The Face of Scandal by Helena Maeve Page A

adjusted accordingly, massaging her muscles with the tips of his fingers. He must’ve understood that this was hurting Hazel, but on whatever plane their desires fit into perfect alignment, he seemed to intuit that it was the right kind of pain.
    Perhaps that was why Hazel found herself gasping, “One—one more.”
    Ward and Dylan traded glances, their strange telepathy kicking in.
    “I’ll get the lubricant,” Dylan said softly. He tipped forward and brushed a kiss to Hazel’s lips before withdrawing. He didn’t ask if she was certain—and thank God.
    Hazel was afraid she’d chicken out if given the opportunity.
    She didn’t have the chance to feel bereft in his absence, not with Ward leaning over her body and claiming her mouth in a bruising, ravenous kiss. His cock was an insistent press against her sopping pussy. She arched into the curve of it, eager to feel him against her even though he couldn’t possibly fit.
    “You’re driving me mad, woman,” Ward growled in her ear, tearing his mouth free. Hot breath fanned across her cheek.
    Hazel laughed shakily. “Good.”
    She didn’t mean to mock him, but Ward pulled back, holding her down with a hand around her neck when she made to follow. He didn’t squeeze, he wouldn’t, but the pressure was enough to remind her of her place. A shiver of want raced up Hazel’s spine.
    Yes. Yes, use me, do with me what you like.
    Dylan’s footsteps echoed not too far off.
    Ward eased his hand free to press slick fingers to her mouth. “Get them nice and wet for me.” It wasn’t a request.
    Nearly orgasmic from the pitiless yearning in his voice, Hazel couldn’t comply fast enough. She barely tasted herself on his digits, too greedy for the bizarrely reassuring sentiment of bringing him— them —satisfaction. A few seconds was all the window of opportunity she was permitted before Ward retrieved his hand at Dylan’s behest.
    Short for breath and feeling slightly untethered from her physical form, Hazel watched Dylan squirt a healthy dollop of translucent lubricant and seize Ward’s wrist. The slow glide of their sheened fingers in the pale blue moonlight made for a hypnotic spectacle—so much so that Hazel almost forgot their purpose until Ward traced her slit with his fingertips.
    “Sure you want this?” Dylan asked, all but nonchalantly drying his hands on a towel.
    Hazel nodded frantically. She was glad they didn’t ask if she was ready. No amount of self-directed pep-talks could prevent her from feeling at once aroused and terrified as Ward slipped two fingers inside her. A third joined them in short order, barely felt. The fourth hurt less with lubricant to ease the way, but Hazel still tensed up, apprehensive.
    To his credit, Ward waited her out. “This is the toughest part,” he murmured, lightly raking his teeth over the jut of her knee.
    “How would you know?” Hazel huffed.
    “He’s done it before,” Dylan’s answer reached her as though from miles away on a faulty phone line.
    She turned her head against the couch cushion, bewildered. To whom?
    Dylan cocked an eyebrow. Who do you think ?
    Her face hot, Hazel gasped as the stretch intensified, a sharp burn kindling where before there had been only a dormant ache. But just as soon as she thought she could take no more, the ache was promptly alleviated.
    The sense of fullness lingered, overwhelming. Hazel had only ever felt anything remotely like it with the anal plug Dylan had used on her. The same rigid pressure, the same urge to fidget and twist against the ruthless awareness of flesh and sinew being pushed to the limit of what it could handle. But this was different, too, more intense. She was afraid to look down her own body, yet at the same time couldn’t resist.
    “Breathe,” Dylan whispered, sliding his forearm under her nape to help her up. “I know it’s a lot to take…”
    To put it mildly. Perspiration slicking down her brow, Hazel reached for him, for Ward, fumbling for