Holly trembled in place, hands twisting in leather; every light in the bedroom abruptly flashed on, and even the air grew hot, invisible sunbeams against naked bodies. But he didn’t come, being good.
“Oh,” John said, “oh God—I love you, I love you so much—” His c**k rubbed against Holly’s face, still firm if softening somewhat; Holly put out a drowsy tongue and licked at it, wholly devout.
Ryan’s own body throbbed with complicated yearning. He wanted, oh he wanted; he could not recall the wanting ever being so poignant, so shot through with helpless fiercely painful love. He wanted Holiday to feel everything; he wanted John to know how bone-deep that love ran; he wanted to hold his partners and never let go.
He found the nearest bottle of lube, this one warming and tingling and strawber
