Page 56 of The Dead Don’t Scream

Sloane laughs breathlessly. The sound becomes a moan when I curl my fingers. There. Her entire body jerks. I repeat the movement. Her fingers dig into my hair.

“Dante.”

I alternate my tongue with the steady pressure of my hand, keeping her balanced between too much and not enough. Her thighs close around my head. I let them. Rhys’s thumb strokes her pulse.

“Breathe.”

Sloane drags air into her lungs. Callum bites her shoulder. Her body tightens. I feel the orgasm building before she announces it.

“Don’t stop.”

I don’t.

“Please.”

None of us tease her now.

“I’m going to⁠—”

She breaks. Her hips lift from the altar as pleasure tears through her. I keep my mouth on her, gentling my touch when the first tremor becomes a second. Sloane’s hand strikes my shoulder. Once. I stop and look up. Rhys releases her throat.

“Check-in?”

She nods.

“Words,” Callum demands.

“Sensitive.”

“Color?” I ask.

“Green. Just give me a second.”

All three of us become still. No touching between her legs. No commands. No demands. Rhys strokes her hair. Callum loosens his grip. I kiss her knee. Sloane’s breathing gradually steadies. Her gaze moves between the masks.

“You really stopped.”

“Of course we stopped,” Rhys says.

Doubt flickers across her expression. Not doubt in us. A memory of someone who taught her that asking for anything made her difficult. Callum sees it too. His voice becomes dangerously soft.

“Who didn’t?”

Sloane shakes her head.

“No one. It’s not⁠—”

“Who?” he repeats.

She touches the edge of his mask.

“Not tonight.”

He allows the answer. Barely. Rhys cups her face.

“This ends the second you stop wanting it.”

“I still want it.”