Page 86 of Ice Cold Hearts

“Please,” I beg. “I need all of my men tonight.”

“Then open your gorgeous mouth and let me fuck you,” he says.

I moan in contentment as he slides into my mouth. The sensation of all three of my men taking what they need from me only heightens my pleasure. I feel whole in a way I have never felt before. The thought that this might be the last time rears up in my head, but I shove it deep down inside and focus on the feeling of us being together. I don’t know where I end and they begin.

Ian finishes first. He comes with a shout, then rolls to my side. The feel of his seed on my chest makes my pussy clench around Oliver. He calls my name and thrusts harder into me.

“That’s it,” he whispers in my ear. “You look so beautiful with my cum as a necklace.”

I moan around Alexei’s dick.

“Fuck, Kitten, I’m close,” he groans.

I hum and take him further in my mouth. When the tip of him hits the back of my throat, Alexei comes with a shudder, and I swallow every drop of him.

“Let go. Come for us,” Ian coaxes, kissing my neck.

Alexei’s hand finds my clit, making me cry out. My back arches, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. I come hard, dragging out Oliver’s orgasm with my own.

We collapse into a pile on the bed, and Ian tucks me against his chest.

“I love you, Emily,” Ian murmurs against my hair.

Before I can think of how to respond, he starts snoring softly.

The reality that this might be the end comes flooding back with a vengeance. My heart is lead and I suddenly feel dirty.

I have to tell them.

28

EMILY

I’m surrounded by strong, handsome, protective men who adore me. I had a stressful evening, managed to get an energetic toddler to bed, and was just thoroughly fucked. Why can't I sleep?

Unfortunately, I have no one to blame but myself. Every time I try to relax, I’m haunted by my own failures.

I had so many opportunities to tell them this evening.

This is a bed of your own making. You’ve had plenty of time to tell them, and not just this evening, either. Coward.

I resolve to tell them tomorrow, or at least make an attempt to do so. Then I try to clear my mind.

I try deep breathing, finding every color of the rainbow around the room, and when that fails, I run though every other technique I know to try and relax. It doesn’t work. Then I try naming every muscle in the body in an attempt to bore myself to sleep, but there’s no luck there, either.

Nothing is helping. I’m too bogged down in the muck of my own guilt and cowardice. It’s like I can feel it actively staining my soul. Showers don't work on metaphorical filth, but maybe one will help, anyway.

I wriggle out from between Ian and Oliver, then peek at the baby monitor just in case. There's Audrey in black and white, sprawled out like a starfish in bed. Princess Fettuccini peeks out from under her back, and one of her socks is off. She won't be waking up any time soon. I breathe a sigh of relief and tiptoe into the attached bathroom.

The hot water soothes my body even though it does nothing for my mind. I squirt some soap onto the bath brush and scrub my skin, convinced that if I just scrub hard enough, the guilt will go away too.

Unlikely, but at least I'll be properly exfoliated.

I'm too lost in my own self-loathing to notice that someone else came into the bathroom until the glass shower door slides open.

I whirl around wielding the bath brush as a weapon.

“Easy there, Em, I just wanted to check on you,” Oliver says, holding his hands up in surrender.