Loren asks, dipping his head and searching my face.

I’m intrigued, and a little turned on watching them, but the honest answer is no, and I’m certain that isn’t what he’s hoping to hear.

“Y-yes…Master.”

I can do this for him, and I try to tell him so by holding his gaze as I part my lips.

Loren only hesitates a second before pushing inside. “Ah, God, Novalee.”

He’s heavy on my tongue, a mixture of salt and his own unique essence, and I work him the best I can, part of me wanting to give him pleasure.

The bigger part of me wants this to be over.

The three of us settle into a steady tempo, connected by sex and lust and submissive roles. Mr. Bordeaux pounds into Loren, his thrusts violent enough to pummel the cock in my mouth to the back of my throat.

I grab the cushion beneath me, fingers digging into leather, and hold on for all I’m worth. That’s all I can do—remain still, mouth spread wide as Loren rides my face. He’s so deep that the circle of Mr. Bordeaux’s fist pushes against my lips, gripping Loren at the base.

Every few minutes, he yanks Loren from my mouth and stops his orgasm with firm pressure to the head.

“Let me come, Master Bordeaux. Please.”

“Aren’t you enjoying her mouth?”

“Yes. Feels so good.” Loren shutters his eyes in frustration.

“When I come, you come.” Mr. Bordeaux gives a dark chuckle. “You should feel privileged, my love. Our beautiful queen doesn’t get to come at all.”

The reminder is a smack to the face, a splash of ice water on the sweat-inducing haze of depravity in the room. My mind steamrolls over the memory of my argument with Liam a few days ago, then slams into the brick wall of Sebastian’s taunting denial.

It seems every man in this tower wants to put my orgasms on lockdown.