Page 368 of Rogue Riders Duet

I shift my weight and bite my lip hard enough to draw blood as her hand trails between her breasts. I track every single movement as her fingertips ghost over her flushed skin, marking a trail to her nipples that I’m dying to travel. She rakes her nails over each peak, and then she pinches them, arching her back, her ragged inhale muffled through the helmet. My cock hardens to steel as she tugs on her nipples before rolling them between her delicate, capable fingers.

Luc exhales like he’s been gut-punched, and I glance at the men beside me to see the agony, need, and worship on their faces.

The camaraderie I feel in knowing I’m not the only one who’s one breath away from losing every ounce of composure I’ve ever had is as surprising as it is welcome.

But it wasn’t like I’ve ever had any composure when it comes to this woman.

Her other hand slips lower across her stomach, and I still as she traces her scars, but she doesn’t falter.

Not for a single breath.

She goes straight for her clit, drawing firm, lazy circles. I memorize the motion, body twitching every time her hips rock forward, chasing friction. I can practically see her smirk as she tortures us, putting on a slow show and wondering how long we’ll last.

I nearly crumble when she moans softly, breathily, the sound desperate and edged enough to spike heat straight down to my straining cock.

And then she pushes her fingers inside, slowly, and God, the sound it makes when she pumps them in and out in filthy, beautiful strokes is something straight from all my dirtiest dreams.

Wet, obscene, and mine.

She whimpers as she slides back up to circle her clit again, faster this time, and my cock twitches in my jeans. Every cell in my body is begging to help, to get my hands on her, my mouth, fucking something.

Luc takes a step forward, and before I can act, Mason grabs his arm, hauling him back. Luc’s whine is pathetic and needy, but I can’t even fault him for it.

That’s exactly how I’d sound if I weren’t still biting my lip.

Alaina’s chest rises and falls with panting breaths, and her thighs tremble, but with the helmet shielding her eyes, all we see is our own twisted hunger reflected at us in the goggles.

Three men teetering on the knife’s edge of control.

But still, none of us moves again, not even Luc.

We’d burn for her if she told us to.

Alaina stills, her moan cutting off midway as she holds herself right on the brink.

And fuck, I nearly whimper at the sight. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

When I think she’s a second from falling over the edge, I hear my salvation.

“Finn. Strip.”

I don’t hesitate. Shirt off. Jeans and boxers down, not sparing Luc or Mason a glance as I shuck off my socks.

“Closer,” she commands.

I obey, stepping toward the bed.

She rises to her knees and pulls the helmet off, then crooks a finger at me. I lean in, and she sets it on my head.

It’s jarring, the way the world muffles, but it’s warm, too, and I rebound quickly, raising a brow she can’t see.

“How am I supposed to lick every inch of you with a helmet on?”

“You don’t.” She crawls back on the bed and then grabs the chin guard, dragging me with her. “You fuck me. From behind.”

I follow her eagerly, and the mattress dips under my weight as we settle on our knees, her in front of me like a goddamn dream, and me already too far gone to come back.

I run my hands down her sides to pull her hips closer to me, making her shiver, but then I reach around to cup her tits, and she arches her back, telling me everything I need to know.