The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) Nikki Sloane (sight word books TXT) 📖

I had to get it out before it detonated and killed both me and the man at my side.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped, shifting my hips against the table so his fingers could drive deeper and hit just where I needed them to. “Oh, God . . . oh, God . . .”

“Yes,” he encouraged, although it came in two separate voices, one echoing the other.

The orgasm swelled as a tidal wave of ecstasy and crashed into me, wiping all thought away. It was far more devastating and amazing than anything that could be done with just a paddle or a pair of hands between my legs.

I writhed against my restraints, making the cords wrapped around my throat constrict, but the sensation only added to my enjoyment. Just as I couldn’t escape the pain, I couldn’t run from the pleasure either. Not that I wanted to.

The orgasm crested and started to recede, and the man began to peel apart, splitting back into two separate bodies. Clay and Mr. E were equally responsible for my pleasure, and as they shared the credit, they also shared the same look of satisfaction.

My knees were jelly, and I lay on the top of the workbench, not caring how my breasts were flattened against the rough surface as I struggled to catch my breath. There was movement behind me as E stepped back and disappeared out of the frame. I turned my head, resting it on my outstretched arms, and watched as he pulled open the door to the storage closet.

It was big enough, it was nearly a room and had a light, and when he flipped it on, my mouth would have fallen open if it weren’t already. This closet had to be where Clay stored unsold pieces or prototypes because it was packed with furniture. Some pieces were upside-down and stacked on top of others.

E must have known what he was looking for, but not exactly where it was, because he stood in the doorway with his back to me and scanned the closet for a long moment. It gave me time to admire the sculpture of his body. He was broad and toned, and the tan of his skin said he’d spent a lot of summers shirtless.

Whatever he’d been looking for was found, and he disappeared inside the closet, making noises like he was moving things around. When he emerged, he was carrying a large . . . panel? The rectangle was padded, covered in black leather or vinyl, and three sides of it were outlined in red. He carried it by a strap handle, and once he reached the center of the room, he laid it cushion side down, revealing the other side was cushioned too.

Oh.

I finally understood when E squatted, unlatched the side, and opened the piece. It uncovered the dark-stained wood legs that were inside, and I realized I was looking at the underside of a folding table. As he locked the tabletop in place and worked to unfold the legs, I pushed myself upright. With my hands tied and my body still recovering from the spectacular orgasm, I couldn’t help him set it up, but he didn’t need my help, anyway. Instead, I used the time to brush whatever dust I could off my chest.

Once E had everything done, he grabbed a leg, tilted the table on its side, then lifted and set it on its legs.

Of course the table was sexy and beautiful, but it couldn’t compete with the man standing beside it. His gaze landed on the phone before drifting to me, and then he sauntered my direction, looking far more confident than I’d seen him before. Right before he reached me, he veered to the stand that was holding my phone and moved it to the edge of the table. He bent slightly, making sure the newly set up table was in frame, then straightened and grabbed the ropes at my wrists.

Both men were silent as he tugged me to the edge of the table, so the only sound was our shuffling footsteps. E’s hands slid up the ropes, all the way to my throat, then parted to smooth over my shoulders. He leaned in, setting his mouth against my neck, just above the place where the rope was wrapped.

Any recovery I’d made was instantly wiped out by his soft kiss. My knees went soft again, and I tried not to sag into his arms while his damp, warm mouth created wonderful shivers. His hands continued to move, sliding down over my chest, and cupped my breasts. As he brushed his thumbs over my hardened nipples, my gaze was on the screen of the phone.

Clay studied me as I studied him. E’s mouth followed his hands, his head dipping down so his lips could capture one of my nipples, and heat snapped through my body.

“Have you,” I said between gulps of air, “ever done anything like this before?”

E hesitated, like he wanted to answer, but knew he shouldn’t. We weren’t allowed to speak to each other, so my question was supposed to be for Clay.

“No,” Clay said. “The night at the club was a first for me.” He was still stroking himself, but his movements had slowed, and his tone was uneven. Unsure. “I’ve never shared a partner before.”

E steadied my other breast in his hand and focused his mouth on it. The sharp edge of his teeth bit, just hard enough to feel amazing, and my heart beat in double-time. “Do you like it?”

“Yes. I do.” One corner of Clay’s mouth turned up in a smile. “What about you?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

It was getting difficult to stand, but E had an arm around my back for support, holding me upright while he feasted on my flesh. My eyes were heavy with desire, but I fought to keep them open and my gaze on Clay. Since my question had echoed his when we’d been in his study, the first time we’d played together, I also echoed his response.

“I’m glad I get to be your first.”

E’s